Cecelia wasn't sure how long she'd spent walking at the brisk pace that was beginning to burn her lungs and make her joints sore. Hilltop had made her weak. She'd been so used to moving around, going from constantly moving to nearly nothing in a matter of days, spending a month virtually inactive, barely venturing outside. The crunch of leaves behind her assured her Francis was following closely behind, but she dared not to look back to where she was sure The Saviors were still watching. It wouldn't be much longer until she was out of their sight.

After what seemed like ages, they made it into the woods, unscathed. Only once she was past the treeline and stepped into a clearing did she turn back to Francis, who had paused behind her.

"Here," she said, finding the tree stump with the hallowed inside she had hid what little valuable things she owned, producing his gun and knife. Francis accepted them without a word, as she expected, glancing nervously behind them. He placed the gun in the holster at his hip, the knife on the opposite side of his belt. "You're okay?" she asked him, and he nodded, pushing his fingers through his gleaming chestnut hair that was nearly matted to his forehead. As his fingers brushed his wavy locks back, Cecelia noticed the large gash over his eyebrow, likely to need stitches. Blood trickled down past his eyes and down his cheek. She didn't want to know what had been done to him, and she doubted he'd tell her. She just knew Dr. Carson would be able to take care of it.

"Thank you," he said softly, in the gentle and smooth voice she rarely heard. She nodded, moving towards him to embrace him, pressing her lips to the hallow below his high cheekbone. He returned the embrace, his arms tight around her for a moment before she was able to step back. The sound of twigs snapping underfoot woke her from her somewhat un-alert state, and she turned towards the noise, realizing unfortunately that she had been so hasty to check on Francis' condition that she hadn't armed herself, and was distracted. The click of a gun being cocked behind her reassured her that Francis had her back, however, as she surveyed the people in front of her, she realized they were surrounded.

There was silence, and she looked at the two men directly in front of her, one with dark, long hair, clad in distressed leather and denim, and the other with piercing blue eyes and and a blue button down, his curly brown hair tucked behind his ears. There was a woman with dreadlocks and some sort of a sword raised, ready to fight. The weapon was elegant, but not exactly practical in their current situation.

"What were you doing back there?" The cleaner-looking man asked, though who was she kidding, no one ever really looked clean. They could be Saviors, she didn't know, but if they were she figured they would have shot already. To her, they were all the same.

Cecelia didn't answer, just tried to remain calm, when she felt Francis place a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder. Footsteps approached behind them, but she dared not to look.

"Holy shit," she'd never been so relieved to here a familiar voice behind her, so she turned slowly. "Cecelia? Francis?"

Although the owner of the voice wasn't her current favorite person, she turned around to face him. Jesus.

"Paul?" she said, her voice low and angry. He wasn't there when he was supposed to be. He was responsible for Francis being taken, he wasn't there to be the backup she had needed, splitting off on their way there to do God-knows-what. "Son of a bitch," she growled, stepping forward, seeing only red.

"Cecelia, please!" He exclaimed.

"When you make a commitment to someone it is not cool to back out!" she snapped, striding towards him, nearly forgetting the strangers that surrounded them. Taking both free hands she shoved him backwards with all the energy she could manage, when she was suddenly yanked back and restrained by the arms of someone else.

"Look, I can explain!" Jesus insisted, seeming unfazed by her attack. Cecelia whipped around to find the man in the blue button-down holding her back, and realized they must be connected to Jesus in some way.

"Let go of me," she said, growling in the stranger's face, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Francis' gun aimed fight at him, prepared to take him down. The air was tense, she could sense that any movement may set off a chain reaction. Cecelia used her free hand to brush her hair off her forehead, taking in a deep breath as she looked into the man's intense blue irises.

"Rick," Jesus spoke. "She's fine, you can let her go. Francis, put the gun down, they won't hurt you. They're with me."

Francis didn't budge, his arm still extended, a fiery look in his eyes.

"Francis..." Jesus cautioned.

The man holding Cecelia's bicep reluctantly loosened his grip, allowing her to back away, eyes trained on her all the while. Francis relaxed a bit, lowering the weapon, but still alert. She stepped toward Jesus. "What the hell is this?" she asked, the bite in her voice fading.

"When I was on my way to help you, I saw some men with supplies," Jesus began. "It was a truck full. I had to take the opportunity. We needed things back at Hilltop too badly. I thought, maybe, if I got the truck full of supplies, we could eliminate the need to be in contact with Negan. We could hide them from him. I didn't mean to abandon you, I was thinking for the greater good. For Hilltop."

"The greater good? In what world is the greater good abandoning one of your own?" Cecelia protested. "People could have died."

"And if I went with you and things didn't work out, then more people could have died," Jesus argued. "It was a gamble any way it played out. I'm glad you're both okay."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Cecelia hissed.

Jesus took a deep breath. "The men I met," he gestured to the people behind her. "This is Rick," he pointed to the man who had restrained her. "And Daryl," he gestured to the man in the leather vest. "This is their group. That's Michonne," he said, looking at the woman with the sword. "And this is Glenn and Maggie," he pointed to the black-haired, smaller man and short-haired brunette who stood beside him, whom Cecelia hadn't noticed before.

"This is Cecelia and Francis," Jesus said to the group of people. "We've been together awhile, before Hilltop."

Rick looked at both Francis and Cecelia, then made eye contact with a few members of his group.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked Cecelia.

Cecelia shrugged, glancing at him. "I've lost track."

"How many people have you killed?" asked Michonne, the woman with the gun.

Cecelia sighed, "Only a handful."

