HEART OF GLASS
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE !

[ season three, episode seven ]

The cell-block door squealed open, and the strangers of the prison made their long-awaited appearance at last.

Their apparent appointed leader ─ whom Theo had earlier overheard being referred to as Rick ─ approached the pair seated around one of the cafeteria benches, with one hand hovering above the gun strapped to his thigh. The man with the crossbow followed Rick, pointedly holding his weapon aloft, while an elder man with crutches hobbled in tow. Behind him, a timid-looking young girl with a plume of blonde curls scurried along, gnawing on her thumb nail.

"We can tend to that wound for you," Rick offered, gesturing to Michonne's bullet-inflicted injury. "give you both a little food and water, and then send you on your way."

Theo looked at Michonne from the corner of his eye. She was gazing intently at Rick.

"But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us, and why you were carrying formula."

Michonne blinked, her expression still placid, unreadable ─ as if carved from stone, "The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy, with a pretty girl and a teenager."

"What happened?" Rick demanded sharply.

The man with crutches pushed himself away from the wall, limping forward, "Were they attacked?"

"No. They were taken." Theo stated, shaking his head grimly.

"Taken?" Rick repeated incredulously. He leaned down, intense gaze flicking between the pair. "Taken by who?"

A muscle in Michonne's jaw ticked as she reminisced the past few hours, "By the same son of a bitch who shot me."

"Hey, these are our people. You tell us what happened now!"

Rick lurched forward and shoved his hand against Michonne's wound. She yelped, jumping up from the bench, chasms of fury cracking across her formerly stoney expression. Rick took one step back as Michonne advanced toward him, glowering with the intent to kill. He didn't look afraid ─ not even in the slightest.

Meanwhile, Theo instinctively reached for a non-existent weapon at his back, only to realise he was unarmed. His personal armoury had been snatched the moment he stepped foot inside the prison, including the bat he kept for the blonde girl that Merle had taken. In consequence, he was forced to stand back and glare daggers at the strangers crowding around them, hoping to God they wouldn't initiate hand-to-hand combat. He couldn't fight for shit.

"You'd better start talking," warned the man with the crossbow, an arrow pointed between Michonne's eyes, "or you're gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound."

"Find 'em yourself," Michonne snapped, unfazed by the crossbow inches from her face.

After a moment, Rick placed his hand atop his friend's weapon, pushing it in the direction of the ground, "Hey. Daryl, put it down."

The man ─ Daryl ─ frowned, but reluctantly complied. Theo scrutinised him; he picked up on the way this stranger forced himself to look neutral. Unbiased. He had obvious respect for Rick, the leader, but it seemed as though he wanted to make his own choices, too.

The second Daryl looked his way, Theo immediately averted his gaze elsewhere ─ awkward, or in this case tense, eye contact was a stepping stone to a full blown scrimmage.

Eventually, Rick sighed, stepping toward Michonne, "You came here for a reason."

Indeed they did.

That baby formula was no joke ─ an entire basket full of it made the duo stop and consider the whole picture. Made them think. Made them see. Michonne didn't take situations with babies lightly. And watching Merle take those three innocent people? Michonne and Theo felt they had a responsibility to uphold. They had to help.

Everything happened for a reason. They were in the wrong place at the right time.

If it had been Michonne taken, and a witness came to Theo with critical information, he would do the same thing as Rick. So Theo understood the leader's determination to uncover that truth, no matter how. When it came to friends, to family, he was willing to do anything it took if he meant keeping them safe.

Anybody would do the same thing. That's why they came to the prison with that formula.

Understanding the importance of their witness accounts, Theo looked sideways at Michonne. She was already gazing at him. A short nod was exchanged between them, and that was all that was needed.

"There's a town," Michonne informed. "Woodbury. About 75 survivors. We think that's where they were taken."

Rick blinked, "A whole town?"

"Yeah. It's ran by some guy who likes to play dress up, calling himself the Governor," Theo explained, mouth curling in disdain.

Daryl paced in a short space behind Rick, "He got muscle?"

"Paramilitary wannabes," Michonne said.

"They have armed guards stationed on every wall," Theo added. "Day and night."

