Disclaimer: I own nothing!
A Hell of a Price: Rick confronting his many ghosts back at Alexandria, and now there is one more face to add to the crowd. Following the events of 6x16 Last Day on Earth ONE SHOT.
Author Note: This is something that came into my mind from reading another fanfic: please it would be unfair of me not to say go and read that one as well: It's called Flowers in the Soil by Window124.
I sent window124 a message prior to putting this up to let them know. It's essentially drawing deeper into an idea shows up in a chapter that I found really, really intriguing and is right up my street. It's so clever – so I took inspiration directly from a paragraph in that story, and one idea in particular, so credit to them as it is rightfully due.
A Hell of a Price
No matter what they are doing, no matter where Rick sees them within the walls of his community, they always seem to end up right here in the street outside his house, staring at him, questioning him.
He doesn't know why he does this to himself. Why he find himself stood here on the porch letting them line up like this against him, but it has become a habit on those days where he can feel his mind battling against itself. On those days where he's losing the fight against the many wars within him. He's learnt that the faces of the dead mix with the faces of the living more for him than the others; that the walking dead that everybody have to cope with aren't enough for him. He learnt after the death of his wife that there are those that he can see that nobody else can, that his mind has given him an extra burden to bear. Real and imaginary mingle together, his mind taunting him, his sanity playing a dangerous high wire without a safety net.
They don't come every night.
Sometimes he gets to stand on his porch and it's a little more peaceful.
He gets to stand out here, alongside Daryl's little den of blankets and cushions that the other man claims he prefers to an actual bedroom within the house, and just breath in the air, listen to the noises that aren't as threatening as they are the other side of the wall. It's peaceful but Lori, she's always there somewhere, always watching him with that sorrowful gaze. It's like she's always trying to have a peek at Judith over his shoulder. Always trying to see into the home she wishes she could have had if only Rick had managed to have been strong enough and kept her alive. He can feel it all in her eyes every time her looks at her.
He can ignore her now though on the good days, he knows she isn't real. He knows she's just a part of him, a part of his guilt that he needs to live with. He can still be peaceful with just her there.
But after the last day on earth he's had? After watching that baseball bat come down on his friends head again and again? After having front row seats of seeing, and feeling, blood, and hair, and skull and brain come away from the bat with every swing? After being too scared the man in front of them would turn on another one of his group, on his son next, so he just knelt there in the damp mud and watching as each blow left less and less recognisable a face Rick knew so well? After hearing the rest of his family scream a single name until it was obvious that person would never be able to hear it again? After him and nine others were left in a kind of shocked silence with the crumpled body of their loved one? After they finally completed the journey to Hilltop in circumstances none of them could have predicted? After they returned home, the RV missing the heartbeats of key people, everyone too nervous to admit they were all looking out of the window expecting another attack any second; anything not to look at the body wrapped in blankets behind them? After they were forced to bury one of their own?
All because Rick had got it all so wrong. He really thought they had it under control.
Stupid.
Tonight is not peaceful.
Tonight is anything but that.
Rick can see over in the distance figures in the darkness climbing up to the top of the gate tower, rifles over their shoulders. He isn't surprised to see both Sasha and Abraham relieving Spencer of watch duty. Rick respects them greatly; the two of them are soldiers, there is no other way of putting it. No one would have blamed any of them for shutting themselves away and not coming out for a few days but here they are carrying on with duties as normal. He can see the two of them sitting closely, their shoulder's touching and Rick let's out a small huff of an almost laugh. He doesn't know the story behind the two of them but it is obvious there is something there. He supposes the horrendous death of friend probably will bring out those kind of feelings in people. It's the figure behind them though that Rick is interested in, because Rick knows she isn't really there, not for anyone else to see at least. Even in the setting sun he can tell from the stance that it is that it is a particular woman. The silhouette shape of her stood strong with the rifle tipped off a cocked hip helps. Andrea, as always, is ready to prove herself. She's facing Rick with a glare of disapproval, a snide judgement of wrongdoing, of getting someone else killed, of making another mistake.
