When Rick made it back with the others, the Hilltop was in the middle of an invasion. Rick knew there was no way that Negan had made it back in time to be part of this, but Rick also knew that because he hadn't sounded the alarm the Hilltop didn't have enough time to prepare. Fueled still by his grief and his anger, Rick attacked the Saviors.

None of them had guns – used up all their bullets with the walkers – so Rick was able to get up close and personal. Slamming his hatchet into chests until it cracked sternums and split hearts felt good, the blood spurting up and wetting his face, still warm and fresh. It felt so good, even if his body was sore from his past pleasantness with Negan – but Rick didn't allow himself to dwell on that. It was all a lie, a trick where Negan could show him how weak he was and Rick hated how easily he was manipulated. Never again, he promised himself.

Never again!

"Rick!"

Siddiq raised his bloodied hands from where he was applying pressure to Tobin's chest, and Rick tilted his head, squinting as he tried to remember through the fog of bloodlust. Once he did remember, his grief overwhelmed him again and his knees nearly buckled.

"Just stay here."

To escape the pain, Rick kept killing, regrouping with his family – what was left of them – in one final push to drive the Saviors out of the Hilltop's walls. According to Maggie's plan, they were successful. Still, the victory was sour in Rick's mouth as he and Maggie stood side by side at the gates, shooting futile bullets into the retreating Saviors' vehicles. Some small part of Rick was heartened by it, though. Maggie would be a good leader when this was all over – once he was gone.

Breathing heavily, they stared out into the darkness until the red glow of the taillights faded from view, and then they kept staring. Their breath was barely visible, the nights not yet cold enough for that, but they will be soon. This not would be hot and humid, though, heavy with an impending storm they all felt in their bones.

Maggie spoke first. "I wanted them dead," she confessed into the suffocating night. "All of them. Negan most of all."

Even though it was broken, Rick's heart twinged at the name. "Yeah," he softly replied, "Me too."

With a wild sort of desperation, one laden with a grief Rick was all too familiar with, Maggie turned to him and gripped his forearm tight, her other hand still clutching her lowered pistol. "Did you see him?"

"He wasn't here," Rick answered too quickly, shaking his head. At Maggie's confused and lost look, he continued, "I saw him out there. I broke away and tried to kill him." He sighed and looked away, unable to stand the weight of her disappointed, yet understanding gaze. Everyone's pity was a heavier burden than the responsibility they placed on him with their lives. "I didn't, but I tried."

In the dark, Maggie sniffled. "Thank you."

Rick kept to himself after that, unless they were strategizing for the war. He needed the privacy to grieve and lick his wounds, to busy his thoughts. Whenever he was around his broken, little family, all he saw was Carl again. He remembered Daryl teaching Carl how to track and hunt, to make snares for rabbits. He remembered Rosita cracking a smile at Carl's jokes, affectionately patting him on the shoulder. He remembered Tara laughing with Carol about some cartoon they had both seen before the end. He remembered Carol holding Carl at the beginning as both of them grieved for Sophia.

Would he be with Sophia now? Do all of the bitten go to the same place? Is Lori there? Shane?

Pausing from where he was prying the protective two-by-fours from the window, Rick heard the floorboards creak. He turned, but it was only Michonne, as quiet as a cat as always. "Saved you this turnip," she offered by way of explanation.

Turning back to the window, Rick muttered shortly, "Yeah. I'm okay." He pulled harder on the boards, but he could feel Michonne's knowing eyes on his back. With a sigh, he explained, "Maggie turned off the generators to save on gas." The board popped off in his hand and he set it aside before continuing with another. "The kids are gonna need air in this heat."

"Mhm." The back of Rick's neck tingled as Michonne stepped closer. He felt more than he saw her reach out to him in every way she could. "Can I take a look at that cut? I have some stuff to clean it." She was referring to the one on his hand, the one from when they first met Jadis. He had been happy with just Michonne, then, he felt like the war was justified. Carl was alive then, too.