"You know a way in?" Rick inquired, jerking his head to the side.

"Not really," said Theo. In all honesty, he had no semblance of knowledge concerning the town's wormholes ─ he didn't get that far into picking Woodbury apart at the seams before he and Michonne packed up and left. He shrugged, "It's secure from walkers, but there might be the off chance we slip our way through."

Rick stared at both Theo and Michonne for a little while longer than expected. His eyes narrowed, lips pursing.

He then pointed to the old man on crutches, "This is Hershel, father of the woman who was taken."

Theo's eyes shifted to the bearded elder. He had kind eyes, softened by age.

Rick waved a hand at Michonne's leg, "He'll see to that."

And then he sauntered away, unbolting the cell-block door, disappearing inside. Daryl followed him. The young girl with blonde curls, however, didn't ─ in fact, she had barely moved an inch since the conversation started. She was staring at Theo.

Hershel made a silent gesture for her to come over. She did, her gaze moving to the ground.

The elder began unpacking medical supplies from a duffel bag, dumping them on the table that Theo and Michonne were currently occupying. He didn't try to talk. He was dedicated to prepping for the minor surgery. Doctor, maybe?

Who knew.

After a while, Theo could barely take the silence. He scooted forward, "I'm Theo."

The girl stared blankly at him, a loose curl springing free from the thin, black headband pushing the rest of her hair back.

Hershel seemed to realise Theo had attempted to stimulate a conversation, and he paused his work for a second. He looked between Theo and Sage, his lips pressed together in contemplation. Michonne's response was, as usual, to throw her guard up and remain quiet.

"This is Sage," said Hershel at last. He resumed prepping, pushing a thread through the tip of a needle. "She was born deaf. She can't communicate with us verbally. Her sister is the only one here who can translate sign-language."

Sage pressed her chin into her cupped palm. She looked sad.

Hershel's grey eyes moved to Theo's face, "Her sister was the young girl you would have seen with Maggie and Glenn today," he explained plainly.

"Oh. Right." Theo cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Hershel merely nodded once. He got to work stitching Michonne's bullet wound fairly quickly.

Meanwhile, Sage sat beside him, watching the needle meet skin over and over again. But she didn't look interested. It didn't even look like she was seeing anything at all ─ her mind had floated elsewhere.

Theo had never seen a young girl look so dejected in his entire life.

✧.｡. *.

The prison courtyard was clear. Walkers thrashed against the chain-link fences beyond the walls of the sanctuary ─ or weaved aimlessly between the trees bordering the criminal residence ─ but that was the closest they could get. Every watchtower was empty, the walkways parting every fence was empty, and the enormous field that was said to have been swarmed with undead at one point had nothing but the occasional flower sprouting from the overgrown sheet of grass. Clear.

As everyone gathered the weapons for their Woodbury invasion, Theo admired the courage it would have taken to manage such an impossibility.

He was shocked, to say the least, that only a handful of people had managed to clear out this entire prison. Not only the outside, but the inside, too. He wondered how long it had taken . . . and if they had lost anyone in the process. The likelihood was high ─ walkers posed a great risk to human life. For instance, Sage had no parents in sight, and her sister was currently in Merle's hands. Had she lost her parents during the prison clear-out? Or earlier?

Then there was Beth, who was Maggie's sister. Youngest of Hershel's two daughters. She looked almost as sad as Sage did. Like maybe she was grieving.

Theo saw her standing at the courtyard gate, staring into the distance. Everyone was dumping duffel bags into the vehicles, muttering between themselves, and she looked more than uninterested in watching them. She had a nervous expression painted over her features ─ her knees were rocking back and forth, body swaying, a seemingly anxiety-induced habit. Beth's mind was clearly elsewhere, completely detached from her surroundings, and Theo understood first hand it wasn't because she didn't care about what was happening.

It was because she cared too much.

He approached her.

Despite the sound of gravel crunching beneath Theo's shoes, Beth didn't turn. She didn't hear him. Like his previous observation acknowledged, she was elsewhere.

Theo shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, shielding his fingers from the cold. When he was a close enough distance from Beth, he cleared his throat softly, not wanting to alert her. Still, she flinched a little, knocked out of her own tumultuous train of thoughts.

