Joe tore down the dirt path, the encounter still echoing in his mind. The gunfire, that bullet grazing him, Otis's dead eyes.
He pushed it down.
Ahead, the farmhouse came into view. The lights were on, shadows moving about.
The group's vehicles were scattered across the field like a makeshift motorpool.
Joe slammed the brakes in front of the porch, kicked the Harley onto its stand, and ran up the steps two at a time.
He burst through the front door.
Inside, Hershel was prepping to continue surgery.
His sleeves were rolled up, gloves on, and stress etched into every line of his face. The others turned, wide-eyed.
Joe stood in the doorway, soaked in blood and sweat, breathing like a man who'd sprinted through hell.
Without a word, he dropped the medical bag at Hershel's feet.
"Get to it."
Then he leaned back against the wall, clutching his shoulder.
Hershel blinked, then snapped into motion, tearing open the kit.
"Where's Otis?"
Joe didn't look up.
"Ambush. Some kind of black ops unit. Loaded with gear."
Hershel's face darkened.
"Don't tell Patricia. I need her focused."
Joe nodded.
Maggie stepped toward him, saw the pain behind his eyes. She took his hand gently.
"Come on," she said.
Joe didn't protest as she helped him down the hall. In the bathroom, she turned on the water and gave him a small smile.
"I'll be outside if you need anything."
The door clicked shut.
Joe peeled off his blood-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower. Steam rose. Dirt, sweat, and gore swirled down the drain.
The sting of the water on his wounds made him grit his teeth.
Clean but still aching, he stepped out and caught sight of his shoulder in the mirror. No exit wound.
'Damn!'
He pinched the skin with his thumb and forefinger and dug in.
A muffled grunt.
The bullet slid out slick and red.
Right then, the bathroom door creaked open.
Maggie stood in the doorway, mouth half-open in concern. Then her eyes flicked down, lingering just a beat too long on his bare chest, the towel at his waist.
"Mmm."
She blinked hard and shook her head like clearing a fog.
"Sit." She pointed to the tub's edge.
Joe sat.
She disappeared briefly, came back with a sewing kit.
"Any color preference?"
Joe chuckled, voice rough. "Dealer's choice."
She threaded a purple string through the needle.
"My favorite."
Joe gritted his teeth as she began stitching. Each pass of the needle pulled a low grunt from his chest.
"You're lucky I've done this before," she muttered, focused on the graze on his side.
Joe nodded once, pain flashing across his face.
But this time, he didn't flinch.
Maggie tied off the last stitch and leaned back, inspecting her work.
"Not bad, huh?" she said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.
"Might even hold."
Joe glanced down at the clean row of purple thread lining his shoulder. The skin around it was raw and angry, but the bleeding had stopped.
"Could've been worse," he said.
"Could've been pink."
Maggie smirked.
"Don't tempt me."
She grabbed a roll of gauze and gently wrapped his shoulder, her hands steady, practiced. Then applied a bandage over his other wound.
Even with the pain, Joe relaxed under her touch.
Once she was done, she sat beside him on the edge of the tub.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Then Maggie looked at him... really looked at him.
"You're not bulletproof, y'know."
Joe gave a tired half-smile.
"Yeah, the bullet I just pulled out of my own shoulder... Proves your point."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head.
Joe kissed her softly. "Here's your payment."
Maggie blushed, turning away. Her mind swirling.
...
Maggie sat beside Joe in silence for a long moment, the gauze in her hands now idle.
Outside the bathroom, voices murmured, boots scuffed floors, someone cried softly.
The world went on. But in here, it felt paused, like the eye of a storm.
Joe stared at the floor, jaw tight.
"Otis wasn't supposed to die," he said quietly.
"He was slow, yeah. But he had a good heart. Didn't deserve that."
Maggie looked at him. He wasn't crying. But his voice had thinned.
His shoulders were rigid...
Not from pain, but restraint.
She didn't rush to fill the silence.
"You made it back," she said finally.
"You got the equipment to save Carl..."
Joe scoffed.
"Doesn't feel like saving much when you have to leave someone behind."
She leaned closer, brushing his hand with hers. "You didn't leave him behind, Joe"
He turned to her, eyes locked on hers.
"There's more out there," he said.
"They're organized. Tactical. Like ghosts. They weren't just after supplies. They were hunting."
"You?"
He nodded.
"Maybe. Or maybe anyone who's still breathing. Either way, they're a threat."
Silence fell over the room. Maggie's face growing worried.
A second later, she stepped out, her face focused on a task.
...
Maggie stepped back into the bathroom, carrying a folded black shirt and a pair of jeans.
"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around in a towel," she said softly.
Joe gave a tired nod, took the clothes, and started getting dressed right there without a second thought. Modesty wasn't something soldiers had time for.
