Fox. Don't ask.

He hissed, whimpering softly when she pulled at his makeshift bandage, nodding jerkily at her soft question. Though sore wasn’t how he’d have described it. It felt like his leg was on fire, and it ached so deep even his bones seemed to hurt. He felt dizzy and his stomach kept flipping until he thought he’d hurl if he wasn’t careful.

Matt hugged him a bit closer and then swung him up gingerly into his arms. “Come on. We need to get you cleaned up so we can get that taken care of.” He said gruffly, glancing at Katya. “Go get the supplies we got from that AMS center. I’ll take him to my bedroom once he’s clean.”

He made tracks into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. He set son down despite Zach’s protest and vanished long enough to grab some clean clothes, grateful that they’d packed some smaller items.

When he returned to the bathroom, Zach was starting to slump over and he cursed softly. “Alright bud, we’re gonna get you out of these clothes and clean you off. Fox can’t really help you if you’re covered in grime.” He glanced up as Fox returned. “Think I’m going to need your help getting him out of—”

“No!”

Still, she knew she had to put that aside. She remembered her mother’s voice. It’s okay, Katerina. Breathe. A deep breath in, and a long breath out. That’s it. Now, remember, that our bodies are very good at defending themselves. They are clever, and they are ruthless. You are not going to get sick.

She smiled at Zach, reassuringly, and then nodded. “Okay. I will bring them up to you.” She headed to go and get the supplies she’d carefully sorted, making up emergency incident packs, thinking about what could happen, splitting the resources so they could make sure that everyone had everything they needed, and nothing would be wasted. 

“I know. Marshall saw her.” Matt hugged his son a bit tighter, then relaxed back when Fox began speaking.

Zach offered a tentative smile, though he was soon frowning as he tried to compare her to James Bond. She didn’t look like a spy. He glanced at his father. “Are you sure she’s not a spy? She’s pretty enough dad.” He eyed his father. “Who’s my favorite turtle?”

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing him again. “Donatello because he had the best toys, but you liked Leo’s color better.”

“Okay…” He looked back at the woman and then followed her gesture to his leg and panic immediately washed through him. He pressed closer to his father, shifting to the opposite side of her. “It’s nothin’ big.” He lied.

Matt could feel the terror in his son’s body and he felt his own heart rate escalate. “Zach…” He drew back to peer at his son. “Fox isn’t a doctor, but she took care of my shoulder. Did a good job too. Until we find a doc, she’s the best we’ve got. Let her have a look.”

Zach shook his head, clinging tighter to his father. When his father repeated his name again with a tone that said louder than words that he wasn’t going to drop the subject he happy that he was safe or not he would be in trouble, he drew back to peer up at his dad. “I don’t want to die. I can get better right? You won’t let her…”

The bottom fell out of the world, and if he hadn’t already been on his knees, he would have been on them in that moment.

Shit.

He’d been bitten. There could be no other reason for his reluctance. He was going to turn. Fuck. She swore internally. She had no idea how to deal with this. She assumed it was the bite that spread the disease. She knew it made sense. If it was like other diseases, HIV, or something similar, then it would be spread into the blood by a bite. 

She wished they knew more about it. How fast would it affect Zach? Would he die and then wake up? Would he just get sicker? 

“Zach. We need to see what happened to you, okay?” She crouched down, and took hold of his ankle, gently, but firmly, and tugged at the shirt, untying it. “I am not going to hurt you, little one.” Her rational mind knew that she should kill him before he turned. But there was no way she could hurt the terrified boy in front of her. She was reminded of another child, in a different part of the country, equally terrified, and she abruptly shoved it down. “It is going to be okay.” She shifted round in front of him, leaving the bite for a moment, looking him dead in the eyes. “Zach? Nothing is going to happen to you.” She knew it wasn’t a promise she should make. She couldn’t guarantee he would be okay. Hell, she didn’t even know where to start with helping him, but she was going to try. If he died, she’d have to live with the guilt anyway. 

