Chapter 12

A few days later...

The morning air was crisp as Charlotte and Carl made their way beyond Alexandria's walls, the tension between them thick enough to cut with the blade she had been trusted with for the first time, after her heroism during that one night when walkers were attacking, everyone had become a bit more trusting with Charlotte, besides one boy, of course. Rick had assigned them to gather medical supplies from an abandoned pharmacy about two miles out, a simple run that should have taken a few hours at most. But nothing was simple when it came to the two of them.

"Keep up," Carl muttered, not bothering to slow his pace as Charlotte struggled slightly with a heavy backpack on her shoulders.

"I'm keeping up just fine," she shot back, adjusting the straps. Her shoulder was still tender from the walker attack days earlier, but she'd be damned if she'd show weakness in front of him.

They'd been walking in hostile silence for twenty minutes, the only sounds were their footsteps on the cracked asphalt and the distant moans of scattered walkers. Charlotte found herself studying Carl's profile as he walked slightly ahead of her, the set of his jaw, the way his calloused hand never strayed far from his weapon, the confident stride that spoke of years of survival experience, growing up in the apocalypse did that to kids.

He looked so much like Rick sometimes it was unsettling. The same determined expression, the same way of carrying himself like the weight of everyone's safety rested on his shoulders. But where Rick had earned his authority through years of leadership, Carl seemed to wear it like a badly fitting coat, too big, too heavy, borrowed from someone else.

"You're staring," Carl said without turning to face her.

"I'm watching for threats," Charlotte replied smoothly, a bit too quickly. "It's called being alert."

"Right." Carl's voice was thick with skepticism. "And I suppose that has nothing to do with trying to figure out how to escape?"

Charlotte felt her temper flare. "If I wanted to escape, I'd have done it already. I had plenty of opportunities during the walker attack."

"Sure you would have." Carl finally turned to look at her, his expression mocking. "Because running straight to Negan worked out so well for you last time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Carl stopped walking entirely, forcing Charlotte to a halt as well. "It means maybe you should ask yourself why your 'precious leader' dumped a truck full of walkers on innocent people."

Charlotte's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "He was making a point."

"He was throwing a tantrum because he didn't get his collection early." Carl's voice was getting louder, more aggressive. "And you helped clean up his mess, which makes you either incredibly stupid or incredibly naive."

"I helped because people were going to die!"

"People that you claim you don't even care about! People you've spent weeks telling me you hate!" Carl stepped closer, his face flushed with anger. "So which is it, Charlotte? Are you the heartless Savior who doesn't give a shit about anyone in Alexandria, or are you someone who actually has a conscience?"

Charlotte felt something dangerous uncurling in her chest, so she pointed a finger at him. "You don't know anything about what I care about."

"I know you care more about impressing that psychopath than you do about doing the right thing."

"And I know you care more about your hero idea than you do about the people who actually matter to you." Charlotte's voice was rising to match his. "How many people have suffered because Carl Grimes needed to prove he was brave? How many people have died because you couldn't just follow orders?"

Carl's face went pale, then almost blushed out of embarrassment. "That's not—"

"That's exactly what this is!" Charlotte was shouting now, suppressed rage finally finding an outlet. "You think you're some kind of hero, but you're just a selfish kid who can't stand not being the center of attention!"

"At least I'm trying to protect people instead of helping the man who—"

"Who what? Who gave me a home when you abandoned me? Who taught me how to survive when you all left me to die?"

"We didn't abandon you!" Carl's voice cracked with frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Until it stops being a lie!"

They were nose to nose now, both breathing hard, both trembling with fury. Charlotte could see the pulse beating rapidly in Carl's throat, she could smell the soap he'd used that morning mixed with sweat and something else, something that reminded her of safety and comfort and everything she'd lost. Everything she missed.

"You want to know the truth?" Carl said, his voice low and dangerous. "The truth is that you're scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of admitting that maybe, just maybe, we're telling the truth. Because if we are, then everything you've built your life on for the past five years has been a lie."

Charlotte felt like he'd slapped her. "Fuck you."

"You're scared that if you let yourself believe us, you'll have to face the fact that you've been helping a monster. That you've become someone Maggie wouldn't recognize."

"Don't you dare—"

"She wouldn't, would she? If Maggie could see you now, see the person you've become, what do you think she'd say?"

Charlotte's control snapped.

Her fist connected with Carl's jaw before either of them fully realized she'd moved. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his hand flying to his face in shock.

"Jesus!" he gasped, working his jaw carefully. "Charlotte—"

She hit him again, this time in the stomach, putting all of her training and fury behind the blow. Carl doubled over, wheezing, and Charlotte pressed her advantage, grabbing his shirt and driving her knee toward his ribs.

But Carl had been training too, and his reflexes kicked in just in time. He caught her leg, used her momentum against her, and sent them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.