A slam of a hood startles Rick and he's grateful to be able to look away. However, the relief is only brief as just as he pinpoints the sound to Tobin circling his RV to inspect the damage from the Savior attack and Rick spots the tell-tale sight of a camping chair on top of the roof. It may not have been his own motor home but Rick's stomach clenches at the sight of Dale's binoculars staring back at him. They lower briefly but it's long enough to show Rick a look to tell him all he needs to know about Dale's thoughts about the blood that had been spilt last night. About who was responsible.
Rick throws his gaze to the floor, grabbing to the handrail in front of him with both hands as if the whole floor had just thrown itself forward. He hands are shaking and he suddenly brings into focus how covered in dirt they are, remembering with a hot flash of stomach acid in his throat that he had just hours ago used his hands to bury a friend. He hears a quiet grunt from beside him and flicks his eyes over to the corner of the porch and sees Daryl sat, his arm resting on a bent knee, using a knife to sharpen a crossbow bolt even though his crossbow is currently on the back of one of Negan's men. Rick notes that Daryl's hands are just as covered in dirt as his are, and a little bit of blood left over from that bullet wound of his too. To others Daryl may look like he is set to relax, ready to settle in for the night but Rick knows him well enough to know the man is tense, coiled, and ready to unload his anger onto something. He is readying for war. But one thing Daryl isn't going to want to do right now is talk. That is not what that they do when they sit out here.
They come out here and deal with their demons in their own way.
Rick keeps his hands on the porch rail and stares out across the street. Somewhere in the shadows between houses, like a caged tiger Shane dances in and out of the light. His eyes are always on its prey and Rick is aware that he is the prize Shane has always wanted. This is the one that scares Rick out of all of his ghosts. He knows he has gone so far past the lengths that Shane himself had done when he was still alive, Rick knows now if his friend had been alive they would have agreed on the plan to attack the Saviors compound, that the man would have been made for the very set of circumstances they found themselves in now. As if being summoned, Shane steps out from the shadows, walking towards Rick's house, rubbing his hands on his head like he did when he was frustrated. Shane is gunning for him, coming to finally make Rick pay for all those times he made the wrong call, all those people who paid the ultimate sacrifice for his mistakes. Shane is limping, he always is, Rick doesn't know why his mind sticks him in the time on the farm, but he's still gaining on the house... gaining quickly before Aaron walks in front the stalking man.
By the time Aaron has passed over the spot Shane was, the space behind him is empty again. Rick let's out a breath he hadn't realised was being held and drags his hand over his beard. He can see behind Aaron, the shadows are moving again, the ghost of his old friend spooked like the wound up animal he is doomed to be forever. Aaron has stopped, looking up to Rick, beyond him to Daryl's makeshift nest on the corner of the porch and allows himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. Rick thinks he manages to reply with one, he's not too sure, and he hears a grunt next to him from Daryl in response. Aaron's actions seem unsure, as if he does not know if he should move on or not. Just keep going, Rick wills him, and is relieved when the younger man nods again with a sad smile, this time to himself mainly, and carries on up the road. Rick watches him knock on the door and be let in by Rosita, Rick just able to make out Eugene hovering in the doorway behind her.
Rick doesn't keep his attention there for long. There is so much else that is vying for it tonight. His wandering eyes spot others that he had long since thought about, but tonight bring back in full force. Dr Jenner and Jacqui clutching hands on a porch a few houses along. He swears he sees Morales and his family sat in a car down the road even though he will never know for sure what happened to them, but forever feel the guilt of not convincing them of staying with their group, of being responsible for their protection.
Then there are the people like Merle, the people that Rick had never really tried to save. Merle is behind Daryl now, walking back and forth behind the white bars of the porch. Rick's muscle's instantly tense in the instinct to want to protect Daryl from an older brother that just didn't know any better than doing harm. Merle's drawing the blade attached to his arm across each wooden bar, just like Rick remembers him doing to metal ones in the cell at the prison many months ago, making a clunk-clunk-clunk in Rick's head and forcing his eyes to close tightly. Once Rick forces them open again, he's looking straight in Merle's, the older man is smirking and Rick knows exactly what that look means. Merle always knew Officer Friendly had it in him to make the hard calls and those hard calls got people killed. Good people always died because of him.