Before she could touch him, Rick shied away from her touch. Part of him wondered if it was because he felt filthy, to fouled by his infidelity for her tender touch. Inside though, Rick knew it was because he only wanted Negan's touch. He had still yet to bathe, to scrub himself clean from Negan's essence. If he thought it was out of martyrdom to show how damned he was, how he was a fool before and he never will be again, Rick knew that was a lie, too.

"Let me get this done first," Rick made his excuse instead. The hurt in Michonne was as palpable as his own, even more so because he knew she grieved Carl like a son, too. He knew he was wrong, he should talk to her, he should tell her…but Rick felt like it was a burden only he could bear.

As he pulled another board free from the window, though, and Michonne had yet to leave, staring sadly at his back – his sore back, bruised and scraped raw from the brick wall – and the back of his neck, where his sweat-limpened shirt collar did nothing to hide the love-bruises (just bruises, marks of shame and domination, damnation) – Rick knew that he had to talk.

"I saw him at the back of the convoy." Rick knew he didn't have to say who 'he' was. He lifted his head from where he had been staring at his busied hands –

"Idle hands do the devil's work, Richard," Grandma had said. Clear as day he could see her now in her rocking chair on the front porch, Carl in her lap, his chubby toddler hands in the basket of peas she was shelling. "Come help me with these peas, honey."

– He stared straight ahead at nothing with his dull eyes. The boards hadn't yet been removed from eye-level yet, and he couldn't see outside. Rick wondered if this was how a coffin felt, if it was better that his boy hadn't been packed away in a box like they did every year with the Christmas tree and Carl would beg, "Just a little longer, please!"

"That's why I did it." Rick blinked away the memories, forcing them to the back of his mind.

"What did you do, Rick?"

Tipping his head forward with a thump on the two-by-four, Rick squeezed his eyes shut. His heart spasmed. He could feel the tears coming. His knuckles blanched from the grip he had on the two-by-four. "I gave in to him."

"What did you do, Rick?"

His voice was quiet as a whisper and cracked when he answered, all the breath expelled from his lungs, causing him to deflate and wither, shoulders dropping, like snow like leaves like rain – "I slept with him."

Damning silence filled the room until Rick felt like the ceiling was going to come crashing down, so much damn pressure. Then Michonne placed her palm between his shoulder blades, pressing on his spine like she knew he liked, and though it stung from his scratches and bruises, her touch filled him with relief again, and once more he could collect himself.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

It wasn't forgiveness, but understanding was good enough. With a sigh, Rick straightened his spine and continued pulling at the two-by-fours. Michonne stepped away, falling into his shadow. "I had to try." Rick's voice was thick with emotion when he repeated, "I had to."

Later in the day, Rick sat out on the mansion's front steps, meticulously cleaning his Colt Python in the sunlight until the steel gleamed in the sun. As he pushed the bullets into the chamber, he overheard Carol talking to the young blond boy from the Kingdom that looked so much like her Sophia.

"I wouldn't have died if I went out there," he insisted stubbornly. A lot like Carl at the farm when he asked for a gun.

"I'm not gonna play with it, Mom. It's not a toy. I'm sorry I disappointed you, but I want to look for Sophia and I want to defend our camp. I can't do that without a gun."

"You would have, Henry," Carol said with a weathered sort of experience of a childless mother. Rick wondered if he would ever sound like that, if he would talk to Judith in the same sort of way.

"Sophia, you have to do exactly as I say. Hide in there. Squeeze in tight. I'll draw them away from you."

"No, no, don't leave me!"

"Listen, listen, listen, listen. They don't get winded; I do. I can only deal with one at a time. I wouldn't be able to protect you. This is how we both survive. You understand? Okay?"

"Just trust me."

"I saw that walker… I was gonna shoot it, when he was stuck in the mud. I was, I was throwing rocks at him and stuff. But I was gonna do it – shoot it right in the head. And it, it got free, came after me and I ran away… If I had killed it, Dale would still be here."

"Carl, I want you to stop that, okay? This ain't your fault, but you need to hold onto this. You need to protect yourself. As long as I'm around you, nothing's gonna happen to you, Carl. But I can't keep my eyes on you 24/7. Only you can do that."

"You would have."