She spun on Theo, oceanic eyes widening like a deer in headlights when she realised the interruptee wasn't anyone from her own group ─ it was someone she had been warned not to trust yet.

"Hi," said Theo.

Beth's expression changed, and she looked more confused than anything else, "Hi."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened with your sister. Michonne and I, we wanted to help, but ─"

"It's okay." Beth interrupted, her satiny voice thickened by a southern accent. She curled her fingers around the pockets between the chain-link fence, eyes sliding from the brambles and trees a little way on to Theo's face. Her smile was soft, but not all there, "Sometimes things happen that are way out of our control. I don't blame you."

Theo appreciated that, more than words could say.

Her sentiments were harshly juxtaposed to that of Rick's, or Daryl's. They were all stone cold fury and unholstered weapons and bared teeth, where Beth was softened at the edges, accommodating even when she didn't need to be. Sweet and tenderhearted. She hadn't allowed the world to change her to the mortifying, irreversible extent of other people that Theo had encountered thus far. She possessed an aura of innocence, of tenderness.

He mirrored her stature, slipping his fingers through the chain-link. There was still at least a six-foot long gap between them, which Theo strayed from breaching just in case he made her uncomfortable.

Eventually, he sighed, moving on from the previous topic of conversation with a simple question, "Wasn't this place overrun?"

She nodded, "Mhm. It was."

"And you managed to clear it out yourselves?" he pried curiously. "Just the few of you?"

Beth looked at her shoes sadly, digging the heel of her boot into the pebbly ground. A crater formed beneath the mounting pressure as she pushed her heel deeper into the surface, fidgeting to distract herself from . . . something. She was fighting to keep her expression neutral, making it seem like she was unaffected by his nosiness, but Theo could see right through the facade.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

"There were more of us," she managed to mutter.

"Oh. Sorry."

Beth flashed him a tight lipped smile, "It's fine. Guess I'm used to it by now."

He didn't know what was more depressing ─ Beth's sorrowful existence or his. She had lost so many people, it seemed, that she was now unaffected by the off chance another funeral would strike again. The grief would still hit her like a truck going a hundred miles per hour down the highway, but it wasn't like she hadn't seen it approaching in the first place.

She stood on that road, saw that truck hurtling right for her, and she didn't move.

But who did these days?

At the sudden sound of an engine revving, Theo peered over his shoulder. He saw an old, slightly busted truck rolling down the long dirt-path, heading in their direction. Beth saw it too, and she quickly flicked up the latch on the gate and yanked the creaking slab of chained metal open.

When the truck meandered past, Theo obeyed driver-Rick's request to hurry up and get in, and immediately jumped into the backseats. He was shocked to see Sage already tucked up inside, all geared up and ready to fight. Gun in hand, torso body-protector on, and blonde curls pulled back into a very short, very messy ponytail.

Sage spared Theo one, fleeting glance before turning back to the dusty window. Jaw set, she stared out at the prison fences as they slowly faded into the distance, watchtowers and high walls reduced to mere blobs amongst the prison carcasses' silhouette.

Theo was baffled. It didn't feel right, knowing a child would be fighting to save Woodbury's hostages. More specifically, fighting to save her sister.

How had Rick allowed it?

But there was something distinctive about Sage that told Theo she probably wouldn't have listened to him if he said no, anyway.

✧.｡. *.

The isolation was beginning to creep up on her.

Marley had been alone in the cramped, dimly-lit storage room for about an hour now, and the world felt as though it was slowing with every minute that ticked by. Every second. She could scarcely remember what had happened leading up to that very moment, her brain clouded by the remnants of adrenaline, fear and a swarm of a million different what-ifs.

What if Maggie and Glenn were hurt? What if Merle had killed them? What if she was the last one standing between the three of them, and her imminent end was nearing?

She felt sick ─ sick to her stomach. The room was sticky with humidity, and the four walls looked like they were closing in on her, squeezing out every last droplet of her sanity. Outside, beyond the enclosure made for hostages, the world was soundless. Marley couldn't hear a thing. No footsteps, no voices. Nothing. Everything about it screamed danger. She had no idea where she was, or why she was there, or what the purpose of this was. Merle had dragged her, Glenn and Maggie into a town bordered by high walls, and then pulled them down into a gloomy pit beneath a pristine-looking building before they could get a good look at the place.

