〰

The last time Elodie had held a paintbrush, dipped in a bright sunny yellow, she couldn't even remember.

Most likely, that would have been at school. Sitting at the front of the classroom, working quietly on her art project. She'd often draw little sharks, swimming alongside fish in the ocean. It was kind of silly, since sharks ate fish, but there was something nice about the idea of predator and prey coexisting in peace. It made her feel warm inside.

She'd always worked alone, though. No one ever wanted to pair up with her, and with an uneven number of kids in the class, someone always ended up on their own. That someone was usually Elodie. She used to pretend she liked it that way, that she was perfectly fine drawing by herself, that she was happiest when it was just her and the paper. After all, who wanted to be the third wheel in a group when you didn't quite fit in?

Now though, someone was willingly joining her. Mika sat across from her, cross-legged on the floor, rocks scattered between them. They were each painting their own rock with brand new paint Maggie had given to Elodie. It was different for her—felt different. Though not bad different. Good different.

Elodie glanced up from her own rock, taking a quick peek at Mika's work. Her rock was pretty, with a bright, smiling princess on the largest side and sparkles dusting the rest. Elodie didn't know who the princess was at first, but Mika had told her the princess' name was Cinderella. Elodie had never really seen any Disney movies. Her mom had always put on whatever Jamie wanted to watch, and it wasn't princesses or fairy tales.

Looking back at her own rock, Elodie frowned a little. Her fingers were covered in paint, and her palm was just as messy. But Maggie had assured her they could clean it up easily, so Elodie didn't mind the mess.

Her rock wasn't half bad either, though. A big, orange flower sat in the middle, its petals stretching out. A small sun sat in the corner, because flowers needed sunlight to grow. She still needed to add some clouds, but she'd have to wait for the paint to dry first. If she painted them too soon, everything would mix together, and the colors would just end up a big mess.

"I'm happy Maggie found the paint," Mika said happily, her brush dancing over her rock. Technically, it wasn't her rock, as it came out of Elodie's collection. But her collection had grown to the point where Daryl had told her to either get rid of them herself, or he'd start hurling them at walkers. So Elodie had given a few away. To Mika. To Lizzie. To Carl. She didn't mind.

"Yeah," Elodie said, squinting slightly in concentration as she continued painting. "I'm almost finished with this one."

"Can I see?" Mika asked, sounding both polite and excited.

Elodie held the rock up for her to see, feeling a little shy under Mika's gaze—a little afraid she would laugh at her or make fun of her.

"Pretty!" Mika said with a smile.

Smiling, Elodie's gaze dropped to her paint-covered fingers. "Thank you." It felt nice to hear.

After a while of painting quietly, Mika peered out of Elodie's cell, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at the level below. Elodie followed her gaze, curious but also a little annoyed. Mika probably heard something she couldn't. Not being able to hear faraway sounds was frustrating—just one more thing she had to deal with.

Mika turned back to her. "I think Glenn is going out. He's grabbing all sorts of stuff."

"Oh, right," she blurted, already scrambling to put everything down. She set the rock she was painting carefully on the floor, placing the brush on the small table beside her bed. "I'll be super quick. Gotta say bye-bye to Daryl."

"Okay," Mika replied sweetly.

Elodie hopped to her feet, carefully stepping over the rocks and paint supplies scattered across her cell floor. As she moved toward the stairs, she wiped her hands on her jeans, though the streaks of yellow and orange paint remained stubbornly on her fingers.

Descending the steps, she spotted Glenn near the door to the courtyard. He was loading a small duffel bag with supplies—bottles of water, bullets, and a flashlight sticking out of the top. He turned at the sound of her approaching footsteps, his expression warping into a warm smile when he saw her.

"Hey, El," he said, his voice wrapping around the words like a comfortable blanket. "What's up?"

"Are you leavin' a'ready?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a paint-streaked hand. She tried to keep her voice even, but it trembled ever so slightly. It was always like this when people left, even if she trusted them to come back.

"Yeah," Glenn said, straightening up and slinging the bag over his shoulder. "We got a run to make before it gets too late. Don't worry, though. We'll be back before you know it."

"Okay." Elodie nodded, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Can I go outside with ya? Just to say bye to Daryl?"

"Of course," he said, offering her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Come on, I'm leaving anyway."

They walked through the prison corridors together, Glenn slowing his pace slightly to match her smaller strides. He greeted nearly everyone they passed, while Elodie kept her head down, trailing slightly behind him. She wasn't a fan of when new people tried to talk to her—too many "hellos" that made her neck flush. Glenn didn't push her to engage like Daryl often did, though.