"It's not enough, Dad. There has to be something after."

"I could treat your wound."

Siddiq's voice broke into Rick's reverie, and Rick was only slightly relieved. Memory Lane now was less of a lane and more of a flood of emotions, of regrets. So many lost children.

"Wouldn't want it to get infected," Siddiq explained.

Glancing at him from the corner of his eye – as much as he could bear to see the man, the boy his son died for – Rick jerked his head in acquiescence and held out his injured hand.

Siddiq quickly sat down, gingerly taking Rick's hand and examining the old, dirty wrap. "There's, um, a prayer for the dead I first heard when I was a little boy." Rick tensed, but Siddiq didn't seem to notice as he started sorting through his medical tools for more bandages and ointment. "It, uh, ended with the phrase, Do Not Send Us Astray After 'Them' – those he who died," he helpfully tacked on.

"Don't."

Jerking his hand free, Rick stood and walked away before he did something he would regret. Before he did something that would make his son's death be in vain.

After that, Rick had little time for reflection. The Saviors had poisoned their weapons, and Rick cursed himself over and over for not realizing it when he had held Lucille in his hands. Negan had been a distraction.

Never again.

The next day, as they waited for the wounded to die –

Tara laughed and laughed, gently pushing Carl's bony shoulder. He was sprouting up fast and he didn't eat enough as he should. Rick tried not to think about that as he watched Tara tease Carl.

"How could you think An American Tail was a Disney movie? Two different mice!"

"I dunno! They sing a lot."

"All kid movies have singing."

"Whatever, I'm not a kid."

Rick remembered the prison, and how he had brought Legos in for Carl that he pushed aside in favor for his pistol.

Rolling her eyes, Tara's ponytail bounced. "Uh-huh."

– Dwight had shot Tara. Another death on Rick's shoulders. He should've killed Dwight outright instead of using him. Like Negan used him. Like Rick should've killed Negan, because in the end, what did he do? Negan didn't take the pain away. It was still there.

Turning into the bedroom he was given to share with Michonne, Rick paused when he saw her at the dresser. The drawer where they had put the letters, the ones they hadn't already given out, –

Enid was inconsolable, Maggie had said. Even moreso after Michonne gave her the letter. Rick hadn't read hers, and he was glad. She would move on to love another. He had. Beth had, when she was alive... Carol had. Even Lori had, when she was alive... With Shane, his brother, when he was alive…

– was open and Michonne had her hand halfway stuck in, like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. But in her fist was a bitter goodbye letter rather than a sweet cookie –

"Oatmeal raisin?" Carl stuck his tongue out. "Yuck! Why can't we get chocolate chip? Those are actually sweet and taste good."

Placing the break-and-bake pack of oatmeal raisin cookies into the shopping cart, Rick sagely answered, "Because Mom said so. Less sugar."

"Less tasty."

"I know."

– "Do you…do you want to read it?" Michonne sorted through the letters, offering him her own and his. Rather than answering, Rick brushed past her for the closet and grabbed his jacket. "You're going out there," she observed flatly.

"We need food." And it's true, they did. Turnips weren't enough, especially with Judith and baby Gracie. "I'm gonna find some."

"What did he write you?" Michonne refused to give up.

"I don't know." Rick turned back to her, and she was staring at him with her sad eyes. There was no pity, however, because he was just as sad. "I…I can't."

"Wait," she insisted.

"I can't."

"You have to." There was a heaviness in her shoulders that Rick intimately knew because he carried it as well. Her head tilted in that all-knowing way she had that made Rick feel warm and safe and understood. Well, it used to. Michonne's eyelids were half-lidded and swollen, her voice slightly rough from tears. "I did it, too, when it happened to me."

Frowning, Rick at first didn't understand, but then it all suddenly clicked into place.

She was a mother before.

He never knew.

Did Carl know?

"You keep moving to move away from it," Michonne continued steadily. Her blinks were slow as a barn cat in the sun, and even in grief, she was beautiful and strong like Rick could never be. "Andrea stopped me," her voice broke as she started to cry again, "and now I'm stopping you."

