Disclaimer: Don't own 'em

Notes: Super thanks to you guys for your patience! The second half of this story is pretty heavy/tricky stuff to get right, I hope I can pull it off!

I know it's been entirely too long since an update here! and this is a short chapter but hang in there please! I think you'll like it anyway...I hope. And don't worry I'm planning to give you Daryl's POV for this time frame too. I just really needed to get this out of the way to get that written since both Fin and my Muse ganged up on me and threatened bodily harm if I didn't get this over with! They're a scary combination together I tell ya!

Thank you all for the continued support/follows/faves and reviews! You guys rock!

Thanks: To NRIASB for pointing out my misspelling of Rosita's name! It's fixed now Oops, My bad guys! :O

Chapter Twenty-Seven

(Fin's POV)

I wake to a throbbing ache in my shoulder, just like yesterday…all along my left arm lines of pain formed where the creases in the hard bed of the truck has been digging into my skin.

My muscles protest as I sit up, ache and pull my elbow bent too long in one position trying to cushion my head on something other than cold hard metal. My wrists twinge with pain where the zip ties have chaffed the sensitive skin; rubbing too long over the same spot repeatedly. I roll my hands trying to alleviate some of the pins and needles moving through my fingers with only moderate success and shift my weight, pushing my legs out in front of me. I'm beyond sick of this prisoner treatment shtick, but with no weapons to my name and Carl to keep safe I'm learning to deal with the annoyance day by day. I just need an opening, something to allow me to get Carl free so we can slip away. To hell with this asshole, his pervert-mullet sidekick and girlfriend.

"Hell you doing awake?" I can make out the hard lines of his crew cut in the darkness of the truck bed; leaned against the edge of the opened tailgate; legs splayed out across the open space; effectively blocking us in—like the heavy automatic gun in his lap doesn't do the same.

The dark distinctive outline of his assault rifle clearly visible even by moonlight it seems is always in his hands, it sits draped across his lap causally with the kind of relaxed ease most people would allow a cellphone or TV remote. Not that I doubted his military training before this, every line in his body; hard edge of his face screams of military discipline and precision; training and tactical expertise. But this casual air with such a weapon tells me something else; Abraham's seen more than the inside of a training facility; He's seen action, lots of it; and lived to tell the tale. He's the kind of man who forges his metal in the fires of hell and labels it later simply all in a day's work.

He shifts against the metal edge of the truck's bed wall. "I said, what the hell are you doin up?

"I have to pee." It's true; it's why I woke.

"You already been, twice." He dismisses my request. And while that's also true it doesn't change the fact that I have to go.

"You either let me pee or I'll go right here in the back of the truck." It's only a slight exaggeration, which is odd since I haven't had that much to drink today.

He scowls at me around his thick mustache in the dark, jaw tightening lips puckering over something that will probably come out ugly and harsh another voice cuts him off before he gets a chance.

"I'll take her." Rosita sits up near the side of the truck, no longer sleeping. He doesn't turn his head or acknowledge her for a moment, still staring at me in the dark, the moonlight adding a strange orange hue to his bright red flat-top.

"She's been enough,"

"Well I also have to go, so either I can take her with me or she can go right here. Choice is yours." Abraham grumbles but kicks his legs over the side of the open gate dropping down to the road side in the darkness.

"Come on, I will help you up." Rosita grabs my forearm—not my raw wrist thankfully and helps me shuffle towards the edge of the truck bed. Carl's head jerks up when we move past him.

"What's going on?"

"It's okay, go back to sleep; just a bathroom break." He frowns at me, the moonlight illuminating his pale face against the dark green-grey interior of the truck beneath him.

"I'll go too."

"Hell you will; this is a bathroom break not a social outing; and it aint turning into a jailbreak either. She goes; you can use a tire if you have to piss."

Carl frown deepens, he shifts again sitting up to stare at me as Rosita helps me down the short distance from the tailgate to the pavement so dark it looks like I'm leaping off the truck's end into a deep pit of nothing.

He glares at Abraham standing up when he steps closer to us looking so like his father for a moment and his snarl sounding so like Daryl that even I stop and stare at him. "She's not going out there alone with you, how do I know you're not going to do something to her?!" He's glaring at Abraham over the tailgate, looks ready to tackle him if he takes another step towards me; weaponless or not.

Abraham is watching him, eyes darting to me for a moment. "Keep your shorts on kid, Rosita's taking her."

