An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Tara Chambler/Rosita Espinosa
Characters: Tara Chambler, Rosita Espinosa, mentions of denise and abe in passing
Additional Tags: two chicks fall in love, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world, in a world where Abe is the LV
Summary:
Everyone's lost something. The path forwards gets harder to travel for Tara and Rosita. With the world caving in on them, it's only love and friendship that keeps either of them from losing themselves entirely. Before the war, they both need time to grieve and no one is getting left behind.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Dedicated to my homegirl @zyanjuh who inspired this shit literally two months ago. RIP my dedication to femslash.
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As much as Rosita hated apologizing to anyone for anything, she knew she had to apologize to Carol for what she'd said to her a few days back.
She wasn't going to be happy about it, but she was going to do it.
Rosita passed Sasha on her way to Carol's house, and pointedly looked in the other direction. She wasn't going to make the first move there. She wasn't going to make a move ever. Sasha deserved whatever guilt she was (or wasn't) feeling.
She trudged up the stairs, giving Rick a small nod as she walked by him, ignoring Abraham who just happened to be standing with him. Great.
The entire universe is out to get me today.
She stood in front of what she instinctively knew was Carol's room, peering inside to try to see Carol before Carol saw her, or heard her.
Carol was sitting on her bed, her head in her hands, and Rosita felt like she was intruding on a personal moment. She cleared her throat quietly, and Carol looked up, the spell broken.
"Hey." Rosita leaned against the doorway. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I know you're going through some shit, and I had no right to take my own shit out on you."
Carol remained almost aggressively quiet, her big blue eyes staring directly into Rosita's, making her head spin a little bit.
"So, yeah," she gestured broadly, "I'm gonna go now."
"Wait." Carol stood, a little unsteadily. "You were right. I should've told Rick. In fact, I should march right over to his room and tell him right now. I just...I can't."
"Why?" Rosita asked curiously. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, but, sometimes, you feel a little better after talking it out with someone."
Rosita watched as Carol sighed, her arms resting on her midriff as the carefully blank face that she'd worn far too often after they'd arrived at Alexandria slid back onto her face.
"I just can't."
"That's fair," Rosita replied, shrugging. She stood up a little straighter as, even with her carefully constructed mask on, relief crossed Carol's face.
"What about you?"
"What?" Rosita started.
"You may have everyone else fooled," Carol smiled, a little sadly, "but not me. No one can fool me anymore."
"I..." Rosita trailed off, nervously running her fingers along the hem of her jacket. She swallowed. "Abraham and I are done."
"I'm sorry," Carol said, and the sincerity in her voice brought a smile to Rosita's face for the first time since Abraham had told her he was leaving.
"I'll get over it," Rosita said, trying for lightness and failing. Or I won't.
Carol sat back down on her bed and patted the empty spot next to her, scooting over to give Rosita some more room. Rosita walked over hesitantly, the tapping noises her boots made against the hardwood floor making her regret her footwear choices.
She sat down gingerly, startled when she realized how close Carol was. She'd never been so near her, because, honestly, Carol's quiet intensity sometimes scared her.
"Listen to me," Carol said firmly, "It may feel like it's the end of the world, but it's not. He's not the last man in the world."
Maybe it was the fact that Carol's advice was eerily similar to Abraham's parting words, maybe it was the fact that Rosita hadn't let herself cry at all, but she found herself having to blink rapidly to keep her rapidly welling eyes from spilling over. She felt Carol's arm stretch across her back and rub soothing circles beneath. Rosita leaned against Carol, and she felt Carol stiffen for a split second. She almost pulled away in embarrassment, but then Carol relaxed, and Rosita dropped her head onto Carol's shoulder. She inhaled deeply, Carol's steady heartbeat and breathing soothing Rosita.
You could kiss her, a pesky little voice from deep inside her head whispered.
That's a dumb idea, even for you, another one replied.
It was a dumb idea. Rosita hadn't kissed a girl since college (although she wasn't gonna lie, she thought about kissing Tara every time she caught her looking down her shirt), and even if she had, Carol hadn't exactly given off any "kiss me" vibes.
And yet...now that the seed had been planted, the idea wouldn't leave her head. What kind of a kisser would Carol be? What would she taste like? Would she even kiss her back?
Rosita realized that Carol's hand had moved to her head, softly stroking her hair, and Rosita's hand was resting on Carol's thighs, and her heart rate sped up. She craned her neck to look up at Carol, who was watching Rosita with concern in her eyes. Rosita's lips parted slightly, and she saw Carol's gaze drop down, past her lips and down to the stretch of skin above the neck of her tank top, and maybe Rosita should be a little bit embarrassed, but now all she could think of was pulling Carol down and kissing her until she forgot everything.
She sat up, Carol's hands sliding down to her neck, and Rosita leaned in before she could stop herself, her lips pressing against Carol's, her hands reaching up to cup her cheeks carefully, as if Carol was a bomb that might go off at any moment.
Carol's lips went lax against her's and Rosita almost pulled away, but then Carol opened her mouth, her tongue flicking Rosita's upper lip. Rosita whimpered, her heart thudding in her ears, 'cause she'd forgotten how damn good girls were at kissing (and other things), and then Carol's hands were gripping her hips and Rosita couldn't think anymore.
She concentrated on the slick, wet sounds their mouths made as they kissed, on how each of Carol's fingers were wrinkling the fabric of her shorts, on how soft the skin of Carol's cheeks was. Rosita wondered how soft her skin was in other places, and all the blood in her head rushed downward, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to take Carol's ugly Stepford Wife-esque sweater off.