Outside, the group was busy preparing for the run. Daryl stood by the car, securing a tray of supplies in the trunk. Sasha and Tyreese were nearby, double-checking their gear, and Zach and Beth were off to the side. Beth was probably there to see Zach off, Elodie guessed. It seemed like the kind of thing you did with boyfriends. Not that Elodie really understood boyfriends. To her, they seemed like regular friends—just with kissing.

That's exactly what Beth did now—pressing a quick kiss to Zach's cheek, then laughing as she turned and walked back toward the prison, leaving Zach standing there, shoulders slumped. Whatever she'd said had clearly disappointed him.

As Beth passed, she ruffled Elodie's hair with a cheerful "Hey, Elodie," before disappearing inside. Elodie offered her a small smile, but her attention shifted quickly to Daryl.

"It's like a damn romance novel," he commented sarcastically, hauling a tray of supplies toward the trunk, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Elodie, and he quickly shoved the supplies into the trunk. "Thought you'd be paintin' with those supplies Maggie got ya," he told her.

"I was," Elodie said, glancing at Glenn, who patted her back and wandered off to help with something else. "But Mika saw Glenn grabbin' stuff and said ya were leavin'. Wanted to say bye."

Daryl crouched slightly so he was more at eye level with Elodie. "Ya don't gotta come out here every time we leave, y'know. We'll be back soon 'nough."

"I know," she said, scuffing her sneaker against the ground. She fidgeted with her fingers, the dried paint flakes crumbling off and drifting to the ground. "But I wanna."

Daryl changed the subject, gently grabbing her right hand and holding it up to wipe the dried paint off her palm. "Maggie know you're runnin' 'round lookin' like this?"

Elodie shook her head. "She said the paint comes off easy."

"Better hope she's right." He straightened, his hand resting briefly on her head before he stepped back. "You make sure to finish those paintings for me, a'right? Gotta see it when I get back."

"I will," she promised. She wasn't sure if he'd care about the rocks, but she liked the idea of him coming back to see what she had done. "I can make ya one."

"Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What would it be?"

Elodie squinted in thought, her lips twisted to the side. After a moment, she shrugged. "I dunno. I'll think of somethin'."

"Lookin' forward to it." Daryl nodded at her, a twitch of a smile flashing across his face. "You head on back inside, yeah? I'll let ya know when I'm back." He tapped a finger against the walkie-talkie clipped to her hip, drawing her attention to it.

They'd been using those a lot lately—just for simple check-ins, making sure the other was okay, or for Elodie's random questions that always seemed to pop up in her busy brain. It was their little way of staying connected when they were apart, even if it was just for a quick "you good?" or "where are you?".

Elodie nodded, looking down at her walkie-talkie, her hands automatically starting to fidget with the loose buttons. "'Kay."

〰

It was hard to focus on the black-and-white football rolling toward her when every time Elodie blinked, her eyes kept drifting to the walkers clawing at the fence in the distance.

She had been kicking the ball around with Carl and Patrick for about an hour now. There wasn't much else to do in the prison on slow days like these. When there wasn't anything important—like readings, or chores—there wasn't much to do at all.

Most of the time, Elodie would bother Glenn with her word puzzles. Daryl was a lost cause in that area. All he ever did was write down the longest word he could think of and try to convince Elodie that was the right answer. It was funny, but it didn't get her anywhere. Glenn, on the other hand, actually helped.

In fact, she was almost done with her current book. There was only one page left. Last time she saw Michonne, she'd made sure to ask her to look out for more of those books. Michonne had promised she would, so Elodie was doing her best to savor the last pages and not rush through them too fast.

When she wasn't buried in her puzzles, she was hanging out with Carl. These days, that usually meant Patrick was tagging along too. Elodie didn't mind; Patrick wasn't bad. He was a little older, and that made her feel... well, weird. Kind of like how she felt when Jamie's older friends came over for dinner. Like they were all secretly laughing at her. But Patrick wasn't like that. He asked her odd questions about her hearing, sure, but he didn't mean any harm. She knew that. He just didn't understand. So she answered his questions the best he could.

Just like now, when he kicked the ball toward her with an easy swing of his foot.

"Hey, Elodie," he said, as the ball rolled toward her. "I've been wondering—can you hear those walkers? By the fence?"

She caught the ball with the bottom of her shoe—which was starting to feel a bit too tight—and glanced up at the fence. The walkers had gathered in a group, clawing at the wire like they were working together to get through. Their jaws opened wide, yellow teeth gritted. But that was it. "Uh... no. I can imagine what sounds they're makin', but I can't hear 'em."

"I told you," Carl commented, nodding at Patrick. He then shot Elodie a look, making a little bit of a funny face. "He didn't believe me."

Patrick slumped his shoulders. "I just don't get it."

"What don't you get?" Carl asked, his voice holding a bit of impatience now.

