Chapter 18
The window latch gave with a small resistance before Clark worked it open just enough to let the cold evening air in. The curtain shifted, lifting and settling.
The room needed it.
"Better," Clementine said, from the bed.
"Yeah." He turned back. She was sitting up against the headboard with the blanket pulled to her waist, her hair loose around her shoulders and unmade. It brought him a special kind of feeling to see her in a mess because of him.
But that stopped as she was pouting- glaring, he corrected at her legs under the covers.
"I have cramps," she said, "in places I didn't know could cramp."
He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She leaned into it slightly, the automatic lean of someone whose body had decided this was a reasonable thing to do now.
"I'll get water," he said. "We can clean up."
"Bring food." She said it immediately, with the tone of someone who said food was on a higher priority than cleaning themselves after their enjoyable time.
"I know."
"Actual food. Not the green thing."
"I know, Clem."
She looked at him with the expression she used when she wanted to make sure her instructions had been received and processed. He held her gaze for a moment, then stood.
"I'll be back." He pressed his lips to the palm of her hand.
The parking lot was doing its usual things when Clark stepped out.
Kenny was under the RV hood, or had been- he was standing now, wiping his hands on a rag, and when Clark appeared at the top of the stairs, Kenny looked up.
Their eyes met.
Kenny's mouth opened, a smug look on his face.
"Kenneth." Katjaa's voice, from the direction of their RV door, was calm and absolute in the way that only Katjaa managed without raising it.
Kenny closed his mouth.
Clark descended the stairs with the posture of a man who had decided that looking at anything other than his immediate destination was not going to help him right now. The fire was low and well-tended, and Lilly was crouched beside it, feeding it a strip of wood with the focused attention of someone who had chosen not to look up. Due to it, Clark missed the same expression that Kenny had on his face.
He stopped beside her.
"I need water," he said. "For…" He paused "from the stream. Not drinking water." He didn't specify why he needed water that was mainly used by the group to clean themselves with rags. "And food- actual food, cooked if there's anything."
Lilly fed the fire another strip of wood. A hand went to cover her mouth, and motioned to the motel office, their supply storage.
"Bucket's door and so are the towers. You know where the gallons of plastic bottles are for cleaning purposes," she said to the fire. "Carley made soup this morning. It's in the pot on the left. There's smoked deer in the tin beside it for two people." She lied and glared at Kenny, who opened his mouth to make fun of her.
Sure, it was Carley's idea to make the soup, but it was Lilly who beat her to it. Instead, Lee and Carley had gone off to stop hearing the kids they took under their wings going at it like unsatiable beasts the entire morning.
"Thanks."
She said nothing. He was starting to move when he caught it- the very, very slight movement of her shoulders, a single controlled exhale that had something in it she'd decided not to voice. He pretended not to notice, which she probably knew, that they were both going to leave alone.
He went to get the bucket.
Mark was doing fence work near the east corner. He glanced at Clark once, nodded, and looked back at the fence with the focused energy of a man who had found something very important to do with his eyes over there.
Clark picked up the bucket. Filled it from the stream collection. He watched the bucket fill halfway and kept his eyes on the water before stopping. 'Should be enough for us.'
He'd gotten most of the way back across the parking lot when Ben appeared from the direction of the motel rooms.
Ben stopped when he saw him.
Clark stopped when he saw Ben.
Ben's expression was doing something specific- not the usual low-level anxiety that had become his default setting, not the particular self-consciousness he wore when he felt like he was in the way. This was different. Flatter. The expression of someone who had been sitting with something and had let it settle into something harder.
Clark looked at him for a moment. His Half Light identified the expression, yet it didn't warn him. It didn't consider the taller young adult a threat. It was just there.
Ben looked back.
Then Ben looked away, jaw tight, and walked past him toward the fire without saying anything.
Clark watched him go for a second.
Then he picked up the soup pot, tucked the smoked deer tin under his arm, and headed back up the stairs. He was by his door and almost went in, until Kenny's words got muffled. Turning back, the man's wife had her hands covering her husband's mouth and nose.
"Go on, Clark. It's nothing important."
"Umm… Okay?"
Clark opened his door and went inside.
