Rick pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, his mind racing a mile a minute like the van. Jadis' people were gone. The Saviors had escaped. Alexandria was ashes. Carl was dead –
Abruptly, he steered his mind away from that. He didn't know what to do. They needed Jadis' numbers to tide them over for the war. Everything was falling apart around him and Carl was gone –
Turning his face to Michonne for comfort, he saw her flat look and quickly glanced back to the road instead. "I shot above her head," he defended himself, "I just wanted her gone." He didn't like the look Michonne was giving him. It made him feel guilty and reminded him of how not so long ago, she wouldn't have had second thoughts about what they did. But things were different then. Back then Rick's heart was hard and he had to be, for Carl's sake. He, Michonne, and Carl went on a run for baby items and he remembered the hitchhiker with the orange backpack. They never stopped until all that was left was the orange backpack.
"Look," Rick sighed, "I saw her. She made it." Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Michonne and tried to placate her. "She ran into an empty alley just before I left. I didn't want her dead. I just wanted her gone."
Please, stop looking at me that way, Michonne.
Her voice surprisingly level, Michonne slowly started, "Feels like what Carl was talking about." Rick's heart twinged at Carl's name again so soon. He didn't want to forget, but it was just all so hard. Michonne was braver than him, though, and she continued steadily, "Feels like what we should do when we have a choice."
Rick's foot switched to the breaks and he stepped down harder than he meant to. The van rolled to a sudden stop. He kept the engine running for the relief the air conditioner offered from the heat, but he shifted into park. Ducking his head, Rick found it hard to look Michonne in the eye for too long. When he did, all he saw were the tears she shed for Carl.
"Uh," he hesitated, his tongue numb and clumsy. "Um, I need a se- I need a second," he stumbled.
Michonne's voice finally wavered. "It's fine." She forced a smile, her teeth blindingly white, her eyes crinkled and brimming with the unshed tears she held onto. Michonne reached for him, but Rick unbuckled and hopped out of the van before she could stop him. He grabbed the letters and the walkie-talkie, still refusing to look at her, and stubbornly walked into an empty field adjacent to the road.
He walked and walked until his feet hurt and he rounded a bend so that the small trees and shrubbery hid the van from view – hid himself from Michonne. Feeling all his age and older, he lowered himself to the ground to rest, but every muscle in his body was tremoring, his lungs bursting from holding in sobs. Rick sniffled miserably and stared down at the contents of his hands. Carl's letter for him peeked out, but he ignored it, still not ready, still feeling it was too soon. But Negan's letter…
Rick read it without a second thought. He recognized Carl's handwriting – still not much better from school, but there hadn't been a need for writing much. But the words…Rick knew they were Carl's, but he didn't want them to be. Careful not to dampen the letter as he wiped at his eyes, Rick sighed again, so confused. None of this made sense, and none of this was supposed to happen.
Climbing to his feet again, Rick made up his mind and clicked his radio. It crackled to life and he gathered his strength to say without a quaver in his voice, "Get me Negan."
Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait long. A man answered – not Negan, but not a Savior Rick recognized either. The voice belligerently questioned, "Who the hell is asking?"
Pulling the walkie-talkie to his mouth again, he growled his name. "It's Rick Grimes."
Again, he didn't have to wait long before their response, and this time Rick knew it was Negan. "Ricky," Negan crooned, his low voice still grating across Rick's nerves and gliding across Rick's eardrums even with the slight walkie-talkie distortion. "Look at you, callin' me up. You wanna tell me where you are, baby, so we can do this face-to-face? Phone sex is nice, but I don't think you'd be any fucking good at it."
In the field, Rick started to pace. He tried to convince himself that he was doing this for Carl because of the damn letter, but Rick knew that he was doing this to feel better. There was no one he could talk to – not even Michonne – but Negan.
Rick didn't know why he picked Negan. But ever since he had finished Carl's grave this morning, all Rick thought about was Negan. He wanted revenge. Killing walkers wasn't enough – he wanted Negan dead just like his boy. A man like Negan shouldn't have outlived Carl.
But it was more than revenge and he knew that, too. There were a few instances where Rick let himself get too close. Times when Negan's crooning and insinuations were just too tempting for Rick to resist. Sometimes he lingered on them, thought about them absently as he'd reach down and touch himself. Negan made promises to be taken care of, to be safe and made to feel so good. Rick had wanted to believe it so bad, but everyone around him pushed for war and Rick let his head lead him that way rather than listening to anything else.
There had been a time, at the beginning, when he and Carl had first met Siddiq. They were walking back from the gas station to their vehicles, and Rick hadn't understood why Carl was upset with him. Carl talked about how there needed to be something after the war, and Rick didn't want to say out loud what that would be, what it could have been.
Carl said the words for him.
It's funny, it started much like his conversation with Michonne today. Rick explained how he shot above Siddiq's head, but Carl was still visibly upset. He mentioned something about hope before he explained.
"I know what he did, Dad. I was there, I remember what he did and what he made you do." At Rick's sharp look, Carl added, "What he asked you to do. But I also saw him at his Sanctuary." Rick remembered what Carl had told him, about the workers and the wives. It angered Rick at the time, made him feel like a pawn, but his anger was mitigated as Carl continued, "Dad, I don't think killing him will solve everything. The Saviors are just like us. Killing you wouldn't change who we are – we wouldn't stop fighting."
"What do you suggest, Carl? You want us to grow strawberries together?"