They rolled on the gravel, each trying to gain the upper hand, trading blows and insults with equal venom. Charlotte managed to get on top, straddling Carl's hips as she grabbed for his throat, but he bucked her off and scrambled to pin her arms.

"Stop it!" he panted, trying to hold her down without actually hurting her. "Charlotte, stop!"

But she wasn't stopping. Five years of training with the Saviors had taught her every dirty trick in the book, and she used them all, elbowing him in the ribs, trying to bite his hand when he got too close, trying to kick at his legs and torso whenever she could get leverage.

Carl was stronger, but Charlotte was faster and more vicious. She managed to break free from his grip and launched herself at him again, her nails raking across his cheek as she tried to almost claw out the last eye he had left.

"Enough!" Carl roared, finally losing his temper entirely.

He caught her wrists, used his weight and last bit of strength to drive her backward until she hit the side of an abandoned car. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and before she could recover, Carl had her pinned against the rusted metal, her arms trapped above her head, his body pressed against hers to keep her from moving.

They were both breathing hard, both bleeding from various scratches and impacts. Carl's lip was split, and there was a bruise already blooming on his jaw where Charlotte's first punch had landed. Charlotte had a cut on her forehead and what felt like the beginning of a black eye.

"Are you done?" Carl asked, his voice rough.

Charlotte tried to struggle against his grip, but he was too strong, and the fight had taken more out of her than she cared to admit. "Get the fuck off me."

"Not until you calm down."

"I said get off me!"

"And I said not until you calm down." Carl's face was inches from hers, so close she could feel his breath fanning across skin. "Jesus, Charlotte. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Charlotte's voice was shaking with rage and something else she didn't want to label. "You're the one who—"

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly aware of their position. Carl's body was pressed against hers from chest to thigh, his hands still wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head. She could feel the heat of him through their clothes, could see the way his pupils were dilated, could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

The anger was still there, burning hot in her veins, but it was mixing with something else now, something dangerous and confusing that made her stomach flutter and her skin tingle where he touched her.

Carl seemed to realize it at the same moment. His grip on her wrists tightened slightly, and his eyes dropped to her lips for just a second before snapping back to her eyes.

"Charlotte," he said softly, and his voice was different now, rougher, more uncertain.

She could have broken free then. Should have broken free. But instead she found herself studying his face, noting the way his hair had fallen across his forehead, the way his scars caught the light, the way he was looking at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once.

"Let me go," she whispered, but there was no real force behind the words.

"Do you want me to?" Carl asked, and his voice was barely above a breath.

Charlotte opened her mouth to say yes, to demand he release her, to put distance between them and the confusing tangle of emotions that seemed to crackle in the air between them. But before she could speak, the sound of approaching footsteps made them both freeze.

"Carl! Charlotte! Where the hell—"

Rick rounded the corner of the abandoned building they'd been fighting beside and stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes took in the scene, his son pinning a young woman against a car, both of them disheveled and breathing hard, Charlotte's shirt torn and riding up slightly, Carl's hands still wrapped around her wrists.

"What the hell is going on here?" Rick's voice was thunderous.

Carl jerked backward like he'd been burned, releasing Charlotte and stumbling several steps away. "Dad, it's not—"

"Get away from her!" Rick stormed over and physically grabbed Carl by the shoulders, yanking him further back from Charlotte. "What is wrong with you? Hitting a girl?"

"I didn't—" Carl started, but Charlotte cut him off.

"He didn't hit me first," she said, straightening her clothes and wiping blood from her cheek. Her voice was steady, but there was still fire in her eyes. "I hit him."

Rick turned to stare at her. "What?"

"You heard me. I threw the first punch. And the second one. And I'd do it again if he wasn't such a fucking coward about fighting back."

"Charlotte—" Carl said, his voice warning, but she ignored him.

"What? It's true. You want to talk a big game about how tough you are, how you're trying to protect people, but when someone actually fights back, you hold back 'cause I'm a girl?" Charlotte's voice was mocking. "How very chivalrous of you."

Rick looked between them, trying to piece together what had happened. "Why were you fighting?"

"Because your son is an arrogant asshole who thinks he knows everything about everyone," Charlotte said bluntly. "And because I'm apparently not as good at controlling my temper as I thought."

"That's not—" Carl started again, but Rick held up a hand to silence him.

"Both of you, enough." Rick's voice was sharp with authority. "I don't care who started it. This was supposed to be a simple run, and your first time out. Not an excuse for you two to beat the shit out of each other."

"He deserved it," Charlotte said quietly, but with conviction.

Carl's jaw clenched. "I was trying to get through to her—"

"By bringing up Maggie?" Charlotte's voice was deadly quiet. "By telling me what she'd think of me?"

Rick's expression grew grim as he began to understand what had set them off. "Carl, you didn't."