She watched and listened carefully as Fox explained a more practical method of using the weapon.

When the machete was handed to her again, Kennedy took it in her hands, ready this time to handle the weight. She stepped forward and took a deep breath, remembering Fox’s advice. When she swung again, she did her best to mimic Fox’s actions and was surprised when she didn’t hurt herself again. However, the machete didn’t quite lodge correctly and fell loose; but to her it was certainly an improvement.

“Imagine I should just swing this thing over and over until I get it right,” she laughed quietly.

Katya smiled at the compliment. “I lived in Russia. My Papa ran a private security firm. I worked for him. I would be... a bodyguard, or... whatever.” She shrugged. She’d loved her job. She’d known it was what she wanted to do since she was about three years old, and she loved it. She’d loved training, too, helping her fellow students.

She watched Kennedy carefully, and smiled when she got a good swing action. “There you go! That did not hurt, right? The movement is... smoother, it goes the way the muscles are supposed to move... If that makes sense.”

“Remember that Walkers are less...” She gestured, vaguely, not knowing the word in English. “They are less, ah, плотный... Less hard to cut through. They are more like eggs, hard on the outside and then squish inside.” She smiled. “But yes, practise makes perfect.” She nodded. “We can also practise with some sticks or something. With each other? For a moving target, you know?” She nodded, encouragingly. “Maybe when my arm is less... broken.” She laughed, gesturing with the cast on her right arm, her demeanour entirely changed now that she was not only helping, but making everyone safer.

Everything would be okay now and it was safe to cry with his father. “I tried to stop her dad. I tried.” He pressed closer, remembering again the determined look in his mother’s face. “She wouldn’t listen. Told me to run home…” His own shoulders shook as he gave his confession, one crime after another. He’d broken into a house and he knew that was illegal. “I stole Mr. Stoddard’s car an’ then I wrecked it. Not on purpose, one of those things…” When he finally ran out of sins to confess, he sagged against his father, sure that the worse was yet to come. 

——-

For the first few minutes all Matt could really do was clutch his son to his chest, breathing him in as he let the truth sink in. Zachary was alive. He’d lost Claire, but their son was alive. Her little miracle was proving himself once again.

When he finally tuned into what his son was saying he was actually fairly impressed. After all, Zach was only eight. To be so cool in such a stressful environment—well it was a skill some veteran agents couldn’t master. At the final confession, he started laughing. He couldn’t help it. Shaking his head, he drew back to frame his son’s face. “Zach, you could have set several houses on fire and I wouldn’t be mad. I’m just glad you’re alive.” He said, brushing his thumb along the boy’s wet, freckled cheek.

He could read the protest in his son’s face and he was even more proud of him than he could have said in that moment. “You did what you had to survive son. I know I said there was never an excuse to break the law, but I think the world just proved me wrong. Sometimes it’s the only option left if you don’t want to die.”

She crouched down, so she was level with them. “Hallo, Zach. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled. “Your Papa has been very brave, and I guess you have been ever braver, no?” She hadn’t really interacted with children much, aside from her siblings. She didn’t mind them, though, unlike some of the people she worked with who wanted to play the big gruff man standing in the corner. Children saw more than most, they could get places the younger ones couldn’t, and she knew it was important to take advantage of that. An hours chat with a young child could give her more information than a month of surveillance. Not only that, but it was kind of fascinating to see their world view, the ways they saw the place they lived.

She hadn’t been able to help checking him over, and she gestured down at his injured leg, which he had, at least, managed to tie up. Smart kid. “You are hurt? I can have a look at it. I helped your Papa when he was hurt. I look after people for my job. Like... Ah... The... Spy man, James Bond? But I do not work for the government.” She chuckled. “I work for my Papa. He is home in Russia though.” A slight pang went through her, and she swallowed, though her smile didn’t falter. She hoped he was okay. He had to be okay, they all did, they had all the safety precautions they needed, the company helicopter they’d only got last year that she’d got lessons for for her birthday - she’d only been to two though before she’d come over to Texas - was fully functional, so they would have been able to get Felix.