"Maybe." Carl had shrugged awkwardly, still lugging the half-empty gas cannister. "Not at first, but maybe one day he can grow his own damn garden instead of taking from ours."
"Carl," Rick gently admonished with a warning finger.
"I know there was something between the two of you," Carl changed the subject, more perceptive than Rick wanted to give him credit for. He must've gotten that from Lori, he noted sadly. "I don't know how far it went – and I don't want to know – but Dad, there can still be something after."
Now, standing in the field knowing that his son was in the ground with dirt and bugs, cold, rotting – Rick didn't want there to be anything after.
"Carl's dead," Rick forced himself to say. Mechanically, he recited what he planned, refusing to be sidetracked by Negan's coquettish nature. "He wrote letters. He wrote one to you. He asked you to stop. He asked me to stop. He asked us for peace." Pausing, Rick held in his sniffles.
Rick wanted to cry. He wanted to lay ground in the grass and dig up the earth until it swallowed him like his son's corpse – he was so light when Rick lifted him, barely anything, just a boy. When it had happened, Rick hadn't let himself cry much. For Carl he didn't, and for Michonne either. There hadn't been time, there still wasn't time. But Rick wanted to cry and be grounded by something, to be held and allowed to selfishly cry without thinking about anyone else's tears.
But for Negan, he wouldn't let himself cry now. Instead, he snarled into the walkie-talkie, "It's too late for that! Even if we wanted a deal now, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna kill you."
Expecting some smart-ass retort or for Negan to lord Carl's death other him, Rick was shocked when he heard Negan's voice on the other side sound so muted. "How did it happen?"
"What?"
"How did he die?" Negan clarified, still speaking uncharacteristically softly, "Was it us? Was it the grenades? The fire?"
"It wasn't you!" Rick snapped, desperately wanting that to be a lie. If Negan had done it, at least it would've been easier, and Rick would feel justified to cut himself loose from this – whatever this was. "Carl went out to help someone," Rick choked, "And he got bit."
Instantly, there was a click on the other side as soon as Rick let go. "God damn it," Negan muttered, and Rick could hear the sincerity. He knew Negan meant it. "Shit. I, um, I am sorry. You know, I wanted him to be part of things. I had plans." Rick's eyes went unfocused as he listened, and in this moment of weakness, grief, and solitude he allowed himself to be comforted by Negan's voice. "He – that kid, that kid was the future."
Serenity was swallowed by his rage because Rick knew there was no future without Carl. To Negan, though, he told him, "The only future is one where you're dead!"
"What the hell are you doing, Rick?" Negan's tone was only slightly annoyed now, less pitying than before. Rick's eyes slipped shut to hold in the tears. "Why are you fighting? Why are you making this so hard? Because you couldn't leave shit well enough alone. Your son is dead, Rick. Stop now before someone else you love dies and I'm fucking responsible for it. I don't want that, Rick. You set this course. Who's next to bite the goddamn dust?"
"You are!"
"Rick," Negan soothingly reprimanded, if that were possible, "Rick, why are you so obsessed with this? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow – all that bullshit. The life you're living now? There is no tomorrow. You have to take your fucking chances now in this war you started."
As Negan spoke, Rick found himself lowering to the ground. He kneeled, the long blades of grassing yielding to his knees, offering a slight cushion. Holding the walkie-talkie close to his ear, Rick could imagine Negan here with him now. All he needed was a touch on his jaw – the wind blew and a blade tickled across his cheek, and tears leaked from his closed eyes.
"You see, Rick, honey, I stop people from dying. I am the answer. Now, it may have taken a hard lesson for you to hear it, but you should hear it now. It's time. Do not let any more of your shit decisions cost you to lose anyone else you love. That garbage – that fucking sticks with you like shit. Forever." Negan sounded like he spoke from experience, but at the moment Rick didn't care or want to know.
With a sigh, Negan added, "Just like Carl will. Hell, I'm feeling it and I'm gonna be feeling it for a while. You could have let me save all of you. I mean, that's why we started this shit to begin with. You and I could've had something, Rick. Life coulda been good for you and your kids. I could've saved Carl, kept him protected and damn safe."
Rick sunk the fingers of his left hand in the dirt up to his silver wedding band – and then pressed in further, not caring about the dirt under his nails.
"So," Negan continued to lecture, "you can sit there and you can say that you're gonna fucking kill me or whatever, but you won't. We both know why – because that shit wasn't one sided with me. You may have everyone else fooled, darlin', but I know you're just as much as a monster as I am. One in the same. Every step of the way, we've been on the same wavelength."
The walkie-talkie crackled, and Rick wondered if anyone had been listening. He was tired, though, that he just didn't care. It's not like anything Negan had said was wrong, either, Rick was ashamed to admit to himself.
"Just give up, Rick. Fucking give in to me," Negan insisted, voice low and urgent and truthful. "Give in, baby, because you already have – and you've already lost."
With finality, the walkie-talkie crackled one last time, and Rick knew that Negan wasn't on the other side anymore. Weary, Rick opened his eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the light, and collected himself in the empty, quiet field. He wiped his eyes with his grimy hands and tucked the letters in his pocket – careful not to crinkle them – and clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt. On shaky legs, he walked back to the van, and avoided Michonne's eyes again.
She didn't ask why his eyes were red-rimmed and Rick didn't admit that he was in love with someone else.
But he had the most awful feeling that she already knew that, too.