It had all happened so fast it was now little more than a blur in reminiscence.

God knows what would happen next.

Marley gulped. Her heart thrummed viciously against her ribcage, like a bird's fragile wings fluttering to escape captivity. A cold wave of anxiety swelled over her when she thought about Glenn and Maggie, wondering if they were in the same position as her . . . or worse. She hoped that was not the case. But hoping did little to eradicate her anxiousness. Her jaw tingled, forcing her teeth to come together, clenched tightly.

Anything Marley did to try and quell her nerves had proved futile thus far.

She stared at the door and waited for something to happen. There was nothing she could do but sit and wait ─ escaping wasn't a choice considering her hands were currently strapped together with duct-tape, keeping her bound to the chair. What could she do without her hands? Not a thing. Merle had rendered her useless.

Asshole.

And as far as the rest of the residents of this town went, Marley expected the worst. Upon their arrival, Merle had been welcomed back like a hero by a few burly men at the gates. If those men they were anything alike the eldest Dixon brother in disposition, Marley dreaded to think what her future as a hostage held.

Suddenly, the door screeched open.

She scrambled back, but then quickly remembered she was tied to a chair, and moved less than an inch as result.

A tall man breezed inside of the room.

He was wearing a dark grey button-up shirt, and a pair of formal jeans. Casual, yet subtly formal. Assertive. His face was clean shaven, his brown hair cropped short, and his skin practically sparkled with cleanliness. Personal pampering was a luxury ─ that was an indication he was well-off.

Marley's heart stuttered when he closed the door behind him and approached the small, circular table in the centre of the dingy room. She sat on the opposing side, staring up at him.

Slowly, he pulled the empty chair back.

"Do you mind?" the man inquired politely, jerking his chin down at the wooden seat. His fingers were still curled over the top of it, so he probably didn't have any inclination to not sit down if she voiced her reluctance anyways.

But she didn't say anything. Just glared.

He took that as an invitation to sit.

"I apologise on Merle's behalf for the way he handled things," the man said immediately, not allowing a silence to manifest. He sat up, posture straight as an arrow. Yet, he oozed an incorrigible sense of arrogance ─ in every flick of his cold, pensive eyes, in every scrutinising glance, every slow exhale. And the way he lifted his hands halfway into the air and shrugged nonchalantly was a sign he truly believed his word could excuse Merle's mistreatment. "He can be rash sometimes, as I'm sure you well know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marley bit back. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange to her own ears, having been sat in the cold silence of the empty room for the last hour.

The man's face remained impassive, "Merle said you two knew each other before this. And Glenn."

Marley chewed on the inside of her cheek, "Yeah. We know each other. But I didn't really talk to him. He was a jerk." She ran her tongue along her front teeth, "I guess a leopard never changes its spots."

The man's mouth twitched with the faintest hint of amusement. Or maybe something else. He shook his head, leaning back casually, "I get it. Merle isn't exactly the easiest person to warm to."

"You could say that."

A silence prevailed.

The man shifted, slouching sideways against the chair. It wasn't a casual movement to readjust his body into a more comfortable position ─ it was a clear show of dominance. He was pointing out the obvious; he didn't have his hands bound behind a chair. Marley did, at his command. Where he could move freely, she couldn't. That was the difference between the two, seated on opposing sides of the table. There was a stark juxtaposition between their current positions in relation to who had the advantage, and he was drawing a bold line underneath that.

There was a subtle warning behind it.

"Again, I can extend my apologies on Merle's behalf. Everything that happened today was all just a big misunderstanding," he assured plainly. "We can take you back to your people, so long as you tell us where they are."

Ah-ha.

Marley's brain flashed with understanding, like an amber light that gleamed before switching to red: he was underestimating her. She was young, so she was more susceptible to manipulation, right? Take us to your people. We want to help.

Bullshit.

But if he wanted to assume the youth sparkling in her eyes meant she was weaker than Glenn or Maggie, that her brain wasn't as stubborn against mind-games, then so be it. He wasn't the only one who could master the art of manipulation. Two could play that game.