Michonne crossed over to him, taking his jacket and passing him his letter instead. "Carl wrote that because he wanted you to read it." She turned her back on him as she went to hang up his jacket with finality. It was hard to say no to her. "It was one of the last things he ever did."

When she turned back to him, she had a hand on the doorknob and a finger pointed at him sternly. "You're staying."

Rick had stayed. There was little he could do, though, around the Hilltop. Everyone was insisting that he rest and take his time. There was an unspoken explanation 'to grieve' at the end of that sentence, but Rick wasn't even doing that.

Michonne had deposited Judith in his care, thinking she would help revitalize Rick and give him purpose. Feeling like a monster, Rick avoided looking at her. She was Shane's, he was sure of it, but even though she was that, when he looked at her he saw Carl, too.

"He looks just like you, you know," Lori said fondly, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched Carl crawl across the blankets to his favorite toy. It was a stuffed, blue and yellow monkey that Lori's dad bought at the hospital the day he was born.

"I sure hope he does," Rick teased, resting his cheek on top of her head. "The milkman is an awfully ugly fellow."

Lori half-hearted swatted at his chest. "Stop it."

With a blink, the memory was gone, leaving only ash in his mouth. Anxiety rippling through his veins, Rick twitched and rocked in his chair, knee bouncing, every muscle coiled like a spring. Staring at the old sheriff hat that once was his – Carl's – while Judith played on the floor, Rick could hear the whispers in his ears of what people will say after.

Did you hear? Lost his boy in the war. No, no, it wasn't the Saviors. It was just a walker.

Shame.

All that wasted potential.

Abruptly, Rick stood and walked around Judith to the closet. Idle hands and all that, as his grandmother had put it. She died a week before Carl turned three-years-old. He had never remembered her.

He had to get out or he would go mad, just like he had at the prison. Rick remembered the phone calls… Luckily, there was no landline here. He was afraid of who would be on the other side of the line, now. Would it be Shane again? Lori? Sometimes, he missed seeing her ghost.

But Rick knew who he would hear because he just heard him again. Rick wasn't ready for that. It was too soon, and he did not want to become a victim again.

Never again.

As soon as Rick put on the coat and walked out the door, he was the model image of the leader everyone wanted him to be. After he dropped Judith off with Gracie's babysitter, he went to the Savior prisoner that Maggie favored: Alden. Apparently, he believed the escaped Saviors were going to a dilapidated bar; Rick knew the one. They had scavenged there before, he and Michonne had spent the night there –

"Rick," Michonne breathed in his ear before he kissed his way down her body. "Rick, we can't be too loud, remember? There are a few walls missing."

"I'm not gonna be loud," Rick assured her, slipping his hands from her hips to the button of her jeans.

She shot him a knowing look of disagreement. "You sure about that?"

"I'm positive." Her jeans pulled off her long, beautiful legs, Rick skated his palms back up her naked thighs. "Tonight is all about you."

– Once Rick was outside the walls, the memories didn't follow him. He needed to be focused. No distractions. Here, he could breathe and not care if he died. Pulling off the road, Rick parked and made his way through the woods, following Alden's instructions. The roads were compromised by the walkers, and while normally Rick would relish letting loose his anger, this time he wanted more of a challenge. The living fought more than the dead.

What he hadn't expected was to catch up with Morgan. Now there was a man more broken than he was – shattered, in fact. Rick was split in two, aching and bleeding his grief, but Morgan was a collection of shards, jagged edges that were unforgiving for those that got too close. The more time Rick spent with this Morgan, the more he was sure that he would be like him too, if he kept living. Which is why he needed to die.

But not yet.

They caught up to the Saviors, tricked them, killed them. When it was over, Rick picked his way over the bodies, killing the walkers who ate their fill of Savior meat. One of the men was still alive. With a sort of morbid fascination, even though Rick was intimate with death by now – more than he would've liked – Rick knelt beside the bleeding, dying man. The Savior gasped as his lungs filled up with blood, "You said…you said."

Raising his eyebrows, Rick cut him off almost mockingly, "I lied."