"I'll be fine Carl," I catch his eyes in the moonlight tell him dramatically; "I'll be right back."

Carl shakes his head slowly, lips twisted into a scowl while letting me know he caught my horror movie reference. "You'd better." He sits down on the tailgate to wait it out.

Rosita leads the way towards the grassy edge of the highway; planning to take us once more just a little ways into the woods like last time so we can pee without watchful eyes. Abraham might not look, but Eugene is another story. Eugene strikes me as the kind of creep who'd attach a mirror to his shoes hoping to catch a glimpse up a girls skirt on the street.

"You're not getting any water tomorrow either; I've had enough of this shit." Abraham calls over the road to our backs, shaking his head and cursing something about small bladders being beaten out of people in Basic.

"He's a real charmer." I walk carefully behind Rosetta's back, trying not to trip over anything unseen in the darkness especially with my hands bound—there'd be little hope of catching myself before I landed on my face. I don't need Carl getting killed attacking Abraham because I caught my toe on a tree root in the dark.

"He has his moments."

I bet snake charmers say the same thing about cobras. I scowl harder.

"I know that you don't want to be here, but if you could just try to see where he is coming from…"

"You kidnapped us, how exactly do you expect me to slap rose colored glasses on that?" I stare at the back of her head hard.

Rosita pauses a few steps in front of me, both hands rested on her hips over her guns.

"I know that, and I am sorry; for what it's worth. But you have to understand how important this is—not just to Abraham, but to everyone."

"Yeah well…I don't enjoy being kidnapped. He could have asked—we have a family; a whole group. After you guys helped kill those jerks on the road maybe if he'd taken a minute to explain what was going on instead of you bashing me over the head then maybe we could have worked something out. I'm not feeling real helpful at the moment; mission or not I wouldn't shed a tear if all of you got eaten."

The only reason I haven't let that happen yet is because I don't know what this Eugene might actually know…if he really knows how to make a cure and they get him to Winchester—I tamp down quickly on the tiny flutter of hope, I will not believe in miracles. I started to believe in happy endings just a few short days ago and now I'm zip tied on a darkened country road with a Ginger General, a nerdy pervert and a Spanish prison guard.

She sighs. "I'm not making excuses for his actions,"

"No you just go along with them."

She frowns, continues walking shaking her head, her short dark ponytail bobbing behind her in the moonlight. "It is difficult to rein Abraham in when he is on a mission; he becomes…overzealous."

She stops again, turns away from me a bit, shifting on her boots watching the darkness.

I know there are no Walkers out here. Not for at least a mile; and moving in the wrong direction…

"Do you need help with your pants?"

"It would be a Hell of a lot easier without zip ties on."

She frowns. "I am not removing them, I saw you on that road as well and don't pretend you needed us to take out those men—you were doing a damn good job of that on your own. It's why Abraham took you."

"Remind me to send him a thank you card." And despite our conversation I really do have to pee, badly. I fumble with my buckle, and then my pants, have to work them slowly; inching down one hip and then the other so I don't drop them in the dark. It's awkward and exposes me to the cool night air for far too long—I don't want to be grateful to her for anything; but being far away from prying eyes while I have to brace my back against a tree and pee in the dark is only possible because she was willing to bring me out here…again.

It takes me even longer to get my pants back up, to fumble with the closures with my hands so close together; my wrists are throbbing and my fingers tingle from the tight plastic strip digging at my skin. I eventually manage to pull myself back together.

Rosita is still watching the darkness offering me privacy.

"Don't you have to go?"

She turns to me, "No, but I didn't want you to suffer for Abraham's poor temper."

I won't thank her; she's still a kidnapper.

We start back toward the truck; with me in front this time; leading the way by silent agreement. The breeze picks up through the trees carrying with it the soft scent of something blooming nearby. It tickles the back of my nose for a moment. I sneeze. Then stop dead whole body overwhelmed with a flash of alarm that sends pins and needles rocketing up my spine breaking my entire body out in a cold sweat.

What the Fuck?!

"Why are you stopped? Do you need to sneeze again?" Rosita is standing just to my right now. She takes in something in my expression and jerks her gaze back to the trees around us in the darkness hands going to her weapons.

"What is it? What do you see?"

I can't answer her. I can't move. I'm not even sure I can breathe.

Something just moved.

"Where?" Rosita turns studying the darkness between the trees spinning to check the other direction; and I guess I said that out loud…I can speak after all…

But it's not the darkness I'm worried about; it's the tiny flutter that's suddenly consuming my entire thought process; feeling something wiggling again under the press of my fingertips.

