A Lovers Quarrel?
The Walking Dead
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"Best quote"

The gunfire had slowed sometime around two o'clock in the morning, and night time stillness had finally spread across Woodbury. But the smell of the dead spread outside the town's walls came in waves with any small uptake in wind. Tomorrow would be a day for cleanup. Dead bodies, no matter the permanence of their state, could spread disease like wildfire, and their mere presence killed the beauty and sheen of Woodbury itself. The goal had always been to forget — the bodies outside the walls would hardly permit such a rewriting of history, not even in the minds of those rewriting it.

But even at three o'clock in the morning, there's no room for real rest. There's never rest for the wicked, only thoughts and permanence of thoughts. In Phillip's case, the lack of rest didn't directly translate to curfew, that has always been the beautiful thing about being the man in charge, he could go where he wanted when he wanted with no recourse, yet he could also choose the penalty for stepping out of line. These small powers always had ways of multiplying themselves. Which is why, in his blue jeans, striped button up shirt, and black leather vest, he finds himself at the infirmary, checking in on the joint's latest patient. Not that he expects her awake. With a single wave, he gives the guard on duty a short break, no more than five minutes, they'd agreed in quiet nearly inaudible whispers.

From the lit up hallway, the Governor peers into the darkness of the room, inspecting the evidently "sick" Andrea from his chosen vantage point. He recognizes the voyeurism of it all — his voyeurism, yet he continues to stare, considering at length the events of the last twelve hours.

The room itself looks like a room designed for observation rather than real medicine. A large mirror affixed to the wall opposite the door is presumably one way, but for whatever reason, has been deemed unusable by Woodbury's townfolk and resident physicians. Perhaps it's a privacy thing. Putrid green lineoleum tiles line the floor of the room, matching the walls in their hideous tones that some of the town's kids called the infirmarys 'Ode to Vomit'. The running joke had been if you weren't sick going into this particular room, you'd certainly be sick coming out.

A single twin bed is pushed up against the wall adjacent to the door. White sheets, white pillows, and a metal white bed frame all give it the feel of a hospital. As does the familiar smell of bleach.

A skylight, provides the light in this room, allowing eerie reflections from the moon to dance across the walls.

The figure of what may presumed to be Andrea lies underneath the sheet on the twin bed. For a good two hours, she paced the puke green floors. Her insides felt twisted up into knots and her nerves were taut as strings. And so, she paced. Back and forth, watching the night grow darker through the skylight. While she never tried the door, she continually pressed her ear up against it to hear if anyone was outside guarding her. Every single time, she could hear the tell-tale shuffle of feet or whispered talk.

Frustrated, she debated escape through the skylight, but couldn't find anything tall enough to reach the ceiling. Why has she been trapped here? What is Daryl doing in Woodbury? Was he telling the truth about Maggie and Glenn? After another hour, all the twitchy energy that had filled her up started to evaporate. There's only so long one can keep up the adrenaline and worry before the body starts to shut down and force itself to recover. She already had had a long day even before the attack on the town.

Without realizing what she was even doing, she found herself lying down and then pulling a sheet up over herself - even over her head as if she were a child and if she couldn't see anything then nothing would ever hurt her. She's much too old to believe that any more, but the act gives her a measure of comfort. To say she slept would be untrue. She closed her eyes and timed passed, however she never drifted off into unconsciousness. That would be a kindness and at the moment she doesn't feel like she deserves any kindness.

The door opens. Andrea tenses and waits to hear who it might be visiting her, despite the fact that she knows. It's him. It has to be. She waits to see what he will say or do, however there is no more noise, no movement she can hear. He does not speak. Realizing she must take matters into her own hands, the woman who was left behind first by her adopted family and then by the woman who saved her, slowly sits up. Allowing the sheet to drop into her lap, she looks at the Governor and studies him. He's a good man, isn't he? He saved a town, saved so many people.

But, if that's the case, then why so many secrets? Why would he lock her up? Her expression is hard to read. It falls somewhere between worry and sadness. Not saying anything, she takes in her lover and tries to judge what kind of man he is. Is he a Rick? Is he a Shane? Maybe she should stop comparing. The silence stretches.

Evidently 3 am is not a time for talking. The Governor loiters in the doorway, his expression an odd solemn rage while his eyes narrow, taking in this woman he wonders about. His fingertips have, rather unconsciously, moved to his back pockets, almost making it seem like he's placed his hands on his hips. But they don't remain there. A single hand rises and scratches the back of his head, acting as a prompt for his weight to shift and the tread of his shoes to bring him into the space of the room.

"You seem calmer," he observes towards the skylight. While it acts as the eerie light source of the room, it also provides eyes to the outside, and at this time of night, usually stars. Yet the sky is strangely black tonight. Nearly red in the Governor's mind.


His arms cross one over the other atop his chest at the same time his chin levels with the floor. "We can't let them go. Assaults on Woodbury are assaults on our very way of life. Our people could've gotten hurt." There's a gruffness to his voice when he speaks, it's hoarse thanks to the hours of yelling to clear the walls of biters. Even if Andrea disagrees with him, the man gets results. In this case, the walls held.