Zach had never been more relieved to pull onto his Uncle Marshall’s drive in his life. That two hour trip had never felt so long in his life. He glanced over at the English guy. He was nice enough, and he’d helped to keep him distracted, but now all Zach could think about was finally seeing his dad. His leg throbbed but his shirt seemed to be holding the blood in at least—excluding what had slid down into his shoe.

The truck ground to a halt and he heard his uncle climb out, but he didn’t move. He waited for ‘Kit’ to slide out before he finally forced himself to scoot down to the tailgate, smiling when Duke bounced around the truck. “Go on boy, check it out.” That seemed to be all the big German shepherd needed, for he bounded from the truck with a bark and started zipping around the driveway and yard. He was just debating the best way to get down without drawing too much attention to himself and the fact that he was hurt when he heard the door to the house open.

He glanced up, saw his dad, and decided it didn’t matter. Practically catapulting himself from the truck bed he hurtled toward his father, relief overwhelming his pain for a few moments even if he still limped—he didn’t feel it. “DAD!!”

Matt heard the truck long before it arrived and stood by the window, watching, forcing himself not to hope too much. It was unlikely that his son would be alive after all. He knew that. After seeing Bridgeport, a town not even a quarter of DFW, it was even more unlikely and he knew it. What little hope he had left dimmed when Marshall climbed out of the cab and slammed the door, followed by JD and a stranger. Then another stranger became visible from the bed of the truck and his heart skipped a bead. He slid closer to the window, his grip on the sill white knuckled, and then another head, smaller, a mixture of tousled brown and golden hair gleaming in the morning sunlight.

He barely remembered crossing over to the front door.

It rattled from the force he put behind opening it, but he didn’t care. His son was alive. He crossed the yard, meeting the small lurching figure halfway. He crushed him to his chest, ducking his face into his neck and shoulder. “Hey buddy…” His shoulder protested the weight and grip so he sank to his knees so his son could rest on his feet, but didn’t let go.

She looked over, watching it carefully, though she didn’t really think that there would be anything sinister in the truck. If anyone was driving with a Walker in the truck, they were either superhuman, or quickly on their way to becoming one themself. 

She was ready to throw the knife as something ran across the yard, from the truck, perhaps she’d been wrong, but it was too fast, and it was shouting Dad.

She gasped, softly, moving forwards, watching them embrace, Matt on his knees in the dry dirt, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh...” She’d known he’d had a son, of course, but after she’d found out about his wife, she’d assumed that he’d died along with her. To find him here...

Pausing as she reached for the shampoo, she stared in surprise when Fox suddenly began to talk in earnest about everything that she was thinking.  The woman had struck her so far as more the ‘strong-silent’ type.  She hadn’t been expecting to get any real answers to her questions.  More of a ‘he is himself’ followed by stony silence.

The explanation she received, however, was not only surprising but surprisingly understandable.  If you were used to only taking orders from one person in your life, someone that you trusted implicitly, then it would be very hard to suddenly shift and begin accepting someone else’s judgment on things.  Especially if the other person was her Father.  It sounded as though she’d spent a lot of her life learning from her Father, doing as her Father expected and looking up to him.  

While she spoke, JD massaged the shampoo through her hair, working her nails down to the other woman’s scalp and gently scratching (she knew that was one of her favorite parts of getting her hair washed) before rinsing out the shampoo.  Reaching for the bottle again (she had washed her own hair 3 times before she felt it was really clean and she doubted Fox would feel differently) she said, “I never had that kind of relationship with my Father.  I mean, I learned to listen really carefully to what he and Mom told me.  Didn’t have a choice really, we spent a lot of time in places where ignoring safety advice from adults could get you killed.  But I can’t say I ever really found myself needing to rely on him quite that much or listening to him that carefully.”