"She needs to hear the truth—"

"The truth according to who?" Charlotte stepped closer to Carl, ignoring Rick's presence entirely. "According to the boy who got her killed in the first place?"

"I was trying to save everyone!" Carl exploded.

"And I was trying to survive!" Charlotte shot back. "Which, in case you hadn't noticed, I've been pretty fucking successful at!"

"Enough!" Rick's voice cut through their argument like a whip. "Both of you, shut up. Right now."

They fell silent, though the tension between them was still thick. Rick looked at Carl, then at Charlotte, then back at Carl again.

"Carl, go check the perimeter. Make sure all that shouting didn't attract any unwanted attention."

"Dad—"

"Go. Now."

Carl hesitated for a moment, his eyes finding Charlotte's face. There was something in his expression, regret, maybe, or confusion. But then Rick's glare intensified, and Carl reluctantly walked away, leaving Charlotte alone with Rick.

Rick waited until Carl was out of earshot before turning to face Charlotte fully. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Charlotte grazed the cut on her forehead. "Your son hits like his father, I'll give him that."

"And you hit back."

"Damn right I did." Charlotte met Rick's gaze defiantly. "I don't let anyone talk to me like that. Not him, not you, not anyone."

Rick studied her for a long moment. "He mentioned Maggie..?"

Charlotte's expression hardened. "He said she wouldn't recognize the person I've become. That she'd be ashamed of me."

"And that's what set you off."

"Among other things." Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, looking up. "Look, I know you all think I'm some kind of monster. Maybe I am. But Maggie was my sister, and I'll be damned if I let some guilty kid tell me what she would or wouldn't think about the choices I made to survive."

Rick was quiet for a moment, considering. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler. "He cares about you, you know. In his own stupid, teenage way."

Charlotte let out a harsh laugh. "He has a funny way of showing it."

"He's angry. At himself, at the situation, at the fact that he can't fix what happened." Rick glanced in the direction Carl had gone. "And he's scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Of losing you again. Of watching you choose to go back to Negan." Rick's eyes were serious. "Of admitting that maybe some of this is his fault after all."

Charlotte felt something twist in her chest at his words, but she pushed it aside. "That's his problem, not mine."

"Is it? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were both pretty invested in that fight."

Charlotte's cheeks flushed slightly. "It was just adrenaline."

"Was it?"

Before Charlotte could answer, Carl reappeared from around the building. His face was carefully neutral, but Charlotte could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he avoided looking directly at her.

"Perimeter's clear," he reported to Rick. "But we should probably get moving. That fight might have attracted walkers from a while away."

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Charlotte, are you good to keep goin'?"

Charlotte tested her various aches and pains, then nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good. And I want both of you to promise me, no more fighting. We get the supplies, we get back to Alexandria, and we deal with whatever issues you have with each other there. Understood?"

"Understood," Carl said quietly.

"Charlotte?"

"Fine. But if he brings her up again-"

"He won't." Rick cut in quickly, glancing warningly at his son.

Carl's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Rick looked between them one more time, then shook his head.

"Come on. Let's get this over with."

They continued toward the pharmacy in tense silence, the weight of what had happened hanging heavy between them. Charlotte found herself stealing glances at Carl, replaying the moment when he'd had her pinned against the car, the way he'd looked at her, the question in his voice when he'd asked if she wanted him to let her go.

She should have said yes. Should have demanded he release her immediately. But in that moment, with his body pressed against hers and his eyes glossed over with something she didn't want to name, saying yes had been the last thing on her mind.

And that, more than the fight itself, more than the harsh words and the physical violence, was what truly scared her.

Because if she was being honest, and she tried very hard not to be honest about this particular subject, part of her hadn't wanted him to let go at all.

The pharmacy was a typical mid-apocalypse disaster, shelves mostly cleared out, broken glass on the floor, the lingering smell of grime and abandonment. But there were still some useful supplies hidden in the back rooms and behind the counter, and they worked in efficient silence to gather what they needed.

Charlotte found herself hyperaware of Carl's presence, of the way he moved, of the occasional glances he sent in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking. The cut on his cheek from her nails was still bleeding slightly, and she felt a strange mix of satisfaction and guilt every time she saw it.

By the time they'd finished and were ready to head back to Alexandria, the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded Charlotte uncomfortably of fire and blood.

The walk back was even quieter than the walk there had been, but the silence felt different now, charged with possibility and danger in equal measure. Charlotte couldn't stop thinking about the moment before Rick had interrupted them, couldn't stop wondering what might have happened if they'd been left alone for just a few more seconds.

It was only when they reached Alexandria's gates and she saw the familiar walls rising up around them that Charlotte realized something had fundamentally changed. Not just between her and Carl, but inside herself.

But for the first time since arriving back in Alexandria, the walls didn't feel like a prison.

They felt like a cage she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to escape from.

And that realization terrified her more than any fight, any argument, any physical confrontation ever could.