"Carol," Rosita breathed, pulling her mouth off of Carol's, her lips thick and heavy.
"Yes?" Carol still looked poised somehow, her hear artfully tousled, her sweater still crisp and and starched and it just wasn't fair.
"I-" Rosita licked her lips, leaning in closer. "I want-"
The door creaked suddenly, and they both jumped up, Carol's hand reaching for the knife at her belt. Rosita tiptoed to the door and kicked it open and there stood-
"Eugene!" Rosita yelped.
He was munching on a damn cookie, apparently unfazed by Rosita's angry expression and Carol standing behind her with a knife.
"Bisexuality is common in almost all species in the animal kingdom, including lions, dolphins, and, of course, bonobo-"
"Get out!" Rosita snarled, slamming the door shut, locking it and turning back to look at Carol, who was suddenly much closer than Rosita remembered her being.
"What were you saying before?" Carol's voice was sincere, but her lips held the trace of a smirk, and Rosita blushed.
"I want to take that sweater off you."
"Be my guest," Carol replied, and Rosita reached down to the hem of Carol's sweater and pulled it over her head gently, throwing it to the floor.
Her eyes took in the thin curves of Carol's body under the gray shirt she was wearing. Carol surged forward, kissing Rosita softly as her hands deftly undid Rosita's belt buckle, the belt sliding to the floor under the weight of the clasp. Rosita inhaled sharply as Carol's fingers brushed against her lower belly, her stomach jumping as she hooked her fingers into the belt loops at her side, tugging her shorts down until they dropped to the floor.
Rosita felt like she should leave, but Carol was warm and so was her bed, and all she had to go home to was an empty, cold bed and everyone's pity.
Fuck that.
Carol took out a pack of Menthols from her bedside table and lit up, offering Rosita a drag.
"Those things'll kill you," Rosita replied, her eyes scanning the room for her bra, the only item of clothing she hadn't been able to visually locate.
Carol shrugged. "I know."
Rosita watched Carol out of the corner of her eye. The woman reminded her of a wounded lion; beautiful, weakened, but still dangerous.
Rosita shook herself out of her thoughts. Next thing you know she was going to be comparing Carol's eyes to a summer sky, or the freckles on her shoulders to the constellations in the sky. She had to leave before she started inwardly waxing poetry about her one night stand, a woman she barely even knew.
She stood, naked as the day she was born, and went to pick up her clothes, Carol's eyes burning holes into her back.
"Leaving?" Carol asked casually, stubbing her cigarette out on the ashtray next to her.
Rosita nodded, shimmying into her underwear. "I'm on watch in a little bit." With Sasha. That should be fun.
She turned to face Carol, her tank top half on.
"Uh, listen, I-"
Carol raised her hand languidly. "It doesn't have to mean anything, and it doesn't have to happen again, unless you want it to."
"I want it to," Rosita said, her voice too loud in the empty room. "Happen again, I mean." She blushed, dropping her head, and stepped into her shorts, sliding them up her thighs.
Carol was silent, and although silence coming from Carol, of all people, shouldn't bother her, it did. She knelt down and pulled her boots on, lacing them up while resolutely looking everywhere but Carol's face.
"Rosita." Her head whipped up, gaze intent on Carol's face.
"I'd like that, too." Carol gave her a smile, a small one, but it seemed genuine.
Rosita smiled back, tempted to back back to Carol's bed and kiss her goodbye, but she knew it would only complicate things if she started treating Carol like they were the end-of-the-world equivalent of girlfriends. Better to treat this like what it was: just sex, nothing more.
She gave Carol a salute, picking up her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder before turning to walk out the door. She'd made it less than a foot past the door when she heard Carol call out, "Hey, Rosita!"
Rosita popped her head back in the door. "Yeah?"
"If I find your bra, I'll return it." Her mouth turned up at one corner, the relit cigarette in her fingers dropping flakes of ash on the floor. "Not that you need it."
Rosita almost laughed. Carol could be funny when she wanted to be. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is." Carol smiled again, taking a drag. "Go. Don't be late."
Rosita waved, once, pulling back and walking down the stairs, barely noticing the guilty look on Eugene's face as she left the house.
There's a chance they could've met some other time, some other place. Maybe at a concert, or an airport, or even on one of those dating sites. Anything's possible, right?
Maybe instead of supply runs she could've taken Maggie on a date. In that world, Sasha hands Maggie a bouquet of flowers instead of a freshly-sharpened knife. She holds open doors instead of barricading them. There's a chance that somewhere, in some other world, they're together and it's better than she can even imagine.
Sasha clings to that chance more than she probably should; leans heavy on it like it's the only thing keeping her upright. Maybe it is.
It's a thought she calls to mind when she needs it, when she's desperately close to crying out and doesn't trust her legs not to buckle under the force of the wail she feels building in her chest.
The rare times when Maggie smiles at her, pure sunshine beaming right at Sasha, absolutely blinding. The hugs that never last quite long enough, the fleeting kisses on dirt-smeared cheeks. It's all Sasha can do sometimes just not to scream.
They're living in a world almost devoid of hope, surrounded by death and destruction. But then there's Maggie, side pressed up against Sasha's, smiling softly at her, and it's too much and it's not enough and Sasha wants to yell until her voice is gone. It wouldn't be the worst thing she's lost.
But she clings to that one little bright spot, that small bit of hope that maybe it could be different somewhere else.
At night when Maggie is sound asleep with Glenn's arms wrapped protectively around her, Sasha lays awake, thinking. Hoping.