"I…I didn't." Blood bubbled up his throat, leaked out of the corners of his mouth. "We could've…we could've lived after." Rick tilted his head. "After this."

Rick shot the man in his skull until he was dead and then kept shooting until his Colt Python clicked its emptiness. His skin was tacky with blood. He was tired. It felt a lot similar to his time after…with Negan.

Standing, Rick watched Morgan walk through the room and methodically shove his stick through skulls. "Everybody turns," he explained. That was what he said a lot these days. Like the second time Rick found him, when he had been with Michonne and Carl.

"You saved me," Rick realized. Morgan didn't seem to hear him as he continued stabbing skulls. "Morgan, you saved me. I would've died." Now Morgan stopped ignoring him, staring at him levelly. "Maybe on that street, right in front of your house. You didn't know me. Why'd you do it?"

Morgan started to leave. "We should go."

"Just tell me." Rick twitched. For some reason his mind kept drifting to Negan. Should he have let the Saviors deliver him? Did Negan care for these men or did he only pretend like he did with Rick? "Why'd you save me? You had your son there."

"No," Morgan denied.

"You did."

"Hey, no." Morgan shook his head, and Rick knew it was dangerous to push him, but he didn't care. He had to know.

"Why'd you save me? Why?"

"Because," Morgan finally looked Rick in the eye, shifting foot to foot. "Be-because my son was there," he stuttered, his eyes shuttered closed to hide his soul, his voice laden with grief and broken and everything Rick felt that described himself over and over again.

When Morgan walked away, Rick was left staring at a mirror. There was so much blood on him, none of it his own. If he looked at his hands, he could literally see the blood on them, too, the blood manifested from the ghosts of his past that continued to haunt him. And then Rick realized that even when Morgan was standing there, Rick had still been staring into a mirror.

Together, he and Morgan went back to the Hilltop. They entered the gates alone. Alden was the only one who looked disappointed, but the others looked wary of them, as if they were rabid dogs. With all the blood, Rick couldn't blame them. He wanted it gone.

He was surprised to see that Tara was still alive, but something bitter in Rick knew that that was only temporary. She would die, too. Maybe in this war. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it was like Morgan said. Everybody turns.

Avoiding Michonne, Rick went inside to scrub himself clean finally. He did not want to be like Morgan.

Just as Rick suspected, though, Michonne sought him out again, catching him dressing after his shower. He was standing by the dresser, looking at himself, really himself. There were no memories right now. None that willing drifted up to recall easily.

"Are you ready now?" Michonne asked him steadily.

Sighing, Rick felt like that was all he ever did now: sigh. "Yes."

She nodded at him, her locs drifting over her shoulders. "Good." Michonne turned to leave to give him some privacy, but something in Rick knew that there needed to be a correction.

"Michonne," he called, and he was surprised to see her so easily turn back to him. She didn't look hopeful per se, more or less expectant. It put a lot less pressure on him. "I loved you."

"I know that." Of course, she did. "I still love you, but I know why you don't anymore."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Rick explained himself. "It just did. We…we connected through it all. I know what he did, I know. But that didn't stop us."

"I saw it." Michonne made it simpler for him. "He was different with you. Gentle. Tender. Like he cared. It was only with you."

"Did…did other people know? See it, too?"

Michonne paused as she considered. "I don't know."

"It doesn't matter, Michonne. I may love him, but I can't anymore. That doesn't change what he did and what I have to do."

"Okay, Rick." Michonne took a deep breath. "Okay. One step at a time. Just read Carl's letter, and whatever you decide to do, I'll hope you do it. For Carl."

"Thank you, Michonne." Rick put her hand on his shoulder whereas before he would've pulled her in for a kiss. She just put her hand over his, and they stood like that until the moment passed. Then she left him be, and Rick finally gathered his courage to read his letter.

He read it once.

He read it twice.

He read it again and again and again, and in the morning, he sat on out on the balcony, peering through the bars at the life going on below him. He saw Siddiq bask in the sun, inhaling the fresh air. He saw Jerry, the gentle giant, holding and rocking baby Gracie as he twirled around and sang to her softly. Rick caught snatches of the song…

"Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly." Jerry passed underneath as he headed inside. Gracie cooed and burbled happily like babies should, and Rick remembered how Judith did it and Carl, too. "And the dream that you dare to dream, why, oh why can't I?"

