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Surprise! Fanfic Part Three
Jul. 19th, 2014 12:33 pmTHIS OLD DEATH
Fandom: The Walking Dead
AU; canon divergence
Pairing: The Governor/Rick Grimes
It takes a full week to clear Woodbury out, but damn if it isn't worth it, in the end. By the final hours they've settled into a groove, him and Philip out on the streets leading the hand-to-hand, with Morgan and his sharp-shooters backing them up headshot-wise whenever things get tight. Gotta stop wastin' bullets, these things don't growl on trees anymore, Philip growled at one point, earlier in the process, when people were still treating it like a George Romero free-for-all; Rick agreed. A quick vote made it official.
So they go in with axe and tire iron and baseball bat instead, machetes, golf clubs, Philip's huge-ass knife—a sort of haze takes over, calm yet ferocious, berserker frenzy cut with handyman fever. And long before the sun goes down on that final day, they're the only things left standing: unbowed, unbroken, almost no casualties. Him and Philip stood shoulder to bicep, not quite leaning on each other as they pant in unison, catch each other's eye, share a grin.
Whoever does this deed with me is my brother, from now on, Philip declaims, paraphrasing Shakespeare like a revival-tent circuit veteran, one of our foremost citizens, forever worthy of respect. All got yourselves a reserved seat on the town council, too, assumin' you want one.
That last part being a gamble of the sort Rick sees him making more and more, and almost always getting away with—a supposed honor that's actually a chore, and easy to slip out of without looking bad doing it. Thus leaving the way clear for Philip, Rick, and whoever either of them picks to fill the void to eventually become the primary voting block, Woodbury's spearhead, an effective end-run on other busy people's behalf 'round the very idea of democratic process.
“Government mainly slows things down, Richard,” Philip replies, completely unashamed, when Rick calls him on it; “where I'm from, at least. Or have you found different, over in Cynthiana?”
“Not usually,” Rick has to admit.
“'Course not. That's why we elect elected officials, in the first place—so's normal folk don't have to bother their pretty little heads 'bout the nitty-gritty, like where the fresh water comes from, or who makes sure the light turns on when you flip a switch.”
“You really think we can get that happening again, even after all the damage?”
Philip shrugs. “Don't see why not. It's basic civic engineering, not rocket science.”
A week later, the generators kick in for the first time since Z-day—B-day? W-day?—and everybody cheers.
The holiday atmosphere last quite a while, maybe 'cause everyone's just so goddamn happy to finally be living inside of actual buildings again, no matter whether or not they still have to prop the doors closed and sleep in shifts. People are on Philip pretty much 24/7, but whatever requests he can't field immediately, Rick soon finds he somehow ends up fielding for him; it's like they're joined at the hip, increasingly, in everybody else's eyes. Like people simply assume that when they're talking to one, they're also talking to the other.
“I'm not qualified for this,” he tells Philip, at one point, to which Philip just chuckles.
“You think I am?” he replies. “Tell you this,though—one thing you learn working in an office is that infrstructure's what keeps it all in place. Get the machine up and going, and from then on, it mainly runs itself.”
Still, it's not like he turns them away, ever: Governor this, Governor that. The human touch, he calls it. Or maybe he just likes to micromanage.
Essentials dispensed with, thoughts turn elsewhere. Philip takes up with Rowan, that girl who used to do P.R., but it's not like they date, exactly, so eventually she figures out it isn't going anywhere permanent—probably doesn't want to be forever known as That One Used to Do the Gov, for which Rick doesn't blame her. So they kiss and say goodbye, after which she moves on to Martinez instead, then Morgan (briefly, since he isn't really ready for casual sex as yet, no more than Rick himself), then that guy who runs Electric, and so on. After a while, it's like everybody who's not already taken's probably slept with everybody else at least once, though Rick still doesn't qualify for that roster. He doesn't know if he's married anymore or what, but he's in no great hurry to find out.
There's a party almost every week, with drinks, eventually cold. A few girls get pregnant, and worry over it, at least 'til Mrs Heppner—the one who came in already so—manages to get through having hers without any complications beyond the usual, even without hospital-grade drugs.