"Maggie was the one that said it. She was right," Rick says into the night. He couldn't take the silence with the growing amount of ghosts anymore. Merle continued to stare, standing at Daryl's injured shoulder. "She said we would have to pay a price."
"I stand by the deal we made with Hilltop, Rick." Daryl's voice barely bothering to make it above a rumble, like it never really made it out of his throat, his eyes never leaving the work in his hand.
"After what we just saw?" Rick's fists were clenching, all the guilt and anger and fear bubbling to the surface. He sees Daryl's head dip slightly and he feels the tension leave his fists slightly.
"That was a hell of a price."
Sometimes when the other man speaks Rick isn't even sure if he is really speaking. The words are softer than someone like Daryl has any real right to speak them. Rick holds his gaze there for a second before shaking it free, letting it sweep across the large community they live in. Trying hard not to find any more familiar faces.
He still wants to argue with Daryl, is so wound up he almost wants to physically fight with him but that's when he spots Sofia. His blood runs the kind of cold that makes you think you will never feel warm again in your life. This was Rick's mind's favourite trick to play on him. One that made him want to put his own Colt Python into his mouth and pull the trigger. He could see two Sofia's stood on the grass area opposite his house. One was as Rick last saw her alive; relatively clean but terrified, clutching her doll, so child-like, her eyes roaming looking where to run to. Beside her was the Sofia as Rick last saw her. A dark mass of blood where part of her shoulder was missing, cold unseeing eyes, a hungry snarl as she rips into her living doppelganger. The living Sofia being eaten by her undead counterpart. Rick is glad the screams are silent and he drops his head into his hands and shuts his eyes to his nightmare world.
"Judith is sleeping." Rick jumps at Michonne's words, never having heard the woman maker her way out of the house, as she lays both her hands on his trembling back. She pretends not to notice as he stands taller and leans back into her, letting her hold some of his weight.
"Is Carl okay?" Rick asks the question knowing Michonne has taken on a guardian role to both of his children without being asked. Ever since the prison Carl has turned to the woman more often than his own father, and as much as it hurt him to realise it is true, he is more grateful than he would ever be able to tell her. She never asks for the gratitude anyway. He turns toward her slightly and cannot miss a small grimace that she tries too late to hide.
"He's angry." She says it bluntly. Rick sags a little more in her embrace, letting her be his literal pillar of strength in more ways than one.
Carl's face is at his bedroom window, looking down at them on the porch. The fading light is throwing the half of his face not covered by bandages into shadow so you can only so the white of the eye piece starkly. Even then you can see the scowl of his face, the hate and pain mixed so deeply it is ironed into his very pores. Over his shadow he can make out Lori's shape, her hand laying on the top of his head, her face fixed in the same mixture of judgement and contempt as his son's.
"Angry is all the better to go kicking some ass with." Daryl spits out the words with a couple of flicks of his knife along the ever diminishing bolt.
"We have to be careful." Rick shoots a look to Daryl, the warning in his voice. He's angry too, he knows Daryl understands that, but as far as Carl goes Rick needs to keep the boy safe.
"Hey," Michonne brings her hand to Rick's face, turning him to face her. Her eyes go to where Daryl's voice came from, but not as a warning like Rick's had, there is more concern there, before bringing them to Rick. She fixes them there, waiting for Rick to draw his own from Carl's window. "We will be careful."
Rick nods slowly, then turns his back on her again, leaning his hands on the railing and looking out on Alexandria. He can't tell her what he sees. Can't tell her who he sees gathering in that street.
They're all coming out tonight.
"It just doesn't feel right that Maggie didn't come back here with us." Rick whispers, so quietly Michonne has to lean forward onto Rick's back to hear.
"Can you blame her?" Michonne says, so gently into his ear as she links her hands over his abdomen, hugging him from behind. He wants to relax back into her but he can't seem to. "After everything? She needed to stay there for the doctor."
There she is again.
Stood directly in front of the porch is Lori, but this time she's holding a baby.
