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“Why is he bleeding?” Jesus folds his arms, staring Tara down from the other side of the trailer they’re sharing.
“Because he’s an idiot.” She tries to sound callous, but she’s absolute shit at it. Tara ought to never play poker, because she can’t lie, she can’t bluff, and she can’t help but feel guilty, whether she should or not.
“I wasn’t aware that idiocy could cause spontaneous and severe bleeding from the nose.” But he softens a little, black trenchcoat swishing around his ankles as he makes his way across the cramped trailer, perching on the armrest of the sofa beside her.
“I think it’s a new phenomenon.” Tara stares at the floor, but she can’t hide the bruises on her knuckles or the thin trickle of blood rolling down the edge of her thumb. Jesus sighs, resting a hand on her arm that he’s surprised she doesn’t shrug away.
“Is it really? Or is it just your massive crush on Rosita biting you in the ass again?”
Tara blushes hot pink and stares all the more zealously at the old, cracked floorboards. “Shut the fuck up, Paul. ”
“Oh, we’re going there, huh?” Jesus chuckles, giving her a nudge in the back with his elbow. “Means I’m right.”
“Oh, for the love of God-” Tara rolls her eyes, groaning in frustration. Jesus only smirks wider at her irritation, poking her between the shoulder blades again. Tara is like the whiny little sister he never had, and while he loves her fiercely, she’s his absolute favorite person to annoy. “Rosita said he was giving her trouble, so I took care of it. He won’t bother her again. Problem solved.”
“Yes, because Rosita Espinosa cannot handle her own problems.” It’s Jesus’s turn to roll his eyes, and he pokes Tara again just for fun, dodging her poorly-aimed swipe at his head in return. “Yep, she definitely needs a knight in shining armor. It’s not like she could have kicked his ass ten times over and yours as well.”
“Okay, first of all, I could take Rosita-”
Jesus just laughs, flicking her in the back of the head. “Of course you could. T, you would have better luck taking on Negan with both hands tied behind your back.”
“Shut up.” This time, he’s not fast enough, and she gets a good smack in on his shoulder. He winces far harder than necessary, screwing his face up in mock pain as he rubs at the nonexistent bruise.
“Ow, Tara, you could have killed me!”
“You’re a moron.” Tara heaves an extremely dramatic sigh, bending her head so that what little Jesus could see of her face at this angle disappears behind a curtain of black hair. “And anyway, sure, Ro could have kicked his ass, but there’d be another asshole grabbing her tits tomorrow, and another one, and another, and another, until it’s just a neverending parade of gropey losers snivelling about how hot she is. So I took care of that one for her, at least. She’s gotta get tired of it.”
“And you, of course, my dear, sweet Tara, had no ulterior motives whatsoever? ”
Underneath the barricade of hair, Tara sits silent for just long enough to put a fresh smirk on his face. When she finally does mumble an excuse, it’s lame enough that she only makes him laugh harder.
“Yep, just a friend…”
“And that’s why you confessed your love for her in your sleep last night. Why don’t you just ask her out already?”
“Burn in hell.” Tara heaves another overdramatic sigh, drawing her knees up to her chin. “I’ve had enough experience with straight girls, I don’t need that again.”
“Wow, your gaydar sucks. ” Jesus laughs, giving her another teasing nudge. “Either that, or you’re hiding behind the ‘she’s probably straight’ excuse. I’m leaning towards the latter.”
“Burn in hell,” Tara mumbles again, but she visibly deflates, and there’s a tinge of hurt in her voice. Jesus sighs, sinking onto the couch beside her to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, if I took it too far-”
“‘S not that.” Tara exhales shakily, pushing her hair back out of her face to reveal a blossoming black eye, a split lip, a rapidly purpling bruise on her cheek, and the faintest hint of tears glistening in her brown eyes.
“Tara…” He brushes his thumb lightly over the bruise on her cheek. “You okay?”
“Mm-mm.” Jesus barely has to open his arms before she’s in them, swinging her legs over his and burying her head in the folds of his trenchcoat. “Never.”
“You’re thinking about Denise again, huh?” He doesn’t have to ask, but the way she shudders in his arms at her name more than confirms it. “Tara-”
“I know it’s stupid.” She cuts him off before he can manage more than the name, because they’ve been over this and she already knows exactly what he’s going to say, which is all the comfort he can offer. “I know she wouldn’t want me to be alone forever, and I know I’m not cursed, and I know that - that she’s dead , and that she doesn’t give a shit if I date someone else anyway, but I can’t help it. ”
She sounds dangerously close to sobbing, and guilt gnaws at him at having pushed her so far. “I’m sorry, T.” It doesn’t feel like anywhere near enough, but it’s all he can manage.
“I’m a coward,” Tara mumbles, wriggling further into his embrace. “I don’t - don’t wanna try again, because I’m scared of feeling like - like this again.”
“You’re not a coward,” Jesus corrects gently, running his fingers slowly through her dark hair. “Far from it. You’ve been hurt a lot, and you don’t wanna be hurt anymore, and that just makes sense.”
“I just - “ Tara gulps back a sob, a sound that practically cracks his heart in half. “I feel so alone… ”
“You’re not alone,” he corrects instantaneously. “You’ve got me. That’s not changing any time soon, got it?”
Tara manages a watery giggle, her sharp chin digging into his shoulder. He doesn’t complain. “You’re so stupid, and I love you.”
“Thanks...I guess?” He chuckles too, teasingly flicking the side of her head. “I love you too, dumbass.”
Tara sighs, lifting her head but making no move to get out of his lap. “I’ve liked Rosita since I met her. I can pine a little while longer. I’m just - I’m not ready yet, nowhere near it. You get that, right?”
“Of course I get it. You’re not the only hopeless gay in this apocalypse, and you’d better not forget it.” Jesus drops the teasing edge to his voice for a moment, letting her know he’s serious. “Just...think about it, okay? That’s all I’m asking. Think about it.”
“You know I will. Like I could think about much else.” Tara sighs, brushing a few stray tears from her cheeks with her sleeve. “God, I’m a mess…”
“What else is new?” Jesus mumbles, automatically ducking her retaliatory swing. “You’re fine. Get off me so I can clean you up.”
Freed from her clingy embrace, he tosses her a bag of ice for her eye, dabbing at the cut in her lip with a wad of gauze. “He got you good, huh?”
“You should see the other guy,” Tara murmurs, wincing as he accidentally bumps a flowering bruise.
“I have, thanks, and it looks like you paid pretty dearly for that bloody nose.” Jesus tosses the bit of bloodied gauze into the trashcan, adjusting the bag of ice to cover another purpling bruise. “When are you going to learn?”
“Me? Learn from my mistakes? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Fair point. Hold still, I’ll braid your hair.” Jesus slowly begins to portion out her dark hair, well aware of how soothing Tara finds it, despite the fact that she’d die before admitting it.
Tara makes her little humming sound in response, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear for him to tuck into the slowly-forming braid. She’s unusually quiet, and Jesus gets the feeling that’s how she wants it. So he respects that, and stays quiet as he braids her hair neatly down her back.
Finally, it’s done, and he snaps a hair tie around the end, giving the end of the braid a teasing tug. “There you go.”
Tara smacks his hand lightly, managing a passable shadow of her usual wide grin. “You’re an asshole. But you’re the best asshole I know.”
“You, Tara, are also my favorite asshole,” Jesus promises, tugging her braid again and ducking another retaliatory blind swing.