Again, Rick turned back to Carl's letter, and let the memories overtake him; and this time he embraced them.

"I remember my eighth birthday at the KCC, with that giant cake and Aunt Evie showing up on leave, surprising all of us. I remember Mom. I remember Codger. I remember school and going to the movies and Friday night pizza and cartoons and Grandma and Grandpa and church, the summer barbecues and the kiddie pool you got me. Could've used that at the prison.

"You told me about the walks we would take when I was three. You holding my hand around the neighborhood, all the way to Ross Farm. I didn't know that I remembered them, but I do, because I see the sun and the corn and that cow that walked up to the fence and looked me in the eye. You told me about all that stuff, but it isn't just that stuff. It's how I felt. Holding your hand, I felt happy and special. I felt safe.

"I thought growing up was about getting a job and maybe a family — being an adult. But growing up is about making yourself and the people you love safe. As safe as you can, because things happen. They happened before. You were shot before things went bad. It kind of felt like things went bad because you were shot. I want to make you feel safe, dad. I want you to feel like I felt when you held my hand. Just to feel that way for five minutes … I'd give anything to make you feel that way now.

"I wanted to kill Negan. I wish I did. Maybe it would have been done. I don't think it's done now. You went out there again, but I don't think they surrendered. I don't think they will surrender. There are workers in there, Dad. They're just regular people: old people, young people, families. You don't want them to die, Dad. We're so close to starting everything over, and we have friends now. It's that bigger world you used to talk about: the Kingdom, the Hilltop. There's got to be more places, more people out there — a chance for everything to change and keep changing. Everyone giving everyone the opportunity to have a life. A real life.

"If they won't end it, you have to. You have to give them a way out. You have to find peace with Negan however you can. I know he'll give you a chance like he gave me a chance. Maybe he only gave me a chance because of you. That's what it seemed like. I don't know, I'm not sure, but I saw something between the two of you.

"I can see the future we all want. Judith is so big and her hair is so long. She gets to go to school, but you lead her around Alexandria. We've got more crops, like back at the prison. There are more people and even people from different places. Even people like Eugene came back. And I see you and Negan together like you are with Michonne, leading people. And Negan is growing that garden we talked about, but instead of strawberries, they're tomatoes. You should've tried his spaghetti, Dad. Maybe one day you still can.

"You have to find a way forward somehow. We don't have to forget what happened, but you can make it so it doesn't happen again, and nobody has to live this way. That every life is worth something. Start everything over. Show everyone they can be safe again without killing, that it can feel safe again, that it can go back to being birthdays, schools, jobs and even Friday night pizza somehow — and walks with a dad and a three-year-old, holding hands. Make that come back, Dad. And go on those walks with Judith. She'll remember them.

"I love you – Carl."

Negan had had a long, damn day. Strike that, he had had a long damn week in fact. For a moment, he thought he had it all, that he had achieved peace and love and happiness. But that didn't last long at all.

First, he had to deal with Jadis and whatever the shit that shit was. She had a goddamn helicopter…but that wasn't important right now.

Then, he had to deal with Simon being a gutless snake in the grass and deliberately disobeying him. He gave Simon chance after undeserved fucking chance, but it all did no good. Still, he gave Simon a sporting chance in an all out dirty brawl. The better man won, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt Negan to have to kill his best friend. From where he was standing, Simon's body on the fence still hurt to see just as much as the one he made when he suffocated him.

Lastly, there was the war itself and mainly Dwight. Another of his men that had turned into a rat. It was because of that that Negan decided to give it all up. He made his plans that would sacrifice some groups of his men, the useless ones. But he also made his plans that would completely wipe everyone out just like Simon wanted – because Simon forced his hand into it.

Because he had no choice.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

With a sigh, Negan squinted out into the distance, truly alone. He wasn't a fool. Rick had either led him into a trap, or Rick would think that Negan had abandoned him, and then Rick would never believe him again. Everything went to shit just like that. And now Negan had no one to love.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie he had clipped to his belt crackled to life. "Negan," it garbled, "it's Michonne."

