CHAPTER EIGHT: LIAR

"i'd prefer if you shut up"

—

INDIANA HAD NEVER LIED TO HER FATHER.

Not seriously, at least. A white lie here and there was natural. Had she eaten? Of course. Did she stay up reading the night before? Never.

Small things were impossible to be honest about, even in the closeness of their relationship.

But she'd never lied about anything detrimental. Never something that could harm him or their relationship, never something so critical that it could create catastrophe if he discovered the fib in her claim.

The closest was when she was fourteen and Steven Johnson to kiss her. Pinned down her arms, kept her against the wall behind the school at recess. Had Rick not been there for a "Sheriff Grimes Safety School Day" then Steven would have succeeded.

Succumbing to her distraught expression and tearful eyes, he swore to keep it from Shane and the pair never spoke of it again.

When Shane asked her how school was that day, she said "fine" and that was the only time she ever lied to his face.

Until Rick came to her in tears.

"Did you know?" He asked shakily, taking a seat at her bedside where she sketched Glenn's face on a journal. "About Lori? And Shane?"

The dark line hardened against the paper as her hand stopped, eyes widening. She didn't meet his eyes.

But it was enough. He knew.

"Fuck," he swore, shaking his head. "Why—why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not—"

"—That's my wife, Indy," he swallowed thickly. "My best friend."

"And he's my dad," Indiana interjected in a small voice. "It wasn't my place to tell you."

"Wasn't your—" Rick scoffed, "it wasn't your place to hide it from me."

"I don't like the thought of it," Indiana continued, trying not to cry. She felt small, childlike in the spare bedroom of Hershel's home, dependent on the people within it. Confined to Rick's words like a levy to a rope. "What was I supposed to say?"

Rick was quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. He ran a hand through his hair and then let out a shaky breath. Indiana watched as he squeezed the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching.

"You're right," he relented, voice softer now. "I'm sorry, cricket. You're right. I just — I'm — did they ever...when you were younger? Did you ever see anything at Shane's growing up?"

Indiana shook her head immediately. "No," she stopped his thought process immediately. "No, never. Not once. If they did, it was very well hidden."

Rick nodded, cupping his face in his hands, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Why're you apologizing?" Indiana asked, reaching a hand to Rick's and taking it in hers. "You have every right to be upset and betrayed, and I'm sorry this happened."

"I'm sorry you're in the middle of it," Rick met her eyes. "You're such a good kid, Indy."

Indiana's lips quirked into a smile and she fought back the cruel voice in her mind persuading that she was undeserving of his kind words or help. That the new baby would circumvent all attention from her.

It was so childish and immature to feel such contempt for an unborn fetus. To harbor a burgeoning dislike for someone without a heartbeat or thought.

But she couldn't help it. The festering bitterness and disdain for a creature threatening to uproot her already disturbed life.

"Have you talked to him about it?" Indiana asked quietly. "Has she?"

Rick hesitated. The flash of guilt, the glance down of shame.

They weren't going to tell him.

Rick was as much the father as Shane was hers, but biologically...odds were it was Shane's. He had a right to know.

They were going to keep it from him.

Something about that put a sour taste in her mouth and her eyes prickled with tears. She hated the idea of lying to her father about something so important. And what would happen if the baby had his nose? Or his smile? How could they deprive him of that?

Indiana shoved aside her scornful ego and dropped his hand. "You're not telling him?"

"It's not that simple, Indy—"

"—and if Shane found out first? And neglected to tell you?"

"It's different—"

"—I don't see how it—"

"—You're a damn child, Indiana, of course you don't see it." Rick snapped, head tilting in irritation. "Stop pretending to know things that you don't have a damn clue about. I'd prefer if you shut up."

Indiana fought tears at his words, the scalding tone in which he presented his irritations as hot as fire against her skin.

"Oh," Indiana replied quietly. "I'm sorry."

Rick's face softened a fraction, but he clenched his jaw, choosing to stew in his frustrations rather than apologize.

That was the first time she felt uncomfortable around him. Unsteady.

"Don't tell him," he met her eyes after a beat of thick silence between them. "Promise me."

Indiana swallowed her tears and nodded, looking down at the picture of Glenn in her lap. Something about the moment felt symbolic, though she couldn't decipher exactly why.

But she knew her Sheriff uncle who'd kept quiet about Steven was gone, replaced by someone with an identical face but agitated mind. For someone once so pragmatic, methodical, and calm, he'd been disfigured by desperation and anger.

He nodded once and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Indiana didn't stop crying for hours.

—

"Hey, lev," Shane greeted, ruffling Indiana's hair as she walked past him towards Glenn.

He seemed cheerful, albeit mildly annoyed. His eyes were distracting, stance fidgeting, glancing around every few moments. On edge.

Indiana frowned, eyeing his face. "Dad, you okay?" She asked gently.

She wondered if Lori had told him.

She doubted it.

"Yeah," Shane nodded. "Yeah, yeah, uh...just — how're you?" He changed the subject, tilting her chin up between his fingers, gazing down at her. "You okay? Feeling alright?"

