Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Set post "Coda" in an arc where everything has gone down the shitter and it is just Glenn and Tara left. This was originally inspired by something on tumblr but quickly became one of those ideas that just had to exist, you know? Glenn is a very under written character in this fandom, especially in terms of his development past season one.

Warnings: Expect canon appropriate violence, mature language, rough sex with elements of possible dub-con, a homosexual character having heterosexual sex with another heterosexual character, possible consent issues, dark!glenn (kinda), dub-con related language, anger, angst, heavy emotional and mental trauma, references to panic attacks and mental breaks, dissociation, seriously unsound mental/emotional capacity and questionable decision making that will hopefully make sense in the end.

This is kinda messed up (but hey, what else is new?)

Chapter Two

It started with silence, with a stillness so oppressive that he could feel the beats between the words that didn't get said. It started with a cut off gesture. With her taking a careful step forward and him taking an equal one back. It started with them just staring at one another, trying to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do next as somewhere in the distance a prey animal screamed.

The rest came gradually – naturally - like he'd just been looking for a reason as the world seemed to thin out and condense all at once. Heart hammering in his chest as thoughts graduated into words. A phrase. A sentence. An angry look. Before he finally lost it.

"It's okay," she said, proving the opposite when she leaned back as his fingers curled around her shoulders, biting and firm. "I'm okay."

But that only made it worse.

Because he didn't care.

Because he didn't want her to be okay.

He was an angry, venomous, poison-spewing thing. He was a cancer, aggressive and spreading. He was broken. And he didn't know if he wanted to be fixed. If he deserved to be fixed. There was blood on his hands and the worst part about it was that given enough time, he knew he'd be able to wash it off. Stuck in this ridiculous place between apathy and the inability to shake the feeling that no matter what he did, he was the thing that was wrong.

He was the adaptable one.

The sneaky one.

The one who'd had them all fooled.

"Why?" he snarled, shaking her, face so close he could feel her flinch – dark hair lank and half curled in front of her face – as she tried and failed to look him in the eye. "Why did you leave?!"

She almost looked like her in that moment.

Half-shadowed and small.

Like she'd looked after Grady.

Scooped out and hollow.

His molars ground together as he looked her up and down, lingering over a snap-decision he'd already made as he fisted his hand in a messy thatch of her hair and pulled.

Close enough.

He reared back, dragging her with him as he breathed in the stink of burnt ozone. Choking and cloying as he sucked it in like air - feeling it slick down the inside of his throat like a poison.

"This wasn't what you promised!" he spat, face twisting into something even his nightmares didn't recognize as a frightened sound slipped from her lips. "You promised! You promised and you left me! How could you leave me!?"

But he didn't see that. He didn't see her. All he saw was Maggie's body splayed against the dew. Just like he'd found it that morning, a week after they lost the others, in the soft green just beyond the tree-line. Cold and blue and still just as achingly beautiful as she'd been the first time he'd seen her, riding in on that horse, baseball bat flying.

He didn't see the fear reflecting on her face any more than he felt the way his teeth were bared. Fighting against self-disgust and arousal as his cock pressed up against his zipper – adding a new layer to a moment he'd already lost control of as he ground himself into the arc of her hip and tried to remind himself of the all the reasons why she'd asked for this. Why she deserved it. Why-

"This is the only picture I have of you!"

"You don't need a picture of me. You never will again."

He didn't register he'd gone too far until he was pressing his lips against hers. Nipping and licking and forcing his way in until he got what he wanted and she started pushing back. Angry and snarling right back at him as they pushed and pulled, flinging each other away only to welcome them back a second later. Like they were caught in some sort of fucked up feedback loop that lasted right up until he slapped her up against crumbling brick and screamed into the pale of her throat.

The curve of her cheek tasted like rage. Like anger and regret and the bitterness of salt-tracks as disgust and desire waited impatiently in the wings. So he set his teeth into it and burned. Barely feeling the fist she knocked against his skull only a few seconds before she gripped a length of broken pipe just above them and hitched herself up. Wrapping her legs around his waist and crushing her breasts into his face.