He hesitated, glancing at Elodie before speaking again. "Because she can hear us just fine right now. Right?" His eyes searched hers for confirmation.

Elodie twisted her lips to the side and shrugged before sending the ball rolling toward Carl. She used the side of her foot, just like he'd shown her—no toe kicks allowed. "Fine, yeah. Not well. Not like ya hear me."

"Damn," he sighed, and Carl shot him a look. "What? She's lucky."

"Why?" she asked, pulling her brows together.

"Those growls—" He made a face, like the thought was too much. "They're gnarly. You should be glad you can't hear them."

Carl passed the ball to Patrick, who sent it smoothly to Elodie with a single, effortless kick. It was impressive, really. But when Elodie tried to replicate the move, her foot completely missed the ball. A frustrated growl escaped her as she bent down, placed the ball in position with her hands, and then kicked it away.

"I'm not lucky," she muttered to Patrick. Maybe he hadn't meant it the way it felt, but the words still stung.

How could she be lucky with her hearing loss, when all she wanted was to hear the birds chirp on the early summer mornings? How could she be so lucky, when all she had ever wanted was to hear the crisp crackle of snow being stepped on? The soft raindrops on her roof, the gentle hiss of a candle's flame?

None of that was hers to hear.

Patrick fell silent, and she could see the moment it hit him—how her hearing wasn't some random thing that made her special or cool,  it was just a loss she'd never asked for, and sometimes it felt like a huge hole in her chest.

Before anyone could say anything else, Carl clapped his hands sharply and bent down to grab the ball off the ground. "Alright, change of subject. What the hell are Lizzie, Mika, Luke, and Molly doing?"

Elodie squinted. "Where?"

Carl pointed sharply. "There."

Her eyes followed his gesture and froze as she saw what they were doing. The four kids were right in front of the walkers, too close for comfort, grinning and pointing at them as the undead snapped and snarled, their clawed hands stretching through the fence, desperate to reach them..

"We can just leave 'em be—" Elodie tried.

"No." Carl was already marching toward them, football tucked under his arm like he was about to tackle someone.

She knew Carl had a thing against Lizzie and Mika, but especially Lizzie. He didn't hide it. It was like he was trying to make it obvious that he didn't like her, like he thought she was too weird. Elodie thought it was a little mean, but what could she do? When she tried to tell him to be nicer, he'd just laugh it off and change the subject, knowing she'd forget about it soon after.

As they got closer, Elodie could start to make out what the kids were saying. And it wasn't good.

"Nick, look over here!" Molly squealed, waving at one of the walkers, a huge grin on her face.

"This one's Wayne," another voice chimed in, followed by a giggle.

Elodie's stomach turned as she looked at the walkers clawing at the fence, their hollow eyes locked on the kids. She exchanged a glance with Carl—he wasn't pleased, and neither was she. The difference between them, though, was that Carl wasn't just thinking about doing something. He was actually doing something. He picked up the pace, forcing Patrick and Elodie to hurry after him.

"You're naming them?" Carl called out, loud enough for them to hear. The four kids turned around, blinking at him like he'd just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

"Well," Mika began, tilting her head and gesturing toward the walkers, "one of them has a name tag, so we thought all of them should."

While Elodie thought that was pretty thoughtful, if not a little strange, Carl seemed to disagree with her. He thought it was weird. Point blank.

He shifted the football from under his arm to the palm of his hand. "They had names when they were alive. They're dead now."

"No, they're not," Lizzie disagreed. "They're just different."

Elodie stuffed her hands behind her back, whipping from heel to toe. She knew—or rather, everyone knew—Lizzie had always had a different view of the walkers. While most of them saw the walkers as mindless, flesh-eating monsters, Lizzie always insisted that they were just people who were sick, in a way.

It clearly was a sensitive topic for Carl, because he snapped, "What the hell are you talking about? Okay—they don't talk. They don't think. They eat people. They kill people."

"People kill people," Lizzie reasoned, unfazed by his tone. "They still have names."

"Have you seen what happens? Have you seen someone die like that?"

Wincing, Elodie tugged at the back of his shirt. "Carl—" she mumbled, because he might be crossing a line by saying that. She wasn't sure if he was intentionally being cruel, but the topic of loss was still raw for a lot of them.

Sure enough, Lizzie's face hardened. Her lips pressed together into a thin line, and Elodie could see the anger brewing behind her eyes. "Yeah, I have."

"Carl," Elodie tried again, this time lightly tapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon—let's jus' go."

But of course he didn't listen. When did he ever? Instead, he shrugged Elodie's hand off, staring Lizzie down. "They're not people and they're not pets. Don't. Name. Them."

