Chapter 17

The calming blue living room of Glenn's house felt smaller with Rick Grimes standing in it,not calming at all, his presence intimidating even when he wasn't trying to be. Charlotte hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the scene, Rick near the window with his arms crossed, Glenn hovering awkwardly by the kitchen doorway, and Carl sitting rigidly on the cold leather couch, his jaw clenched and his hands fisted in his lap, head lowered almost shamefully. That confused her.

"Charlotte," Rick acknowledged with an unreasonably firm in his voice when he spotted her. "Sit down."

It wasn't a request. Charlotte moved carefully to the armchair across from Carl, avoiding his eyes. She could feel the tension radiating from him, could see the way his shoulders were set like he was preparing for an argument. Charlotte couldn't help but let her mind drift to when she was in Carl's position after being caught outside of The Sanctuary's walls when she wasnt supposed to be.

Rick didn't waste time, got straight to it. "Glenn came to see me this morning. Told me about what he walked in on last night."

Charlotte's stomach dropped, but she kept her expression neutral, her head almost twitching to give Glenn a death glare. Beside her, Carl's jaw tightened further, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Dad—" Carl started, but Rick held up a hand.

"I'm talkin'." Rick's voice was quiet, but there was steel underneath it. "What I want to know is how long this has been goin' on. And don't lie to me, because I'll know."

Carl straightened up, meeting his father's gaze directly, he wasn't scared. At least he didn't look it. "Few weeks."

"Few weeks." Rick repeated, his voice flat, eyes narrowed. "And in all that time, it never occurred to you to mention it?"

"Didn't think it was anybody else's business," Carl replied, his drawl becoming more pronounced the way it always did when he was getting defensive, protective even.

Rick's expression darkened. "Not anybody else's? Carl, we had a conversation about this. Multiple conversations. I specifically told you that gettin' involved with Charlotte wasn't a good idea."

That made her head snap up. They'd had conversations about Carl not trusting her? What? When?! Why hadn't Carl told her? Warned her?

"You said I shouldn't trust her," Carl shot back. "That's different."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standin', it looks like you did exactly what I told you not to."

Charlotte felt heat rise in her cheeks, but she stayed silent. This was between Carl and his father, and she wasn't sure she had any right to throw in her two cents into it. But listening to them talk about her like she was some kind of dangerous object that Carl had picked up without knowing made her skin crawl.

"You don't know her like I do," Carl was saying, his voice getting louder. "You don't see who she really is!"

"I see a girl who's been livin' with our enemy for five years. I see someone who's been trained to kill, to lie, to do whatever it takes to survive in Negan's world." Rick's voice was getting firmer, finishing his words more abruptly. "And I see my son forgettin' everything I taught him about being careful."

"She's not the enemy!" Carl stood up suddenly, his hands clenched into fists. "She saved people during the walker attack. She's been helping with supply runs, with patrols—"

"Because we've been watchin' her every move," Rick interrupted, his voice a low growl. "Because we haven't given her a choice."

"That's not—that's not true." But Carl's voice wavered slightly, uncertainty creeping in.

Charlotte felt something cold settle in her stomach. Was that really how they saw her? As someone who was only helping because she was being forced to?

"Carl, you're only twenty," Rick continued, his voice taking on that patient, lecturing tone that Charlotte could see was grating on Carl's nerves. "And I know you may think you're a grown adult, you think you know everything, but you don't. But you don't understand the kind of manipulation someone like her is capable of."

"Someone like her?" Carl's voice was dangerously quiet, his eye looked like it was twitching.

Rick seemed to realize he'd crossed a line, but he pushed forward anyway. "Someone who's been living with Negan. Someone who's been part of his organization. Someone who—"

"Someone who's sitting right here," Charlotte said quietly, her first words since entering the room, head lowered as she awkwardly fiddled with her fingers that were resting on her slightly frayed jeans.

Both men turned to look at her, and Charlotte could see surprise flicker across Rick's face, as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Charlotte—" Carl started, but she shook her head.

"No, it's fine. Let him finish." Charlotte looked directly at Rick, her voice steady despite the uncertainty creeping in. "You were sayin' something about what kind of person I am?"

Rick's expression became slightly uncomfortable, but he didn't back down. "I'm saying that Carl doesn't understand the full picture. He's young, and he's... attached to who you used to be."