Most nights Rick either spends hanging with Morgan and Duane, or—increasingly—with Philip, going over reports, giving them. They play chess together sometimes, which is more enjoyable than Rick remembers it being. 'Course, that might well be because the last time he played it was with Shane, when they were maybe eight and nine, and he's almost certain it ended when one of 'em broke the board over the other one's head.
“So who taught you?” He asks, one evening, as they're setting up; white against black, with Rick black, for once.
Philip seems to think. “Old man made us learn,” he says, finally, “my brother and me, but I hated it, 'cause he'd never let you quit; had to play all way through, loser got the winner's chores, sucked all the damn fun out of it. Picked it up again when Penny was born and tried to teach her—boy, was she awful. Never did get the rules, entirely, but we had...” he trails off, then finishes: “It was a good distraction, especially—later on.”
“Carl never liked board games too much,” Rick offers, trying not to think about what Milton told him, regarding Penny Blake's last days. “Sports, that was his thing—go out, toss the ball. I took him hunting a few times.”
“That's good.”
“Bonding, right? Father stuff.”
“Yeah, that works pretty well, for most people. My brother liked it.”
“Not for you, though?”
“Not so much,” Philip agrees, eyes darkening.
He's an odd, proud man, Rick's beginning to see, under that crust of hale-fellow-well-met bullshit: self-taught, secretive, aloof. Given his druthers, Rick sometimes thinks if he could get away with it, he'd be happy not to talk to anybody at all for days at a time. But that's just not a possibility, not anymore: he's the Governor, after all. The man everybody looks up to.
Least I can do is take a bit of that off him, Rick thinks, and tries his best to, from then on. Which works pretty well, for a while.
(He's a liar, and you're the lie, Michonne will tell him, one day, a year or so from now. The face he puts on, when we feels like being sociable—people look to you first, like the two of you've trained 'em, so they don't see what-all he's doing, or planning to do. And I used to think you were in on it, but you're a good enough man, Rick, under everything. He's got you snowed too, like all the rest.)
These are the good days, though—Woodbury rising, everything in place. 'Til it's not.
End Part Three
Fandom: The Walking Dead
AU; canon divergence
Pairing: The Governor/Rick Grimes
It takes a full week to clear Woodbury out, but damn if it isn't worth it, in the end. By the final hours they've settled into a groove, him and Philip out on the streets leading the hand-to-hand, with Morgan and his sharp-shooters backing them up headshot-wise whenever things get tight. Gotta stop wastin' bullets, these things don't growl on trees anymore, Philip growled at one point, earlier in the process, when people were still treating it like a George Romero free-for-all; Rick agreed. A quick vote made it official.
So they go in with axe and tire iron and baseball bat instead, machetes, golf clubs, Philip's huge-ass knife—a sort of haze takes over, calm yet ferocious, berserker frenzy cut with handyman fever. And long before the sun goes down on that final day, they're the only things left standing: unbowed, unbroken, almost no casualties. Him and Philip stood shoulder to bicep, not quite leaning on each other as they pant in unison, catch each other's eye, share a grin.
Whoever does this deed with me is my brother, from now on, Philip declaims, paraphrasing Shakespeare like a revival-tent circuit veteran, one of our foremost citizens, forever worthy of respect. All got yourselves a reserved seat on the town council, too, assumin' you want one.
That last part being a gamble of the sort Rick sees him making more and more, and almost always getting away with—a supposed honor that's actually a chore, and easy to slip out of without looking bad doing it. Thus leaving the way clear for Philip, Rick, and whoever either of them picks to fill the void to eventually become the primary voting block, Woodbury's spearhead, an effective end-run on other busy people's behalf 'round the very idea of democratic process.
“Government mainly slows things down, Richard,” Philip replies, completely unashamed, when Rick calls him on it; “where I'm from, at least. Or have you found different, over in Cynthiana?”
“Not usually,” Rick has to admit.
“'Course not. That's why we elect elected officials, in the first place—so's normal folk don't have to bother their pretty little heads 'bout the nitty-gritty, like where the fresh water comes from, or who makes sure the light turns on when you flip a switch.”