…
…
…
Clementine had not moved from the headboard, but she had apparently been busy- his spare shirt, the cleaner one from the bottom of his bag, was folded neatly on the foot of the bed, and his boots had been moved from where he'd left them to somewhere more deliberate, and the general state of the room had been improved by perhaps twenty percent through means he couldn't fully account for.
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
"I know," she said, looking at the bucket. "Is that water warm?"
"Not yet." He set everything down, the bucket on the floor, the soup and meat on the nightstand, and found the cleanest towels he had- two of them, worn but intact. He set them over the chair back and crouched by the bucket.
Heat Object.
He felt a little more tired, but it meant nothing compared to Clementine's comfort.
The warmth traveled down his arm, out through both palms flat against the metal sides, and he felt the water temperature climb- not by sight, but by the way the steam began to rise from the surface, thin and soft in the cold air coming through the cracked window.
He checked with his fingers. Warm enough. Not too hot.
He looked up.
Clementine was watching him with an expression of exasperation, her head tilted in that specific way that asked what she could do with him.
"Come here," he said.
She moved to the edge of the bed, wincing once on the way, and he didn't comment on it. Instead, he took her hand, while being on his knee, kissed her knuckles, which made the cramp go away, and she giggled like a schoolgirl in love.
And then, he dipped the first towel, wrung it mostly dry, and started at her right hand. Her fingers, her palm, the inside of her wrists.
She was quiet, observing his care and memorizing it with focus.
He worked slowly, without rushing, the way he did most things that required precision. Her arm. Her shoulder. He was careful, attentive to every small sound she made, every slight tension he found. When he got to her collarbone, she tilted her head slightly, giving him better access, a movement so unconscious and trusting that it made something tighten in his chest.
The hickey on her neck had deepened overnight. He looked at it for a moment, feeling slightly like a man surveying the aftermath of a decision, and pressed a very light, very deliberate kiss to the edge of it.
She made a sound that wasn't quite words.
He cleaned her forehead, ears, and whole face, and did the same thing to her left side. He wiped her clean, with care and attention, a satisfied and joyful smile on his face the entire time, not one little bit of complaint or that it was a chore.
Clementine, looking at his face, figured out that to him, this was no different than sex. He got pleasure and joy from serving someone he loved. She regretted not meeting Clark before the outbreak, but now.
She was happy that the outbreak happened. That their old world ended and this new one began. She felt bad thinking about it, all the pain and hurt and death, but she wouldn't give it up, as the Clark of then would never love her like the Clark of now.
And the Clementine of then would never reciprocate, that Clark's love.
He cleaned every inch of her, places that she felt she should do herself; he refused and did it himself. Her body had heated up, and her slits got wet from arousal once more, but she pushed it away. Sex… Yeah, it was fun, and enjoyable, and much more, but this.
It was its own thing that Clementine loved more than sex.
Once he was done, she cupped his face and brought him to a deep, rough kiss with a little bit of tongue mixed in. "My turn." She demanded before he could refuse. Her love would get everything he did for her and much more if it were up to her.
She took the towel from him and held out her hand for his.
He gave it to her.
She cleaned his hands the same way he'd done hers, slowly, without hurrying. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she sat beside him, and the room was quiet except for the sound of the water and the distant fire outside and somewhere down the walkway, the particular creak of Lilly's chair during her watch rotation.
When she was done, she set the towel aside and looked at the two of them, her hands, his hands, and the ring fingers, and said nothing for a moment.
He bumped her shoulder gently with his.
She bumped back.
…
…
…
Spoiler: Silver Advantage. D20 was 18[Phantom Sensation]
|Rare Ability|
Allows you to project sensations of what you can do to someone in your line of sight without actually affecting them physically. You can project the sensation of groping, licking, scratching, choking, burning, stabbing, hanging, etc. provided you could actually do those things to your target without the ability.
OR
[Intermediate Programming]
|Uncommon Skill|
You are an experienced programmer in all languages, you code considerably faster than the average programmer, and can do so in any programming language you encounter.
Without a moment's hesitation, Clark made his choice-
[Phantom Sensation]
|Rare Ability|
Allows you to project sensations of what you can do to someone in your line of sight without actually affecting them physically. You can project the sensation of groping, licking, scratching, choking, burning, stabbing, hanging, etc., provided you could actually do those things to your target without the ability.