He tugged on the shirt, wincing slightly as it passed over his stitched shoulder, then slid into the jeans and zipped them up.
Maggie watched him for a moment, then turned without a word and left him to it.
---
Joe descended the stairs quietly, the air thick with tension, but calmer now.
In the bedroom, Hershel hunched over Carl, sweat beading on his brow, hands steady despite the exhaustion.
He'd just finished removing the fifth fragment, a blood-slick sliver of metal held up to the light with surgical tweezers.
Carl lay still, pale but breathing. Monitors beeped slowly beside him. The worst seemed to be over.
"Vessel was sealed first," Hershel muttered without looking up.
"One more fragment. Then we're through."
Rick noticed Joe and stood.
Without hesitation, he walked over and wrapped his arms around him.
No words. Just a father clinging to the man who brought back hope.
Lori hesitated, her eyes glassy. Then she followed, pulling Joe into a brief but firm hug.
"Thank you," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Joe nodded, saying nothing. He didn't need to. The blood on his shoulder and the tightness in his jaw said enough.
He looked past them to Carl, still unconscious on the bed. One more fragment left to be extracted.
Joe stepped out of Carl's room, the weight of the moment still settling on his shoulders.
Maggie followed a few steps behind, her expression unreadable.
But before she could speak, two blondes rushed him.
Amy and Andrea.
Amy reached him first, arms around Joe's neck, smiling wide.
"You're okay!" she squealed, hugging him tight.
Then she kissed him. Hard. Familiar.
Andrea followed, more restrained but no less intimate. She kissed him, too. Right on the lips... then leaned into him like it was normal.
Maggie froze in the doorway. Her eyes narrowed, brow knitting.
'What the hell?'
She stood there, stunned, until Amy turned and giggled something unintelligible.
Andrea, however, saw her.
For just a second, their eyes met.
Andrea's smile tightened, then she grabbed Joe by the wrist and pulled him toward their tent.
Joe glanced back, confused, but didn't resist.
Maggie watched as Andrea shoved Joe through the flap and disappeared behind him.
A long beat.
Maggie stood there, silent. Her hands balled into fists.
Then she spun on her heel, stormed back inside, and stomped up the stairs. Heart pounding, jaw tight.
But her curiosity burned hotter than anger.
---
A few minutes later.
Blinded by curiousity, she slipped back down the stairs. Quiet this time, her bare feet on wood.
She peeked out the front door, then slipped into the dark.
The tent was across the yard, tucked behind one of the parked vehicles.
Inside, muffled moans
Maggie crept closer, heart hammering in her chest.
Two sets of moans reaching her ears, her face flushed. She crept closer, her footsteps silent on the soft earth.
The tent's fabric was thin, and the sounds coming from within were unmistakable.
Moans, soft at first, then growing louder, intertwined with the occasional muffled groan.
Maggie's cheeks flushed, but she couldn't turn away. She crouched low, her eyes darting to the small gap where the tent flap didn't quite meet.
Her breath quickened as she leaned in, her pulse racing with a mix of guilt and anticipation.
Inside, the scene was a blur of movement and shadow. Joe's broad, muscular frame dominated the space, his black hair glistening with sweat under the dim glow of a lantern.
Amy lay beneath him, her slim, curvy body arching as he thrust into her with deliberate, rhythmic strokes.
Andrea knelt beside them, her fingers tangled in Joe's hair as she guided his mouth to her breast.
The sisters' moans harmonized, their voices blending in a symphony of pleasure that sent a shiver down Maggie's spine.
Maggie's gaze lingered on Joe, his ripped physique straining with each movement. His blue eyes were closed, his face a mask of concentration as he drove deeper into Amy.
Andrea's hand slid down her own body, her fingers disappearing between her legs as she watched Joe with a hunger that made Maggie's stomach twist.
It was raw, unapologetic, and utterly intoxicating.
But then, Joe's eyes snapped open. Maggie froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. He wasn't looking at Amy or Andrea...
He was looking directly at her. Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met for a fleeting moment.
She knew she should run, but her legs felt like lead. Joe's expression was unreadable, his gaze steady but not accusatory.
Instead of calling her out, he simply smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes, before turning his attention back to the sisters.
Maggie's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn't tear herself away.
Joe's smirk had been a silent acknowledgment, a permission she hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore.
She stayed, her eyes glued to the scene unfolding before her.
Joe shifted, pulling out of Amy with a wet sound that made Maggie's knees weaken.
He turned to Andrea, who was now lying on her back, her legs spread wide. Joe knelt between them, his thick, erect cock glistening in the lantern light.
Andrea reached out, her fingers wrapping around the base as she guided him to her entrance.
Joe entered her slowly, his eyes locked on hers, before beginning to move with a steady, relentless pace.