Rick, who stood closest to her, narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Self-defense," she said, her voice jaded. She wasn't even sure if Jesus knew all the stories, he knew some, but they rarely talked about the past, unless it was about their life pre-outbreak.

Rick turned to Francis, "How many walkers have you killed-"

"Listen," Cecelia hissed, stepping in between the two. "I'm sure we'd all love to sit around for a Q & A, but I don't think now's the time for that discussion." She knew how Francis dreaded conversation, especially with those he didn't know. And she knew how talk of death might trigger him. "What are you doing out here?"

"We're going to kill Negan," Rick explained, glancing over at Jesus.

"Really?" Cecelia asked, surprised, she felt the corner of her lip tug up in a bitter smile. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"Well-"

Jesus interrupted. "Rick and his group have a community, Cecelia. It has electricity, running water. They have a clinic, an arsenal. The have the firepower that we don't."

"How will that help kill Negan?" she asked, becoming less sarcastic and honestly curious. She was concerned about this group, their naivety, they were so unaware of who Negan was, what he was capable of, and how loyal his followers were. There was nothing simple about what they were trying to accomplish.

"We've been through a lot. We've overcome a lot. We know what this Negan is like, we've met men and women like him before," Rick answered, his voice a deep, easygoing southern drawl. She had gotten used to hearing it in the more southern parts of the country, but his was especially prominent.

Cecelia didn't know what else to say, but she guaranteed they would have little success. Although in some ways a practical man, Negan was a bit of a loose cannon, not someone to be fucked with. And even if they were capable of killing him, there'd be a thousand loose ends to clean up.

Francis was looking slightly pale, his face drained of color. "I'm not going back there," he insisted.

"We don't have to," Cecelia assured him, approaching the man to offer some comfort, looking helplessly at Jesus.

"We don't-" Jesus began. "Rick, I can't take Cecelia back, she and Francis were just there."

"We have a deal," Cecelia looked at Jesus. "You take me back, he'll kill me for sure."

Cecelia watched Rick look at his group, seeming like he was in charge of the decision-making among them.

"Whatever you chose to do, I'm taking Francis back to Hilltop. He needs stitches," Cecelia asserted.

"Jesus," Rick began. "You take them to the car with Tara and Gabriel. Back to Alexandria. Denise can get him stitches and then they can go back to Hilltop with you in a few days."

Jesus nodded, and Cecelia felt her head jerk backwards in confusion, looking between the two of them. Since when did Paul take orders, especially from someone he barely knew? And how was this man about to tell them where to go?

"We're just going to go back to Hilltop," Cecelia asserted. "I have jobs to do, a business to run, we don't know who these people are."

Jesus appeared slightly upset at her reaction. "Cecelia, Francis, can you and I talk please?" he looked at Rick for approval. What was this? "Privately."

Cecelia reluctantly followed Jesus about one hundred feet away before he turned to face them.

"What the hell is going on?" Cecelia asked before he could open his mouth. Francis nervously looked back at the group that watched them intently.

"Relax, Cecelia," Jesus reassured, but it didn't help her calm down at all. Her mind was running a thousand miles a minute as she searched for a logical explanation.

"They have guns, they need food. We have food, we need guns. So we're trading them for protection. They're confident. They've encountered these kinds of people before," Jesus explained, though it didn't make her feel any better.

"So what's this Alexandria, and why do we have to go back there?"

"They won't trust you to walk in the woods alone," Jesus explained. "Who knows, you could come back for them."

"We could come back for them?" Cecelia wrinkled her nose, giving Jesus a bewildered stare. "But we're going to trust them to take us back to their community?"

"They won't," Jesus said firmly.

Cecelia's jaw dropped. "Are you listening to yourself? Have they brainwashed you? I thought you were smarter-"

"Cecelia," Francis said, his hand touched her back gently. While she didn't like being told what to do, she did trust Francis' intuition, and shut her mouth.

"Hear me out," Jesus began. "Just relax. I met them. I've known them...they're trustworthy. They won't do anything unless provoked, which I think is reasonable. They'll put you in a nice house for a few days, that's what they did to me. Once we head back to Hilltop, it'll be over. You won't have to see them again, unless it's during some type of trade. But you have to trust me. Remember, trust goes both ways."

"Well I trusted that you'd help me get Francis back," Cecelia argued. "And you didn't do that."

Jesus almost ignored her argument, but then looked up at Francis. "Listen, Francis, you know I would never jeopardize the three of us. Things just happened and I was forced to act on impulse."

Francis responded. "I'm not upset, I understand. You should have seen what Cecelia did."

"What did you do?" Jesus looked over.

"It's not important," Cecelia bit her lip. "I know they need medication and maybe even drugs. But I can't keep finessing my way around these things, I need us to work together, or we'll all end up dead."

He could tell she was frazzled and nervous, a contrast to her normal poker face. Jesus reached out to comfort her, but she shrunk away from his gesture, bumping into Francis as she tried to avoid the contact. He ignored her action and continued. "Listen, I know you're nervous about this, but I'm telling you, you're going to be fine. You'll like Alexandria. Their facilities are better than what we have back at Hilltop. They have a doctor who can help Francis, they have walls. It's going to work out okay. And you'll be home before you know it."

While Cecelia would normally stand her ground, she did sense some desperation and pleading in his tone, so she decided it couldn't hurt. It made her nervous, sure, but it would only be a few nights max until her and Francis would be home. She could survive on little to no sleep if it meant keeping watch to keep the two of them safe.

Okay guys, so this is definitely something different. I usually plan my fics for a really long time before publishing things, but I had a great idea and I wanted to roll with it. Let me know what you think of my first chapter!