She sighed heavily, "I want to talk to Maggie and Glenn first."

"I can't allow that."

"Really?" Marley pressed, weaving a plausible amount of anguish into her expression. She hoped it was believable. "Please?"

As expected, the man shook his head, folding his hands together atop his lap, "No, I can't allow it. We don't know you people. You could be dangerous. A threat."

"Trust me, we're no threat," Marley defended, blinking incredulously. Lies, which he seemed to be buying.

Or, maybe not. His expression was very difficult to read. The tide changed dramatically, "I think that's a lie," he retorted, flashing a wolfish grin, teeth bared as if he had just accomplished something ─ which he had. He suspected he had caught her out. "Merle told me what happened back there in Atlanta. He was handcuffed to a roof, forced to amputate his own hand. That was your people . . . right?"

Marley faltered, reeling back. She almost forgot about Merle. The incessant buzz ringing in the deepest crevices of her mind returned.

She shook her head, swallowing hard against the lump forming in her throat, "They went back for him. He wasn't there."

"They still left him in the first place," the man countered nonchalantly. "And now, he'll never have a hand again."

"That isn't my problem," Marley snapped in return. She wanted to keep her voice low, as accommodating as a frightened teenager's was expected to be, but his methods of interrogation made that a difficult thing to uphold. It was like he wanted to get under her skin. Wanted her to get irritated.

The man's eyes trailed around the room. "Well, unfortunately, Merle has made you our problem now."

He shrugged again, placing his hands on the surface of the table in front of him, "If you tell me where your group is, we can return you to them safely. Explain this was a minor misunderstanding, emotions were running high. That's a promise."

Marley pretended to consider that, drawing her bottom lip under her teeth.

In reality, the world would have to crumble and burn and wither to ashes before she told this devious stranger where her family were located. She knew he was hiding something behind that charming, artificial smile ─ the words he uttered were teeming with a falseness that she had heard before. He wanted to scope out their home, unburden himself of a potential threat.

Marley would never allow that to happen.

"Could you at least unbind my hands?" she requested, squirming against the chair.

Her words sparked a brief flicker of hope in the man. There was potential simmering in the small request ─ she wanted something in return. At least, that was what she wanted him to think.

The stranger unsheathed a knife from his belt and slowly began walking around the circular table, steps echoing around the compact, slightly claustrophobic storage room. Marley's body tensed at the sight of the long blade nearing her, but she relaxed considerably when the duct-tape was severed through the middle and her hands sprung free.

Bingo.

The man was standing beside her chair now. He looked down at her, his eyes shadowed by the murky darkness churning through the room ─ it made him look almost sinister. Malevolent. A tall, brooding shadow. He blocked the overheard lamp above, the dim-light struggling to peer around his broad back. From afar, he hadn't looked quite as intimidating. Up close, he did.

Maybe the devil was real, and he wore button-up shirts.

"Thank you." Marley murmured, rubbing a red patch on her arm where the tape had been stuck.

He didn't shift. A small shrug lifted his shoulders, "A favour for a favour."

She rolled her lips together, prying her gaze from the man's slightly demonic glare. Honestly, she didn't think this far ahead. There were other places within the vicinity that she could lie and pinpoint as her groups location.

But if she opened her mouth and gave him the name of a random settlement, he would want to search it, and if he came back from that hunt empty handed, he would immediately pin the blame on her. What would he do to her then?

"I made you a promise, didn't I? Your group will be safe," the man pressured. His hand clamped down on Marley's left shoulder, fingers pressing hard against her flesh. "We just want to take you back to them, is all. They won't come to any harm."

"How am I supposed to believe you?"

"You have my word."

He smiled again, the muscles in his cheeks straining to lift his lips. There was nothing real about it. His eyes were hollow and emotionless, smile like a crescent moon. They each reflected the darkness in the room, and that was it. Every gesture so far had been synthetic. She was smart enough to work that out.

She was also smart enough to forsee his 'word' meant nothing. It was like flimsy plastic blowing in the wind. A fake ploy into coaxing the truth from her. He would never get that.

It was time. Marley's game was over.