It's hard to see the Governor's expression. The moonlight casts shadows and he keeps shifting in and out of them. Andrea stands, pushing the sheet to the side. She doesn't cross the room, however. The woman puts her hands in her front pockets, mirroring Philip's own. "I'm not worried a mob is going to kill anyone I know," is her answer. While she may appear calmer, she feels like someone has a string tied to either end of her and is now playing tug of war. If nothing else, it's easy to see that she's tired.

She can understand why he's angry at her, but she had her own reasons for jumping into action. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other. The next part is hard for her to say, but she has to found out. "Daryl said you had Glenn and Maggie here." Maybe she just wants him to deny it. She wants him to dispel the worry that she's backed the wrong horse. This place is idyllic and safe. It could be a home that feels like before. Now she's realizing that may come with a price. That doesn't mean she wants it to, though. "That they were beaten."

For now, she doesn't address letting Daryl go or not. First things first, after all.

"Well that's progress," comes the equally gruff response to Andrea's first thought. The Governor's chin rises again as he stares up at the night sky through the skylight. The way the weak moonlight showers over him juxtaposes the light and dark, making him appear more like a fallen angel than a man — hinged somewhere between the forces of good and evil. He takes another step into the room, a stitch closer to Andrea.

His eyes narrow some, producing worry lines across his forehead. "I don't know who Maggie and Glenn are," he lies. Not that it's possible to tell. "I'm not sure what your friend was talking about." As far as them being beaten, well he doesn't address that.

Andrea certainly would call it progress that mob rule hadn't taken over Woodbury. With a frown, she studies the shadowy Governor. It's hard to make out his expression. She wants to believe him, but she also knows Daryl. He wouldn't have just attacked the town for no reason. And who else was with him? She saw a man in a prison uniform - what did that have to do with the group.

"Glenn and Maggie. They were with my group before Michonne found me." They were also the ones that left her behind. "He wouldn't lie." Looking up at him, she takes a step forward and pulls her hands out of her pocket. "Are there people here who would do that?" For the moment, she leaves the Governor out of it: blameless.

The repitition of their names elicits little reaction from the Governor, prompting him to shrug once more. "Who wouldn't lie?" He clarifies while his face scrunches into a confused scowl, fuelled by perplexion and interest. Of course all of this could be for nought.

"Daryl." Daryl may not be the most honorable man, but he's at least honest. "He's not my friend. Or, well, he was. Maybe, a long time ago. I haven't seen him in quite awhile." Six months in the zombie apocalypse is practically a lifetime. "I honestly thought he was dead. I thought they were all dead." It made it easier to cope with the thought that they abandoned her. "Just…why would he say someone beat up Glenn and Maggie if it didn't happen? Daryl's a violent man, but he doesn't just attack people for no reason." Andrea shakes her head, looking down at the shadows playing over their feet. "I can't make head or tail of it. Were they really here? Just tell me. There's a reasonable explanation, I'm sure. They came and were questioned, it got out of control, it was a mix up, just help me make sense of this, Philip." It's only then, when she invokes his name, that she looks up, squinting in an attempt to meet his eyes - or eye.

The perplexion continues as the Governor draws his face into a scowl and his head lulls lazily to the side. Yes, he's tired. But then, he's also playing up the card, toying with the information Andrea provides, and letting it shoot around in his brain like marbles in a Hungry Hungry Hippo game. "I don't know who they are." He holds up a hand, as if asking for Andrea's patience as he sorts this out for himself, "I know most of what goes on in this camp, and I'm not sure what your friend was talking about." His eyebrows arch, "Is he your friend? Seems you've been alone with Michonne for a long stretch."

Absently, the Governor sucks on the inside of his cheek. "It is, however, possible that one of my men picked them up without my knowledge — "

Andrea is attempting to make sense of her own information. A lot has happened over the course of an evening. Michonne blinded the Governor, she found out that he had kept a zombie girl in a back room - not to mention an aquarium of detached heads - and now Daryl has shown up and said that Glenn and Maggie were here and beaten. "Like I said, I thought he was dead. And since he's not, he left me to die when a swarm attacked our camp." She frowns. "If they did, then I'd like to figure out who it was and talk to them. That'll certainly clear things up, wouldn't it?"

She glances around. "Are you going to keep me locked up in here much longer?"

The Governor's lips purse as if he's still distracted by the notion of someone else beating Glenn and Maggie. And then, absently, as if Andrea has interrupted whatever he's been working out in his brain, he disagrees, but not argumentatively, "No," in a way it's almost gentle. Almost. "You're not clear headed on this matter. I will leave it to one of our more clear-headed people with no vested interest."

And then, he shakes his head, "You can leave in the morning. I know you're not a child, but honestly, it's been a long night, and it's well passed curfew…"

The slight edge is detected. Andrea looks back at the Governor for only a moment. She opens her mouth to argue, but then thinks better of it. "Just promise me you'll keep me updated on what happens, won't you? I'd like to know what's happening." Plus, if someone in the camp did find and then beat Glenn and Maggie, some sort of actual chain of command would hold them accountable. "And it involves people I know." She doesn't call them friends. She's not sure if she wants to in front of the Governor. And she's also not sure if it's true.

As for staying here the night, she sighs, resigned. "Fine. You don't have to keep me guarded. I'm not going anywhere."

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