A simple supply hunt for a source of water in the middle of Atlanta turns sour quickly for Erin as she come fist to face with a fuming, handless Merle Dixon.
Alone in the middle of the apocalypse with only a racist guy who doesn't know the differen...
"What they never tell you about grief is that missing someone is the simple part." - Gail Caldwell
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Despite the rushing around to begin with, the actual operation went by as smoothly and calmly as possible considering the circumstances. By the time it came to sewing Carl's abdomen back up, his vital signs had returned to how they would have been before he was even injured, filling them all with great relief.
Erin leaned back from the table, her bloody hands raised in front of her to prevent any getting on her tank top, her jacket already thrown aside in the corner long before the first incision. Smiling through her exhaustion, she looked up at Hershel as he gave Patricia a nod, watching her leave to find Lori and Rick and let them see their recovering son.
As they came in, both fussing over Carl immediately, Erin quietly left, leaving them to it as she headed into the kitchen to wash the blood off in the sink. Unfortunately, as she looked up, she realised she wasn't the only one with that idea...
Hunched over the sink with his back to her, his hair matted and his fingers apparently just as covered in blood as hers if the colour of the water flowing through them was anything to go by, was Shane.
He didn't turn as she walked in, his gaze focused intently on the blood running off his skin and down the drain. "What do you want?"
Erin flinched as he suddenly addressed her, wondering how the hell he knew she was there, but she fought to keep her voice steady as her heart pounded against her ribcage in a similar rhythm to 'Another One Bites The Dust', "I need to wash my hands. Are you finish-?"
"Does it look like I'm finished?" he cut in, glaring at her over his shoulder but keeping his hands under the faucet, "Wait your turn."
Just before he turned away again, she caught a quick glimpse of something different in his eyes. Something that struck fear down her spine. Something that made her feel chilled right down to the bone. Something... inhuman.
There was, she noted, an animalistic persona about him as he stood, guarded, his stance authoritative as though he believed he was the person they should all look to for orders. This was a side of Shane she felt he usually keep in the dark...
"I was planning to." she replied, standing her ground in case this Shane didn't take too kindly to retorts, "Actually... I think I'll go wash them in the bathroom..."
"No!" She almost jumped a foot in the air as his fist collided with the countertop beside him, the thump making her ears ring as she swore she felt the vibrations through the floor beneath her boots. He roughly shut off the tap and turned on her, his hands dripping water on the tiles, "I'm done... You can use the fucking sink now. I need a shower."
"O-okay..." she stepped back instinctively as he stormed past her and headed down the hall to the bathroom, his heavy footsteps echoing behind him. After a few moments, she heard wood collide with thicker wood, signalling he'd slammed the door after himself, prompting her to let out a breathy sigh, relieved he hadn't tried to take out his anger on her. She knew she could probably floor him if he underestimated her, but the look in his eyes was murderous and he was the one with a gun under his belt - she was only armed with her fists.