[You have 15 abilities. An additional ability slot has been acquired. You have 4 slots.]
"What's wrong?" Clementine asked, as she gave him a head massage, while he was dressing her. Another thing that she'd have to get used to it as long as he was by her side. But it seemed like Clementine wouldn't just rest and have him do things for her, because she had already dressed him in his clean shirt after they had wiped each other clean.
"Don't tell me you got another ticket for having my first time?" Her question was laced with a flat tone, and Clark nodded, a little guilty. "That's a bit unfair." She muttered, kissing the top of his head, as he finished by pulling her panties up and then her pants.
"It's… I had a choice between being a good programmer or…-" Or what? Be a pervert, and he chose pervert?
"Or?" Clementine fished, and Clark thought it was better to show it.
The first slot, that he would never remove, was Immunity.
The second slot was Cat Form.
The third slot was a Heat Object for heating the bucket they just used. And finally, the last slot was Dry. So he could dry Clementine before she could get cold and get sick. It was the last slot that changed into his new ability. Phantom Sensation.
He wanted to make her feel what he was feeling, just a little, but emotions, as described, weren't physical, no matter how much he felt them physically. So, he changed to kisses, as she flinched, and then licked places that she was still sensitive.
"Clark~!" She moaned, called his name, hugging his face to her torso, until he stopped. "What was that?!"
He grinned at her hungry look, the Horseshoe Necklace where it belonged, "That was the new ability. Phantom Sensation." He explained that he could make her feel anything similar to what he just did, all limited to being physical.
"You like it?" He asked, standing up. Her hand immediately went to his sensitive area, clenching it tightly, "Don't surprise me like that again." She warned, while he almost doubled over from the sharp sensitivity.
"Sorry, sorry."
A moment later, he was dressed as well and sat on the bed, the soup going cold due to their messing around. But Heat Object came in useful as Clark sacrificed some of his stamina for warm food.
Carley- at least that's what Clark told Clementine- had made it with the last of the smoked venison and whatever dry goods remained from the week's supply- thin broth, chunks of meat, a little of the starch-heavy root that Mark had found on last week's run that nobody had been able to identify but had decided was probably fine.
Clark lifted the spoon.
Clementine reached over and took it from him.
He looked at her.
She filled the spoon carefully, blew on it twice, and held it out.
He opened his mouth. Closed it around the spoon. Looked at her.
She took the spoon back, refilled it, and ate that one herself.
They ate like that, taking turns with the single spoon, which was inefficient and took twice as long, and it seemed like she beat him to what he had planned.
Halfway through the pot, she started making him take the pieces with more meat, and when he looked at her, she looked back with the particular expression that did not invite discussion.
"You need it more," she said.
"You need it too."
"I need it less." She loaded the spoon with a piece that was mostly meat and held it out. "You're going to eat that, and you're going to stop arguing about it."
He ate it. Because she told him to.
And who was he to refuse his beating heart?
She looked satisfied in a way that was a different flavor of satisfied than the expression she'd worn last night, and somehow equally effective at making his brain stop working properly.
"More," she said, and refilled the spoon.
He had the distinct impression that this was going to be a long-term arrangement and that he was not going to win any of the arguments.
He was, privately, completely fine with this.
The smoked deer went the same way- her feeding him pieces she'd decided were the right size, eating her own considerably smaller portions with the calm authority of someone who had made a decision and intended to stick with it. By the time the pot was empty, he'd eaten more than he'd managed in a single sitting since before the fever.
Or before the outbreak even.
He pulled the blanket up. She tucked it around herself because she felt shy for some reason when he told her he needed to check the bed's condition.
He turned to the bed.
The state of it had not improved.
He looked at it for a long moment, finding an area that was completely wet alongside their other bodily fluid. He wiped it clean with the second towel and after ten minutes, it was "clean" but wet.
He touched the spot, aiming to use Heat Object since Dry was in cooldown due to switching it from the fourth ability slot.
"You can use my room," Clementine said, from behind him.
He turned.