“You really think we can get that happening again, even after all the damage?”
Philip shrugs. “Don't see why not. It's basic civic engineering, not rocket science.”
A week later, the generators kick in for the first time since Z-day—B-day? W-day?—and everybody cheers.
The holiday atmosphere last quite a while, maybe 'cause everyone's just so goddamn happy to finally be living inside of actual buildings again, no matter whether or not they still have to prop the doors closed and sleep in shifts. People are on Philip pretty much 24/7, but whatever requests he can't field immediately, Rick soon finds he somehow ends up fielding for him; it's like they're joined at the hip, increasingly, in everybody else's eyes. Like people simply assume that when they're talking to one, they're also talking to the other.
“I'm not qualified for this,” he tells Philip, at one point, to which Philip just chuckles.
“You think I am?” he replies. “Tell you this,though—one thing you learn working in an office is that infrstructure's what keeps it all in place. Get the machine up and going, and from then on, it mainly runs itself.”
Still, it's not like he turns them away, ever: Governor this, Governor that. The human touch, he calls it. Or maybe he just likes to micromanage.
Essentials dispensed with, thoughts turn elsewhere. Philip takes up with Rowan, that girl who used to do P.R., but it's not like they date, exactly, so eventually she figures out it isn't going anywhere permanent—probably doesn't want to be forever known as That One Used to Do the Gov, for which Rick doesn't blame her. So they kiss and say goodbye, after which she moves on to Martinez instead, then Morgan (briefly, since he isn't really ready for casual sex as yet, no more than Rick himself), then that guy who runs Electric, and so on. After a while, it's like everybody who's not already taken's probably slept with everybody else at least once, though Rick still doesn't qualify for that roster. He doesn't know if he's married anymore or what, but he's in no great hurry to find out.
There's a party almost every week, with drinks, eventually cold. A few girls get pregnant, and worry over it, at least 'til Mrs Heppner—the one who came in already so—manages to get through having hers without any complications beyond the usual, even without hospital-grade drugs.
Most nights Rick either spends hanging with Morgan and Duane, or—increasingly—with Philip, going over reports, giving them. They play chess together sometimes, which is more enjoyable than Rick remembers it being. 'Course, that might well be because the last time he played it was with Shane, when they were maybe eight and nine, and he's almost certain it ended when one of 'em broke the board over the other one's head.
“So who taught you?” He asks, one evening, as they're setting up; white against black, with Rick black, for once.
Philip seems to think. “Old man made us learn,” he says, finally, “my brother and me, but I hated it, 'cause he'd never let you quit; had to play all way through, loser got the winner's chores, sucked all the damn fun out of it. Picked it up again when Penny was born and tried to teach her—boy, was she awful. Never did get the rules, entirely, but we had...” he trails off, then finishes: “It was a good distraction, especially—later on.”
“Carl never liked board games too much,” Rick offers, trying not to think about what Milton told him, regarding Penny Blake's last days. “Sports, that was his thing—go out, toss the ball. I took him hunting a few times.”
“That's good.”
“Bonding, right? Father stuff.”
“Yeah, that works pretty well, for most people. My brother liked it.”
“Not for you, though?”
“Not so much,” Philip agrees, eyes darkening.
He's an odd, proud man, Rick's beginning to see, under that crust of hale-fellow-well-met bullshit: self-taught, secretive, aloof. Given his druthers, Rick sometimes thinks if he could get away with it, he'd be happy not to talk to anybody at all for days at a time. But that's just not a possibility, not anymore: he's the Governor, after all. The man everybody looks up to.
Least I can do is take a bit of that off him, Rick thinks, and tries his best to, from then on. Which works pretty well, for a while.
(He's a liar, and you're the lie, Michonne will tell him, one day, a year or so from now. The face he puts on, when we feels like being sociable—people look to you first, like the two of you've trained 'em, so they don't see what-all he's doing, or planning to do. And I used to think you were in on it, but you're a good enough man, Rick, under everything. He's got you snowed too, like all the rest.)
These are the good days, though—Woodbury rising, everything in place. 'Til it's not.
End Part Three