"No," she denied firmly, planting her feet on the ground. The man's face dropped, lips forming a line as straight as his posture, and his hand instinctively tightened around her shoulder. "I'm not telling you anything."

In a blur of blossoming anger, the man retracted his hand from Marley's shoulder and moved it to her face. His fingers pinched her chin tightly, head arching down so it loomed mere inches from her own. She could see those menacing eyes from a close distance now, brewing with hatred. Brewing with malevolence. There, she could see his buried motives come to light.

Maybe he'd been nice once. Maybe not. He didn't have kind eyes, so perhaps this was the person he had always aspired to become since before the Outbreak ─ a superior. A callous leader.

"I don't want to get violent," he warned darkly. "And I won't have to."

Marley rendered her limbs immobile, eyes pinned to his while her chin was still trapped in his unrelenting grip. She held her head higher, not wanting him to know she was afraid.

"But if you don't start talking, I'll bring Maggie in here and you can make a choice."

That was a threat. Not against her life, but against Maggie's.

"I'll give you ten seconds."

She wrenched her chin free from his hands and kicked the chair back with all her weight, the wooden legs screeching against the floor, "No."

Unfazed, the man placed his hands on his hips, "Five seconds."

"Screw you."

He tried to make a grab for her, hands groping through the gloomy yellow light gushing from the half-cracked ceiling lamp. She lurched out of his grasp, scrambling back to the corner of the room. He didn't even look remotely interested in playing a game of cat and mouse, and rummaged around in his waistband for, assumably, a weapon. He didn't even see her as a threat. That annoyed her more than the fact she was a hostage in a strange place.

He reminded her of Shane.

Little Bird.

In that moment, Marley's vision became clouded by red.

She unfurled her little bird wings and lunged toward him.

Marley reached for the first thing she could get hold of ─ his hair. She carded her fingers into every strand of well-pampered auburn hair that she could, yanking his head back with all of her force. He cried out, hands reaching to cradle his scalp, but she was strong enough to keep him at bay, pinning her knee behind his back. Her chest almost imploded with the sheer magnitude of adrenaline coursing through her ─ it transformed her into something she never knew existed inside of her. Bloodthirsty. Dangerous.

Vision spotted crimson, Marley slammed the man's head against the metal table-top.

He bellowed like a wild animal with its leg caught in the vices of a bear trap, clawing at the injury as if that were going to help in the slightest. It wouldn't. This was irreversible.

Marley's fingers latched further into his hair, pulling his face back away from the table. She caught a glimpse of his nose: crooked, bent on an angle, spewing blood. Rivulets of crimson dribbled down his neck, staining the fabric of his pristine button-up shirt. She slammed his face down again, and his scream cracked through the room like a whip hitting against the stone walls.

She could barely even see straight ─ the adrenaline was like a drug. The room danced circles around her, the walls blurred and distant. Her teeth were clenched together so tightly that she could feel the bones straining in her jaw.

And then she saw the blood on her hands and everything came crashing back.

Lori.

Her screams.

Carl and his grief. Rick's dissent to insanity.

The knife that ripped the mother open, and hands that pried at an already gaping wound.

Lori.

Marley almost choked on the gasp that worked it's way through her throat, bursting from her mouth in an explosion of amplified emotion.

The man took her fleeting moment of distraction to gain the upper hand. Blood still dripping down his face, he kicked his leg back like a bucking horse and sent Marley hurtling into the wall. She groaned on impact, hand shooting to her throbbing ribcage. There was no time to regain her senses ─ the man had her encaged in his arms. He pinned her in a chokehold and she felt her throat close up, oxygen struggling to flow through her system.

Fortunately, Maggie taught her how to remove herself from a situation such as this.

Marley sunk her teeth into the man's hand, and when he yelped in pain, she threw her head backwards. Pain blossomed in the back of her skull, and the man's already-broken nose cracked. She was released.

But her relief was short lived. She saw a fist hurtling in her direction, and it was an unavoidable blow to the head.

Everything went black.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

and damn.

beth and theo are my fav
besties <3
as soon as marley comes back,
the trio will form and their
"antics" will begin, and by
"antics" i mean the constant
bullying of each other.

fun times!