"And what about who am I now?" Charlotte asked.

Rick was quiet for a moment, studying her face, carefully deciding his next words. When he spoke, his voice was gentler but no less firm. "I don't know. That's the problem."

The words hit Charlotte like a physical blow, but she kept her expression neutral. "I see."

"Dad, you're being—" Carl started, but Rick cut him off.

"I'm being realistic. Charlotte, you seem like a nice girl, and maybe you were before all this. But you've been living with Negan for five years. You've been shaped by his values, his methods. And I can't let my son get involved with someone who might—"

"Might what?" Charlotte's voice was sharper now, her respect for the man starting to slip. If he didn't respect her, why should she?!

"Might hurt him. Might be usin' him for information, or to get closer to our defenses, or—"

"Dad." Carl's voice was warning, but his father wasn't listening.

"—might convince him to do something stupid because he thinks he's in love with a Savior," Rick finished, the word coming out like a curse. Charlotte didn't even bother to recognise the immediate regret in his expression, her eyes widening in pure shock.

The silence that followed was deafening. Charlotte felt like she'd been punched in the stomach, all the air leaving her lungs at once. A Savior. That's all she was to him, all she'd ever be. Not Charlotte, not the girl who'd grown up alongside Carl, not the woman who'd been trying so hard to find her place in this community. Just a Savior.

"Charlotte—" Carl said desperately, reaching for her, but she was already standing up.

"It's fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's fine. I understand."

"No, it's not fine," Carl pressed fiercely, turning back to his father. "Dad, you can't—"

But Charlotte was already walking toward the door, her movements unsteady but precise. She could hear Carl calling her name, could hear the sound of a scuffle as Rick apparently stopped him from following, but it all seemed to be happening from very far away.

A Savior. After weeks of thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to belong here, that people were beginning to see her as more than her past, she was still just a Savior. Still the enemy wearing a familiar face. Of course she didn't have a place here. That would be stupid.

Charlotte made it back to her room and closed the door quietly behind her before the tears started. Her back hit the wall and she slid to the floor. She let herself bury her face in her knees, letting the sobs tear through her chest like broken glass.

She'd been stupid to think it could be different. Stupid to think that people could see past what she'd been, what she'd done. Stupid to think that Carl's feelings for her were enough to overcome the obvious truth that she didn't belong here, would never belong here.

You're a Savior, Rick's voice echoed in her head. You're a Savior.

Charlotte cried until she had no tears left, until her chest ached and her eyes were swollen and raw. Then she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head, trying to disappear into the darkness and uncertain security of her sheets.

Hours passed. The sun moved across the sky, throwing different patterns of light and shadow dancing across her room, but Charlotte didn't move. She could hear Glenn come home, could hear his footsteps pause outside her door, but he didn't knock. Probably afraid of what he'd find, or maybe just giving her space to fall apart in private. Or maybe he just couldn't be asked for her, she thought bitterly. Why would he be any different to the others who didn't want her here?

She must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing she was aware of was a soft tapping at her window. Charlotte ignored it at first, hoping who she knew it was would go away, but the tapping persisted, becoming firmer knocks.

"Charlotte." Carl's voice drifted through the glass, quiet but insistent. "I know you can hear me. Please."

Charlotte pulled the pillow over her head, but she could still hear him.

"Charlotte, please. Just let me explain."

After several more minutes of persistent tapping, Charlotte finally dragged herself out of bed and went to the window with a dramatic groan. Carl was balanced precariously on the tree branch outside, his face etched with worry and guilt.

She opened the window but didn't step back to let him in, her blue top that she hadn't been bothered to change was crumpled and messy. "What do you want, Carl?"

Up close, she noticed the worry and concern etched on his face shamelessly, eyebrows lowered carefully as he studied her disheveled and tired look, mentally and physically.

"I want to apologize," he said. "For my dad, for what he said. He was wrong, Charlotte. You're not—"

"I'm not what? A Savior?" Charlotte's voice was flat, emotionless. "Because last I checked, I was. For five years, I was. I am. Aren't I? Because I'm sure as hell not an Alexandrian."

"That doesn't mean anything!" he shrugged his shoulders, eyes wide as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Doesn't it?" Charlotte finally stepped back, letting him climb through the window, but she kept her distance, arms crossed, the bags under her eyes more visible to him under the warm light of her room. "Your dad seems to think it does. And maybe he's right."