She was watching him with the small, private smile that was the specific one she saved for when something amused her and she didn't want to be too obvious about it. Her chin was resting on her hand, as if this was a big problem that needed fixing and she had, reluctantly, found a solution. Her hair was loose around her shoulders.
He wanted to brush her hair and then massage her scalp and so much more, just so she could forget about the outside world for moments.
"My mattress is fine," she added. "My room is just downstairs-" As if he didn't know where her room was- "And it doesn't-" She glanced at his bed. "-need time."
He looked back at the bed, because it didn't need time. A touch, an intent, and a few minutes-
Then at her.
The smile had gotten slightly wider. Yeah, a few minutes still was a few times. Meaning, it needed time.
"Yeah," he said, with the flat tone of a man who had accepted an outcome and was done processing it. "Okay."
Her smile broke into something fuller, and she reached up and caught his cheek between her fingers, pulling him up until his forehead met hers. She held it there for a moment- warm, present, the quiet of two people in the same small space who had stopped needing to fill it.
Then she pulled him the rest of the way and kissed him, brief and soft and slightly smug.
He let her be smug. She'd earned it.
…
…
…
Before they could go- or Clark permanently move to her room, he noticed two footsteps stop by the door. They were distinctive; one was heavy and the other light. Only two people would come to see them after an entire day they spent cooped up in a room. Lee and Carley.
Clark waited for them to knock, so he could go and open it. Before that, he didn't want to separate from Clementine, clinging to him. He liked to have her always be in contact with him. He heard some whispers, and then the footsteps went away, towards Carley's room.
"What?" She whispered in his ear, biting the top of his ear, and then mumbling in his shoulder blades the next second. A shiver, but he ignored it, "It was Lee and Carley. They were by the door." He motioned, and she hummed.
Another hickey on his shoulders, "They probably wanted to check up on us."
"And I think that was the last of them. We could move to your room now." Clark suggested, as she bit him gently, a previous bruise, making him wince. "Sorry."
"It's okay."
She seemed to disagree, instead giving it an apology kiss, "Yeah, let's go."
Clark stood up to pack up, leaving the cans of Soylent Green, and Clementine got out of bed as well-
Her legs, which had apparently been waiting for exactly this moment to file their accumulated grievances, immediately made their position clear.
She sat back down on the mattress.
Clark set down his pipe and looked at her like a hawk.
"I'm fine," she said.
He said nothing.
"I just need a second."
He waited.
She tried again, slower this time, with the expression of a person negotiating with their own body. Made it to standing. Took one step. Her left knee made a decision that the rest of her had not approved.
His hands were already there, one at her elbow, one at her waist, and he had her steady before she'd finished processing what had happened.
She steadied herself, looking at the worried Clark, and she dashed all of it with a kiss- 'How many would that make it?' She asked herself, trying and failing to keep her hands and lips to herself.
He crouched slightly, back turned to her, "Get on."
"Clark-"
"Clem." He waited, and she sighed. Then she stepped forward and climbed onto his back, her arms going around his neck, her chin finding the top of his head.
He stood easily, adjusted her weight, while she took his backpack and pipe and opened the door. Teamwork.
The walkway was empty. The parking lot below was quiet, just coals and shadows and the distant shuffle beyond the fence. He carried her down the hall to the room that was now theirs, and she was very quiet the whole way, her cheek against his hair.
He'd thought she was embarrassed.
Then he felt it- the particular warmth of her smile pressed against the back of his head, small and private, not meant to be seen.
He unlocked the door with one hand, walked in, set her on the mattress with more care than was probably necessary, and straightened up.
She looked up at him from the bed.
"Thank you," she said, sounding so opposite of what he'd sound like when he says it.
He nodded.
She reached out and caught his hand before he could step back. Pulled once- not hard- until he sat on the edge of the mattress beside her.
They stayed like that for a moment, her hand in his, the room dark and quiet and cold except for where they were.
"Come here," she said, and shifted back on the mattress, pulling him with her.
still holding his, which she pulled around herself and held to her collarbone the way a person holds something they intend to keep.
He lay still.
"I want to be the big spoon," she said.
He turned his head. "What?"
"Tonight." Her voice was already getting heavier at the edges, tiredness bleeding into it. "I want to be the big spoon."