He couldn't place the name, so he didn't reach for it.

"I'll wait."

Well, shit. I guess he has to answer. Since he's outside, she must have eyes on him. These walkie-talkies didn't have that good of a range. "The one with the dreads, the sword? Is that you?" Hope, ever eternal, sprang in his chest. "Rick there with you? Why don't you put him on?"

"This isn't about Rick." Michonne squashed his hopes. "It's about Carl." Walker Simon growled particularly loud, but Negan still heard Michonne over the snarls and the static. "He wrote you a letter, and I'm delivering it because that's what he wanted."

A little miffed that she wasn't letting him speak to Rick – Negan knew she was his girl – and a little playful because that was his nature, Negan said, "Well, I can't promise not to kill the messenger."

"Just shut up and listen." The walkie clicked.

"Negan, this is Carl. I was helping someone. I got bit. We didn't even have to be doing what we were doing. I was just helping someone. Now I'm gone.

"You might be gone. Maybe my dad made your people give you up and he killed you, but I don't think so. I think my dad likes you too much for that. I think you're still around and you're working on a way out because you're smart like that. Maybe you got out. Maybe you think we're a lost cause and you just want to kill all of us, but I don't really think that. Not with what I saw at the Sanctuary, and not with how you were with me, or with my dad.

"I think you think you have to be who you are. I just wonder if this is what you wanted. I wanted to ask you. I wish I could've.

"Maybe you'll beat us. And if you do, there'll just be someone else to fight.

"The way out is working together. It's forgiveness. It's love. It's believing that it doesn't have to be a fight anymore. Because it doesn't.

Almost imperceptible to the ear, Negan heard Michonne's voice harden, lacing itself with bitterness.

"I hope my dad offers you peace. I hope you take it. I hope everything can change. It did for me.

"Start over. You still can – Carl."

There was barely a click of the walkie-talkie before Negan was answering. "All this," he hissed, hate building up inside and taking the form of tears he refused to shed, "there is no getting out of it now. I wouldn't accept your surrender if you came to me on your knees."

Even if Rick was on his knees.

"See, winning isn't about beating you. Winning is about killing every last one of you. That is starting over. I never wanted this. Rick made this happen. I love Rick, and he does this. You tell him that. No more talk."

With that, Negan dropped the walkie-talkie and stomped it to pieces, grinding it under the heel of his boot. He hoped Michonne was still watching, and he hoped he told Rick exactly what he said. But Rick should already know that his heart already belongs to him.

The very next day, Rick and Negan went to war. Both of them tried not to think of the other, and both of them failed. In front of the others, they had no problems pretending that this was all business and not self-interest. But as soon as all hell broke loose with Eugene's sabotage and betrayal, Rick saw his shot to get to Negan and he took it without a second thought.

Just like before, he chased Negan, but this time when he fired off his Colt Python, the chambers weren't empty. All his shots missed, and Rick didn't have time to consider if it was his shaky hand, dumb luck, fate, or on purpose. He drew his hatchet as he stumbled down the hill to where Negan had ducked behind the safety of a tree trunk. He had just narrowly avoided hitting his head on the colored glass decoration he had shot – and in the process, he ducked Lucille, too.

Unlike before, though, like in that condemned building, Negan was prepared for this. He stabbed Rick in the gut to his face and pulled, tearing him open. "You know, Rick," he breathed in his face, and his breath was actually sweet like mint, like how his kisses tasted, "when I said I would tear you a new one, I didn't mean like this."

Rick was tackled to the ground and they rolled. Negan's hand was badly damaged so that he couldn't throw a proper punch, but he still managed to get to his feet first.

"Just so you know," Negan huffed and puffed like the big, bad wolf he was, "'Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe,' – that was all bullshit. I made a choice." Negan drove the toe of his boot in Rick's ribcage over and over again. Rick heard a crack, and it definitely was a rib because his heart was already broken.