Rosita turns back to me, gun in both hands, eyes drawn to my fingers pressed bellow my navel. Neither of us speak for a moment and then I see it dawn on her; the rational explanation forming itself in her mind written plan as day in the apology across her face before it can take shape in mine—my head is still filled with too much white noise.

Not something…someone.

Rosita's expression is stricken with horror. "I'm sorry, we didn't know."

Neither did I...

And, Oh God. The test was wrong—it was wrong and he might never know now…

I have to bite my lip to keep the white hot knife of agony centered in my chest twisting with each breath from working its way up my throat and out. Daryl...

"Can you walk? Are you in pain? You haven't eaten much…those men…" she trails off, face etched with real concern, the gravity of my situation weighing her down more than I'd expect from someone okay with kidnapping woman and young men off the side of the road with her crazy ex-military boyfriend on a regular basis. Apparently pregnant woman are a different story though.

Rosita has stepped closer to my side, weapon holstered once more my elbow firmly in her grasp. "Come on, we have to get back, there could be Geeks out here."

I stumble along beside her, too dumbstruck to even pick up my feet completely—too distracted my entire attention consumed with feeling for another flutter beneath my skin; wondering how I missed it…how far I have to be to startle him with a sneeze…

I slide my hands over my own skin; searching for an obvious bulge; some change in shape I overlooked…but I feel the same. My hipbones are still evident just slightly prominent before the flare of my hips; my stomach flat and taut no hint of an outward curve that I can find…my clothes fit the same…and it can't be right.

It can't be, I feel like I'm drowning, choking each time I try to drag in the night air. To feel him move I'd have to be months already... "You have to let me go back," I tell her voice shaking more then I care to admit. I need Daryl, he has to know.

"You'll never make it," Rosita's voice is firm. "It's too far. We will figure something else out."

We make it back to the truck, my hands pressed to my own skin trembling the entire journey, equally desperate and terrified to feel that sensation again.

Rosita helps me back into the truck bed without another word to me or Abraham. I don't return to my previous spot; there's no way I could sleep now.

Carl is still sitting and waiting for my return, I manage to tell him to go to sleep; try to make sure my features are schooled into a calm mask hiding my discover until I know for sure…and even then I don't know how to tell him.

Carl told me how he lost his mother once—I already knew because Maggie told me; but she didn't mention at the time that Carl was there; that he watched—and worse. He was the one that put a bullet in her head so she wouldn't turn.

Now were out here alone—for all intents and purposes; miles from home. We might not make it back to our family, the realization sits once again in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. Abraham has already brought us what must be a hundred miles, we're already long out of Georgia…

What if something happens out here with these gun toting lunatics trying to save the world for free; no one does anything anymore unless it earns them something in return.

If I tell Carl I'm pregnant the first thing he'll do is think of losing his mother. Wondering if he'll have to watch me die in labor too, shoot me in the head leaving him all alone miles from home with a tiny baby in the woods…anxiety washes through me thinking of Judith's wide sky blue eyes and pudgy baby cheeks... What if I don't make it?

Will my baby even be immune? I'm different from everyone else, what if he's not safe from Walkers, how will I even know? Even if Carl did make it back alone, he'd have to hand Daryl our son and tell him he has to raise him alone… the thought hurts so intensely I can't see, my head spins and I realize I need to breath.

I close my eyes tight over tears and sink down with my back to the cab instead of lying down, my knees pulled up to my chest head tucked low staring down at the narrow space between my thighs and my shirt in the low light. My head dizzy, spinning with a million thoughts. I stay that way feigning sleep so I don't have to talk to Eugene when he wakes occasionally; or speak to Abraham or even Rosita.

The minutes stretch on bleeding slowly into the last few hours before sunrise. Around me the others begin to stir; really wake starting to face the day but I remain quiet; keeping my face hidden so I can at least be alone with my thoughts.

The more time passes the more desperately I want to feel something again; some small part of Daryl tucked away safe inside me. Then finally with my eyes pressed tightly closed and my breathing once more even and slow feigning sleep I feel him move; just the tiniest wiggly nudge. My heart leaps before plummeting to my feet and tears burn my eyes.

The anguish of missing Daryl in this moment when I need him to know this, to hold me and tell me it's going to be okay grows more intense by the minute.

I just want to go home.

:: Walking Dead ::