Carl closed the window behind him and turned to face her fully. His expression was pained when he took in her appearance, her red-rimmed eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, the way she was holding herself like she might break apart at any moment.

"Jesus, Charlotte," he breathed. "I'm so sorry. I tried to come after you, but he—"

"Grounded you?" Charlotte's laugh was bitter. "Yeah, I figured. Can't have the sheriff's son fraternizing with the enemy."

"You're not the enemy." Carl breathed, tired, he stepped closer, his hands reaching for her, but Charlotte moved away.

"Stop sayin' that," she said, her voice cracking. "Stop pretendin' like it's not true. I lived with them, Carl. I fought for them. I killed for them. I am exactly what your dad says I am."

"No, you're not—"

"Yes, I am!" Charlotte's voice rose, all the pain and anger and self-loathing she'd been holding back spilling out. "I'm a Savior, Carl! I'm everything he's afraid of! Everything you should be! I'm dangerous and broken and I don't belong here!"

"Don't say that—"

"Why not? It's true!" Tears were streaming down her face again, but these weren't the quiet, devastated tears from earlier. These were angry tears, bitter tears. "I thought... God, I was so stupid. I thought maybe people were startin' to see me differently. I thought maybe I could be more than what I was. But I can't, can I? I'll always be Negan's girl to you people." She spat, her voice unsteady and emotional.

Carl looked like he'd been punched. "That's not how I see you."

"But it's how everyone else sees me. And maybe they're right to." Charlotte wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to regain some composure, eyes meeting the floor, glaring at it, but it wasn't an angry glare. More of a sad and self doubted one. Like the ground was a mirror. "Maybe your dad's right to want to protect you from me!"

"My dad's an asshole who doesn't know what he's talking about," Carl said fiercely, compassion slipping out. "And he's wrong about you. Charlotte, you're not—"

"I should never have let this happen," Charlotte continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Should never have let myself believe that...that this could work."

"Charlotte, please—"

"You should go," she said quietly, her fight suddenly draining out of her. "Your dad's probably wonderin' where you are."

Carl stared at her for a long moment, his expression desperate. "I don't care what my dad thinks. I care about you."

"Well..." She shook her head as she finally met his eyes, pain evident, even through her tears before she whispered. "maybe you shouldn't."

The words stood between them like a wall, and Charlotte could see the moment they hit Carl, the way his face crumpled with hurt and disbelief, eye wide.

"You don't mean that," he said softly, biting down on his inner lower lip.

Charlotte wanted to take it back, wanted to throw herself into his arms and pretend that Rick's words hadn't carved something vital out of her chest. But she couldn't. Because maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better if Carl stopped caring about her before she hurt him the way she seemed to hurt everyone she got close to.

"Maybe I do," she said instead, her voice a harsh murmur, betraying her thoughts bitterly.

Carl was quiet for a long moment, studying her face like he was trying to memorize it. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I—" He stopped, swallowed hard, tried again. "Charlotte, I—"

I love you. The words were right there, hanging in the air between them, and Charlotte could see them in his eyes even though he didn't say them. Part of her wanted to hear them, wanted to let them heal some of the damage Rick's words had done. But a larger part of her was terrified of what those words would do to both of them.

"Don't," she said quietly, shaking her head, then lowering it. She bit down on her lip to fight the quiver. "Please don't."

Carl's jaw worked silently for a moment, his hands clenched at his sides. Finally, he nodded.

"Okay," he said, shaking his head. He was hurt. She did that. Again. Of course she did. "Okay." He shrugged, his tone low.

He moved toward the window, then paused with his hand on the sill.

"For what it's worth," he said without turning around, "I've never seen you as a Savior. Not once, more like someone I could save. I see you as Charlotte. Just Charlotte. And that's enough for me."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness and leaving Charlotte alone with her tears and the echo of words he hadn't quite been brave enough to say.

Charlotte sank onto her bed, fresh sobs tearing through her chest like she was swallowing a knife. Because she'd heard what he hadn't said, and it made everything so much worse.

I love you too, she thought, curling up painfully, the words breaking her heart even as they remained unspoken. And that's exactly the problem.