Indiana softened in his grip, the genuine concern in his eyes warming something that had hardened after learning of Lori's pregnancy. She nodded.

"Good," Shane's lips quirked and he squeezed her chin lightly, pressing a kiss to her head. "I'm gonna head out, teach some of these folks how'ta shoot. Wanna come with?"

Indiana pondered his words, debating her options. Shoot off her frustrations and help others learn defense, hear about Glenn's blossoming relationship with Maggie, or go entertain Carl.

Indiana glanced to the house, sure that Rick and Lori were with her brother, but the idea of enduring awkward silences with the pair while he slept made her nose crinkle up.

"Sure," she settled on, glancing up at him as he tossed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently. "Can I borrow your gun?"

"What happened to yours?" He frowned, glancing around. "Man, I needa get us some shades. Fuckin' hot out here."

Indiana nodded, leaning against his shoulder, something secure in his grasp. So safe and comfortable, the man she loved more than anyone.

"That's smart," she conceded. "Maybe I could go with Glenn on a—"

"—Don't even finish that sentence, Indy," he cut her off. "You're not leaving mine or Hershel's sight, got it?"

"I didn't think you trusted Hershel like that," Indiana pointed out. "He's awfully religious and I don't think he likes you much."

"Ain't about like, honey, it's about protection. He's got a farm, he kept you safe and fed, and he fixed you up. Only man I trust with you is myself and the guy who stitched you and Carl up."

Indiana was quiet for a moment, noting that he'd taken Rick off the list. It had always been Rick and Shane, the only other man Shane trusted.

Shane was fiercely protective of Indiana, to the point of helicoptering at times, but it was out of love. He wanted to erase the childhood she'd endured before him, and she loved him for it.

But a pang of hurt twisted in her chest at the omission of Rick's name. The knowledge that Shane's affair with Lori had driven a wedge so deep between them that her safety was in question around him.

It hurt.

"Do you think you'll be friends again?" Indiana asked before she could stop herself, her voice quiet, almost childlike in curiosity.

He stumbled in his step for a moment, tensing, his grip tightening around her.

"I think you're the only fucking thing that matters now," Shane replied tersely, leaving no room for further questions. "Everything else comes second."

She knew he didn't mean that. He cared about the group. He liked Glenn well enough, and she knew he loved Carl. He was obviously smitten with Lori and once he found out about the baby —

God, she could never tell him.

But the pit of despair hanging over her mind taunted her, mocked her for hiding it. His smile and gentle words, his comforting presence. What would he think of her when he realized she'd harbored this from him? How would it shatter his perception of her?

"I don't want you to hang around Dixon anymore," Shane added, voice firm, tearing her from her guilt. "Hear me?"

"Shane—"

"—I said no, lev," he pushed. "I don't like the look of his redneck ass. He's gonna hurt you. I already," his voice choked and he cleared his throat. "Already almost lost you. I don't want that shit to happen again."

Indiana's heart sank at his words, the memory of Rick's words etched into her brain. An image of her father, finding her heart stopped, lungs deprived of oxygen, close to death in saving Carl's life...

"I'm sorry," she replied softly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I can't lose you," Shane said firmly. "You get that? I can't. You're all I give a shit about. This world is nothing already, and it'd be hell without you."

Indiana nodded, nuzzling her head a bit closer to him as they approached the trucks. She knew how important she was to him because he was the same for her. Without him, she'd be a mess. Hopeless. Empty.

Maybe it was codependent, but in the apocalypse, what else did they have if not each other?

—

Indiana never liked shooting. She knew how, Shane ensured that, but she didn't particularly enjoy it. It wasn't cathartic to her like it was him, but it served a purpose, helped her feel more in control.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

She didn't like the power that trickled down her fingertips into the trigger, though. Indiana didn't enjoy harming anyone or anything else, and especially abhorred violence for the sake of it.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

But aiming at soda cans and shooting drawn bullseye sent a rush through her she hadn't felt before.

Perhaps it was the idea of controlling her environment and the people in it.

Perhaps it was the fact that she couldn't control her father and Lori's affair, Lori's pregnancy, Carl getting shot, Maggie choosing Glenn, or Rick choosing to forgo their relationship.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

She couldn't control those events, the cataclysmic circumstances that ripped through her peripherals and skewed her hold on reality.

But she could aim the weapon and shoot and ensure that no physical harm would befall her loved ones.

Carl would never be shot again — not if she could help it. Glenn and Maggie would not have to live without one another. And Rick, even if he didn't care if love was lost between them, would be safe.

Lori, who was the closest to a mother she had, would be safe from harm. Not if she could kill what tried to destroy her.

And Shane.

She would ensure that no matter what her father would live. Her father would endure this world and survive despite it.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Each bullet that left her pistol cemented her thoughts. Her family would not endure without security. Sanctuary.

Sophia would never feel unsafe again. Carol would never be without her daughter. Daryl would have someone watching his back.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

She would defend Hershel's farm from harm and keep Beth and Maggie safe, so he and Patricia didn't lose anyone else.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Indiana Walsh was a lot of things, a killer not one of them.

But for her family, she would do whatever she had to do.

Click. Click.

The chamber was empty.

—

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