Amy, now on her knees beside them, leaned in to kiss Andrea deeply, their tongues tangling as Joe thrust into her sister.
Maggie watched, mesmerized, as the three of them moved in perfect sync. Joe's hands gripped Andrea's hips, his muscles flexing with each stroke.
Amy's fingers trailed down Andrea's body, joining her own in a rhythm that matched Joe's.
The moans grew louder, more desperate. Andrea's head tossed back, her blonde hair spilling across the tent floor as she cried out. Joe's pace quickened, his breaths coming in short gasps.
Maggie felt her own body respond, a warmth spreading between her legs as she bit her lip to stifle a moan of her own.
"Fuck, Joe," Andrea panted, her voice hoarse. "I'm close."
Joe grunted, his eyes narrowing with intensity. "Cum for me, baby," he growled, his voice deep and commanding.
Andrea's body shook as she climaxed, her walls clenching around Joe's cock. He didn't slow, his thrusts becoming sharper, more urgent.
Amy pressed a hand to Andrea's chest, her other hand moving between her own legs as she watched Joe with a hunger that mirrored Maggie's own.
"Amy," Joe said, his voice tight. "Get on your knees."
Amy obeyed without hesitation, positioning herself behind Andrea. Joe pulled out of Andrea with a wet slap, his cock glistening with her juices.
He turned to Amy, who opened her mouth wide, taking him in with a groan of pleasure.
Maggie watched, transfixed, as Amy deepthroated him, her hands gripping his thighs for leverage.
Joe's hands tangled in Amy's blonde hair, guiding her movements as he thrust into her mouth.
Andrea reached back, her fingers brushing Amy's cheek as she whispered something Maggie couldn't hear.
The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, a raw display of desire and connection that left Maggie breathless.
"I'm gonna cum," Joe warned, his voice rough.
Amy pulled back slightly, her lips sliding up and down his shaft as she looked up at him with wide, eager eyes.
Joe's body tensed, his hips snapping forward as he emptied himself into her mouth. Amy swallowed greedily, her hands gripping his ass as he shuddered through his release.
Maggie's cheeks burned hotter, her own arousal unbearable. She knew she had to leave, but her legs refused to move. She was a voyeur, a silent witness to something she had no right to see.
Finally, Joe pulled away from Amy, his chest heaving as he dropped onto the tent floor. The sisters curled into him, their laughter soft and content.
Maggie's heart ached with a mix of envy and longing. She had seen something raw and unfiltered, but it wasn't hers.
With a deep breath, she forced herself to stand, her legs trembling as she backed away from the tent.
Her mind raced with what she had witnessed, her body still buzzing with unfulfilled desire.
She turned and ran, her footsteps quick and quiet as she disappeared into the night, afraid that Joe would catch her again.
The moans from the tent faded into the distance, but Maggie knew she would never forget what she had seen.
Joe and the sisters had given her a glimpse into a world she both craved and feared.
A world of unapologetic passion and unspoken connections.
...
Moving quietly through the grass.
She slipped back into the farmhouse and crept up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Back in her room, she closed the door gently and leaned against it, exhaling hard.
Her arms folded across her chest as she stared out the window at the distant glow of lantern light near the tents.
Her reflection in the glass looked tired.
And just a little heartbroken.
"Figures," she muttered under her breath, trying to laugh it off. But it didn't stick.
She'd let her guard down. Felt something real for once. Wanted something more than a fling and now?...
She had just seen the man who captivated her, fucking two blondes. Even cumming in the ones mouth.
The woman swallowing obediently.
She felt stupid.
She sank down onto the bed, kicking off her shoes, and stared at the ceiling.
"Damn Hotty!" she mumbled.
Then softer, almost like a secret.
"Should've been me getting railed."
...
The final stitch was in place. Hershel pulled his gloves off with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
"He's stable," he said, almost not believing it himself.
Rick and Lori stood frozen for a moment... then Rick reached out and wrapped his arms around her.
Lori was surprised, held him back. Brief. Fragile. But real.
They separated quickly, as if remembering how long the space between them had been but that space now felt smaller.
Carl stirred slightly in the bed.
Both parents turned instantly, leaning over him. His eyes didn't open, but he shifted, his breathing steady and unassisted.
Off the ventilator.
Alive.
Lori brushed his hair back, voice cracking with relief. Rick stayed silent, his hand gripping Carl's tightly.
---
The farmhouse was quiet. Everyone else had drifted off to sleep or post-watch duties.
Rick and Lori never left Carl's side.
They sat with him as the sun dipped low, lamps dimmed, and the house fell into stillness.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook them.
Rick lay down on one side of the bed, Lori on the other. Their hands still rested on Carl's blanket, inches from each other.
In the soft light, the boy's chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythm.
For the first time in days, the Grimes family slept... together.