He buried his face into her chest, inhaling, nosing at the pale, blue-veined softness before he grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and yanked, ripping the worn fabric until he had a window down the center. He preened at the predatory look it got him, before her hands were tugging at his belt, unable to hear what she was saying over the ringing in his ears. But he swatted her away regardless, crushing her back against the brick as he forced his hand past the waistband of her jeans. Thumbing the button and squirming downwards until he had her - dry and softly-furred against the pads of his fingers.

Maggie had always liked it like this.

She'd liked it when he used his fingers, even when he'd had no idea what the hell he was doing. She taught him what she liked. Taught him through experience that she both loved and hated it when he worked her up to her peak again and again, keeping her there until he brought her off with his tongue. Slicking himself in her release as he slipped inside her before she'd finished coming down.

His fingers rasped, skating roughly through the smallest blurt of slick as he coaxed it out of her, painstaking and slow as she struggled against him. Biting at her lip as she leaned away, an instinctive reaction to discomfort. And for some sick reason it only made him laugh. It made him force his fingers deeper - harder - as he watched Maggie writhe, loving it. Perfect hips arching up, following his fingers as he pressed open mouthed kisses into the dips, counting the freckles even though he already knew them by heart.

The pain in her voice charged the air, so when he tasted copper, he doesn't stop. Moving back to her lips and shredding through the split down the center like pain and pleasure were the same animal. Wanting it to hurt. Wanting her to feel it as Tara gave him everything he'd never once asked Maggie for.

When he came, hips stuttering, letting her muscles milk him – hesitant but spasmodic – he had just enough awareness to know that she hadn't. Tasting her tears as they streamed down her cheeks before he slammed up into her again, fighting his own sensitivity as he started to soften, forcing it from her with curled fingers that remembered every inch of Maggie's body.

He knew how to make her sing.

He knew how to make her like it.

He broke her hard and fast. Merciless and rough in a way he'd never dared to be as he laid hands on her. Digging his teeth into the inside of her thigh as she clenched around his fingers and sobbed. Crying out an unfamiliar name as his knees buckled and they toppled over, sprawled across the dirt in a mess of ripped clothes and beat up skin.

They landed with him half on top of her. With him trying to remember what sanity tasted like, what a clear head and level nerves actually felt like as they shuddered through the aftershocks. Staring blankly up at an unforgiving sky as he found the curve of Maggie's smile staring back at him from a skiff of cloud.

He'd known the feel of it once, of sanity, of being whole.

Tara whimpered. Trying to suck the sound back in as he turned his cheek, stubble rasping across the soft of her belly, feeling the raised furrows where he'd raked his nails. Too tired for the horror that might have flooded through him as the muscles in his thighs twitched lazily. There would be time for that later. For now, all he registered was the way her chest rose and fell underneath him. Steadying and affirming in every way he hadn't realized was comforting until right now.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, dragging his lips across her skin as the after-image separated and the woman he no longer had even a picture of faded into the dark. Leaving him with nothing but a freckled swathe of unfamiliar thigh and a pair of gaunt, haunted eyes as the fire cooled into ember somewhere behind them.

It seemed appropriate, considering.

"Don't be," she murmured, ragged and sniffling for a handful of beats before cool fingers started carding through his hair. Smoothing it back in a comfortingly dependable rhythm, from temple to split-end, just like he remembered his mother doing when he'd been young. Humming under her breath as a mug of Omija tea cooled on the table beside her. A rare moment between mother and son before Ryung woke up from her nap.

"I needed to say goodbye too."

He didn't ask her what she meant by that.

He didn't think he'd be able to handle the answer.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.

Reference:

"Ryung" is a Korean girl's name meaning "brightness."

Another big thanks to gunslingerdixon for the dialogue from the picture burning scene between Glenn and Maggie in season 4.