She shrugged as she again massaged the soapy bubbles through the other woman’s hair, “To be honest, they were usually way more interested in their own business than me.”  Her eyes widened as she quickly said, “I mean… not that they didn’t care about me!  They did, I’m not trying to pull some ‘woe is me, my poor life, mommy and daddy didn’t love me’ type of thing.  They totally did.  But,” she shrugged, “they had their own things and I wasn’t really interested in following in either of their footsteps.”

She sighed as she again rinsed out the soap and grumbled, “Who knew I’d be living their dream.  Probably would have fought less on hand-to-hand, though in my defense I still say Mom enjoyed putting me on the matts way more than any woman should enjoy thrashing their kid.”

She listened quietly, and nodded. “Well, my Papa was both my Papa and my boss. And in my line of work it pays to listen to your boss, especially when he is a good boss. And my Papa was the best.” She opened one eye, looking at her. “That is not me just saying that. We had a waiting list.” She grinned. Their variable rates made them very desirable, along with having her, and a few agents, who were trained higher than most private security firms, for people who might have need of someone who was equipped to deal with people genuinely setting out to kill them, not amateurs with a grudge, they were the best their was.

Well. One of the best. 

She sighed, and then grumbled slightly. “Да, he listens to your ideas, but he wants to спать с тобой, no?” She grinned, looking up at her with a twinkle in her eye, her mood soaring now that she wasn’t covered in filth any more. She’d never had much interest in anyone really, and she was not going to even start thinking about that while she had to keep people safe during the literal Apocalypse. “With me I suspect it is just that he wants me to shut up.” She shrugged, closing her eyes again. “As long as it works, I do not care if it annoys him. He does not like me, and I am not going to compromise security, for the sake of being his friend.” She wrinkled her nose, and shook her head, sighing, relaxing back into her touch.

     “That actually sounds fantastic. Thank you, Fox,” she replied appreciatively.

     She followed Fox towards the bale of hay and took the machete as it was handed to her. It felt heavy in her hands, making her body sulk slightly from the weight. It wasn’t that she was weak; on the contrary, Kennedy was in top shape. She was a long-distance runner with amazing calves and quads to kill. But she had little training with upper-body and wasn’t exactly a born fighter. She knew she could learn and was determined to do so, though, and that was the important part.

    “Okay,” Kennedy said, glancing towards the hay and feeling a little foolish. Doing her best to recall movements she’d seen in fighting movies, Kennedy carefully lifted the weapon and ran-trot forward, bringing it down diagonally into the hay. 

“We do not have very strong shoulders. Men are better, for.. muscle... you know.” She didn’t have the word, but gestured, miming large shoulder muscles. “But you do not want to just move your shoulder. You have seen tai chi, maybe? This is the kind of action you want. Only not so much, and not so slow.” She showed Kennedy how to move, the swinging action coming from her back heel, her hips and upper body pivoting, smoothly bringing it down. “Okay, now you try again.”

She flipped it in her hand, making sure she caught the dull edge, and offered it back to her. “It is difficult at first, but we can maybe get a bag or something up in the barn, and practise on that. Also we can use sticks to get the movement right, on people. Maybe you can hit Marshall with a few, no?” She grinned. 

One of her favourite rifles, she was hoping to get it for her 18th. When he realised this, her father laughed, and told her that the day he died was the day she could have this.

Why do people keep asking me these things? I would not know, and I don’t care.

    Kennedy listened to Fox’s reasoning. It was logical enough. She wanted to learn everything. She wanted to be able to defend herself but a part of her was terrified. Hand-to-hand combat with a Roamer was less than ideal. She’d be more likely to fall, to be attacked, to be bitten if she let them get that close. But Fox had a point; attracting a herd of them was the last thing any of them wanted.    

“Okay, come with me.” She headed to the back door, and tilted her head, before heading up the side of the house, grabbing a machete she’d put there beforehand, and handing it to her. “We will try this first?” She grabbed some straw bales, and piled them up until they were about the height of a person. “I know it is not very good... We could make a dummy maybe...” She pondered.