Rick pulls his face to the side, his mouth down-turning in a grimace because he just can't look at the baby. He knows that even from this distance he'll see both Glenn and Maggie staring back at him, he'll see Glenn's gleaming eyes and their strength and the hope of all their collective family staring back at him. He'll see the moment they all finally reached Hilltop and heard that Maggie had lost the baby that final glimmer of hope and wonder had extinguished in every single one of their eyes last night. The last thing they had clung too with the body of their friend wrapped in blankets in the back of the RV was ripped away from them, the last remnant of good in this shitstorm of a mess.
How had they made such a mess of it all? How had he?
"Maggie needs a new start," Michonne continues, "Hilltop can be that for her."
"Maybe she'll take over from their asshat of a leader." Daryl throws away a comment.
"It would be good for us if she leads them there…" Rick replies, turning his head to Daryl, considering what it could mean for the two community, suddenly lost in thought for a moment at the opportunities that could arise if that were the case.
Michonne takes a step back from Rick a watches him for a moment.
"Daryl…" Michonne looks to Daryl's corner of the porch, for once seeming unsure of her words, faltering and deciding not to continue, shaking her head as if knowing not to go into that conversation just now. Rick watches as Daryl doesn't seem to take much notice anyway and continues to sharpen the same bolt, the tip almost razor sharp and almost useless as far as a crossbow is concerned. Rick doesn't see Michonne's gaze fall back to his own face, her brown eyes tentative, full of concern as they take in the look of wild desperation on the man she is falling so in love with. "We'll make this right, we'll fight these guys, and I promise you we will, but tonight just come back inside"
Rick's eyes dance past her, look straight through her and it kills her a little inside the glaze slip across them. It's a glaze she has seen before, a glaze of grief that scares her, so she loops her hand into Rick's and tries to lead him towards their home.
Rick sees the street filling up. Lori was still holding that baby, stood so still, not even wind would move her hair. The baby, Rick could see, was just as still, and it made him sick to think that as it never got to live his mind would never let it either. Shane was bouncing on his feet behind his wife, ready to attack. Hershel, someone who meant so much to him in this world. Hershel was always kneeling. Forever kneeling. It made him hurt in places he couldn't even begin to describe.
He lets Michonne lead him back towards the door, but all the while looking back to the street, trying to find the one last friend. Wanting to see the look on their face. Wanting his mind's answer; in their last moment, did they hate him as well?
Rick could see Merle was there again pacing, licking his teeth, waiting for something to sink his blade into. Both Sofia's again but this time side-by-side, holding hands like the most screwed up circus double act you could think of. Jessie, Sam and Ron cowering from their father, Jessie's hand coming away as she clung to her boys. A blood soaked Tryeese, a crisp, smouldering Karen, Beth singing a silent song, Denise complete with a crossbow bolt through her eye, Bob, Noah, Denise, Dale, T-Dog, Jacqui, Jenner, Andrea…
It was almost like that night with the herd. They were everywhere and Rick's heart was hammering, he was craning his neck to see into the throng, waiting to see one last person in the crowd of people he had let down.
"Glenn said before we left he would come back in the next couple of days and see if Enid wanted to go up to Hilltop to be with them there." Michonne's words made him stop long enough to let the words sink in. "They'll decide once Maggie has recovered if they will stay there full time."
Rick looks at Michonne, blinking slowly, tilting his head as if literally allowing the words to drip into his ears.
His head slowly creeps back to the corner of the porch and his eyes focus on what only two seconds ago what he thought was a fully formed person.
Only the red rag that usually hung from the hunter's back pocket sat idly on pile of sheets and cushions that made up Daryl's bed.
"Okay, Rick?"
Rick remembers now picking it off the cooling body before they had wrapped it in blankets and covered it with dirt.
"You with me?"
He looks back to the street before the door closed almost silently behind him.
"Rick?"
There was one more face among the crowd tonight.
That was a hell of a price.
…Sorry guys. I couldn't not.
(Some may know I have another story on the go – sorry I'm not updating that – I had 2,000 words of the next chapter and my laptop broke, - kaput! - currently at the laptop shop being recovered – not just that, obviously - so once I have it back I will finish and put that up. So, this is what I am doing with the spare writing time! I will be back to that once my hard drive is back from the computer doctor.)