He considered this for a moment. Because he wanted to be the big spoon. To embrace all of her and protect her from the cold and everything with his body.
"I'm taller than you."
"I know."
A pause.
"That's not how-"
"Clark."
He stopped. Because he didn't have the will and the strength to refuse her. She was his everything now and so much more.
She disentangled their hands, and he felt her shift, and then her arms were around him, and her chin was on the back of his neck, and she had arranged herself behind him with the complete confidence of someone who had made a decision and was now simply implementing it.
He lay still.
Her arms tightened slightly.
She was smaller than he, and he could feel her breath against the back of his neck and the warmth of her all along his spine… incredible, and, in that moment, he felt what he was trying to give her as a big spoon.
"I love you, Clark Rogers. And I won't just take from you. Ever."
Her voice was tired, but firm, and so, Clark simply closed his eyes. Not knowing when he fell asleep. But for the first time in three and a half months, he dreamed. He dreamed of a good life.
A life where he had everything and more. A life where he introduced the people of the motel to his parents and then to his relatives. A life where Clementine met his parents, and they had decided that she would be their daughter-in-law.
A life where they had a marriage, somewhere quiet, in the middle of a forest, but they were in a white castle. A life where she had given him children, and she was happy.
Clark Rogers expected nothing from his life. He had no plan, besides surviving and hunting scum.
He didn't expect to find the love of his life after the outbreak. Because he expected to die soon.
Everything else? There was nothing else. No one to love, no one to like, and no one to protect.
Fortunately, the eighteen-years-old had to scrap all his dark thoughts and instead plan how to love, protect, care, love- he said that already- shelter and care for the love of his life and the group that took him in.
He was no longer alone in a collapsed world, looting abandoned houses. He was with people that he cared about and wanted to save. It was the least he could.
Oh- and apparently the woman he loves loves him back.
Maybe even more than him.
He was starting to understand what that meant.
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AN: Okay, okay, I COCKED!!!! Gotta calm down. Okay: I have an announcement!
LADDIES AND GENTLEMEN. I AM PROUD TO SAY THAT THIS IS THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE ROAMING CORPSES!!!!!!
I tried to move on to the plot points I wanted to write, such as the farm, bandits, and ghouls, and all of that. But there was this part of me that wanted to really acknowledge and push and show Clem and Clark's relationship even more.
That this isn't a normal relationship. This is the best case scenario of two "teens"/young adults filled with trauma and guilt and more baggage than normal in a world that will chew and spit them out, and they used all of that and stayed "pure" to themselves. Their "love" is literally on the line of obsession, and to some, even more than that, and if they had that in our world, people would be calling them toxic and abusive to each other.
It only- or mostly works in their circumstance. Clark is a giver because his trauma and guilt guide him to give everything he has, every single cell in his being, is tuned so that he can give Clementine everything she would ever need, due to being the first girl around his age that he is attracted to. So, she wouldn't leave him under any circumstances. He'd change his whole being to suit her desires and her needs and her wants.
And then there's Clementine. A 17-year-old who lost everything she had. She knows, on a subconscious level, and consciously, that her parents are dead and turned. Her best friend (sitter in canon) was also dead and got turned, and she had to kill her to save Lee. Her world fell apart. Now, she's in the hands of a stranger, who has become her guardian and friend. And then she almost lost him in the pharmacy. And then, she had to grow up quickly and be useful, because she knew it was only a matter of time before she would get torn to pieces.
Now, she's in love with a boy who's willing to do anything for her, even change to fit the ideal man and forget himself, and that scares her. So, she pushes back. If he dresses her, she will dress him back and then feed him. If he wants to be her leg and carry her around, then she will be his comfort and protection from everything as best as she can.
I'm just rambling and trying to get my point across. I'll stop now, before I do other characters in this story.
There is one thing that I didn't plan but happened that I am proud and happy about.
The volume ended on 18. Clark's birthday is 18. His life changed at 18. And next volume, it's basically symbolizing of him being "reborn" in a new world as a new him.
I also succeeded in making a parallel to the summary of this story and the last few lines of this volume. The summary was bleak and forcedly "bright." While the end of this volume was hopeful and realistic.
PS: I'll update the list of rolls in extra to add Phantom sensation.