Lizzie shook her head, her hair bouncing slightly as she stepped back from Carl. "We're supposed to go read. Come on." Molly and Luke reluctantly followed her, though the occasional glance over their shoulder showed that the walkers were still a curiosity for them.

Mika, however, hung back. She stood for a moment, eyes shifting between Patrick and Elodie, before finally speaking. "You guys coming to story time tonight?"

Elodie shook her head. Patrick glanced at Carl, clearly a bit hesitant. He shifted his weight, a small shrug slipping from his shoulders as he muttered, "Uh, yeah," his voice tinged with embarrassment.

Mika nodded, her smile unaffected. "That's okay. See you then, Patrick." She gave a small wave and turned, her pace quickening as she joined the others heading toward the library.

As soon as the group was out of earshot, Carl shot Patrick a look, a small, almost amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Patrick sighed and shrugged with a sheepish grin.

"I go sometimes," he admitted, clearly a bit embarrassed. "I'm immature, okay? You wouldn't dig it. It's for kids."

Carl raised an eyebrow with a small laugh, clearly entertained. Then he turned his gaze to Elodie. She met his look, then shrugged her shoulders casually.

"I dig it," she said simply, though she wasn't exactly sure what that even meant. She had just said it because Patrick had, and honestly, it felt kind of funny to repeat it.

Patrick always used sayings like that, just like Daryl did. She didn't always understand, but she'd learned not to ask too many questions—especially after the one time Daryl had sighed that long, exasperated sigh. The kind that meant, don't ask. Her mother had taught her that.

"I'm gonna head up there, too," Patrick said, pushing his black glasses up his nose. He had once made Elodie wear them, and they had slid right off her face. After seeing herself in the mirror, she decided on the spot that glasses were not her thing. "I'll catch you later, young sir and lady."

Patrick was about to step away when a sudden cough overtook him. He quickly turned to the side, but it didn't quite work out the way he intended. A few droplets of his cough landed—right in Elodie's face.

Carl froze for a second before bursting into laughter. "Dude, you just coughed in her face!" he managed to say, his words almost lost between fits of chuckles.

Eyes widening in horror, Patrick immediately raised his hands in apology, stammering, "I'm so sorry! I swear, I didn't mean to!"

After a blink, Elodie's hand went to her cheek, wiping her face with her sleeve. She looked at Patrick, trying her best not to be too grossed out. "Uh... it's okay," she said, though the words felt a bit awkward as they left her mouth, like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or gag.

Patrick looked like he might just drop dead from embarrassment as he muttered an apology again, "I'm really sorry. I really didn't mean it. Ugh, I'll never cough again."

Still grinning, Carl slapped his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "There we go. Progress."

Not quite meeting her eyes, Patrick rubbed the back of his neck nervously and muttered, "I'll... I'll catch you guys later," before backing away, trying to escape the awkwardness like a man on fire.

Turning to Carl, Elodie tried to keep a straight face. "Ya didn't have to laugh so much," she said, still a little grossed out but not wanting to make it worse. "He prob'ly feels bad enough."

Carl gave her an exaggerated shrug. "I would take a shower if I were you," he said, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

Elodie shot him an annoyed look, but the smirk on his face made it hard to stay mad for long. She wiped her face again with her sleeve, still feeling a little bit of the awkwardness linger, even though she knew Patrick didn't mean to do it.

"Stop," she grumbled, though she was trying not to laugh.

"His germs are gonna melt into your pores and eat you from the inside out. I'd really take a shower."

"That's gross, Carl." Face twitched into a firm grimace, she added, "It's a'right. It can't be worse than walker blood."

Carl pretended to be thoughtful for a second, tapping his chin. "You sure you don't want to wear a hazmat suit or something?"

"I ain't doin' that." She said it with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying the hint of a smile. "I gotta help Beth do the laundry. Bye, Carl."

She didn't give him a chance to respond as she quickly walked off toward the laundry area, where Beth was most likely waiting for her. That was one of the new things that had become part of the routine at the prison. Everyone had something to do now, because they were a community. They all had to pitch in.

Elodie didn't like it. She strongly disliked that it was different now. She'd never had to do chores back home. Back Before. She remembered the first time laundry duty came up—she nearly cried because she couldn't even figure out how to fold a shirt. She still couldn't.

Grimacing one last time, she used the sleeve of her shirt to really scrub her cheek, trying to get rid of that icky feeling.

✎ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

back again with a new chapter woohoo!!! (i'm late again i know ok sorry)
i hope you guys liked this chapter because things are gonna HAPPEN soon :P

don't forget to vote and comment as you read! it truly motivates me to write more because when you comment, i know someone out there is still breathing life into this story and i'm not just throwing my words into the void :)

as always, love you all to death! <3