"I just didn't want to kill a kid's dad in front of him. I didn't want to kill you because I liked you. I didn't want to kill Carl 'cause I liked him, too. I killed Red because he was a threat. He wouldn't give in like you. Guess I was wrong."

With all his strength, Rick kicked Negan's legs out from underneath him, felling him like a tree. They scrapped again, but this time when they rolled, Negan sagged all of his weight on top of him. "Remind you of anything, sweetheart? Did it mean anything to you? Because I fucking loved you!"

"Shut up!" Rick snapped, bucking Negan off. They scrambled away from each other to stand, half bent over, ready to tackle one another to the ground again. Rick made sure to angle himself away from the tree so that Negan wouldn't pin him to it. If he did, Rick knew he would be a goner. Clutching his side, blood leaked between his fingers as he tried to staunch the flow. "You don't know what love is!"

"Tell me the truth," Negan panted.

Trying not to cry, Rick shook his head, his curls bouncing vehemently. "No…no. I love you." Blinking, he tried to focus. "You're beat! Your people are down!"

Dismissively, Negan waved his injured hand. "I'll get out of it. I always do." A smile spread across his face, one of victory despite the circumstances. "You love me. I love you. It's just you and me here, Rick. And you – you are torn open." Biting his bottom lip, Negan practically purred, "I am bigger, I am badder, and I got a bat."

"We can have a future," Rick pleaded, unable to stop the tears from flowing now. There was a sharpness in his side as he gripped it hard, his other hand raised, palm outward to ward Negan off.

"I know I will, but we are over, Rick."

"Just…just give me, give me ten seconds so I can, I can tell you how," Rick stuttered, heart thumping in his chest. Heart still beating.

"No."

Batting his eyes, Rick tilted is head appealingly. "Just give me ten seconds for Carl."

Negan's face twisted like he sucked a lemon, but he started counting as he acquiesced to Rick's request. "Ten. Nine."

"Carl said it doesn't have to be – it doesn't have to a fight anymore," Rick rushed his words.

"He was wrong. Eight."

"No, no. He was right." Rick stepped closer, though he knew he shouldn't.

Dropping Lucille down by his side, Negan's eyes started to water as well. Despite himself, he gave in. "Rick," he croaked, and he took a step closer, too. "Rick, I love you."

Closing the gap between them, Rick removed his hand from his side and sliced Negan's throat with the fragment piece of blue glass he found on the ground.

Hazel eyes widened with surprise. Negan dropped to his knees as blood seeped down the open wound on his neck. He helplessly grasped at it, even using his injured hand. His tears flowed as freely as his blood. "Look what you did," he gasped with his dying breaths, "Carl didn't know a damn thing."

With that he collapsed to the ground, bleeding out. Placing his hand back on his side, Rick dropped to his knees beside him, shuffling closer until he could put Negan's head in his lap. Blood stained his jeans, but Rick didn't care. He was staring at Negan like he didn't understand because a large part of him didn't. Like a child, he placed his hand over Negan's on his throat, but he had cut deeper than he intended. Negan was dying. He was going to die.

"Negan, Negan." Rick kept crying. "I love you, I love you. Don't leave me."

Negan was weak but still living, though it was hard for him to speak. His lips could still shape the words though. "I love you, I love you."

Looking up, Rick saw his people creeping down the hill, confused by the scene before them. Rick locked eyes with Siddiq, and he thought maybe it was fate that Carl died for the doctor to save someone else. "Save him!"

The thought was fleeting as Maggie had Siddiq held back. "No. He dies for Glenn."

At first, Rick didn't understand, but as he stared at Maggie, it dawned on him. "No," he started softly, and then got louder, "No, no, NO! Please! Save him! It should be me!"

They stared at him like they didn't move him, and though Siddiq tried to break free, Daryl and Rosita wouldn't let him. Michonne moved to help, but Maggie drew her gun on her, out of the katana's deadly reach.

"Collect Rick," Maggie ordered coolly – coldly. "Save him instead, Siddiq."

They did as she said, and a Rick was torn away from Negan he went cold in the sunshine as he realized that Negan would die alone – and Rick wouldn't get to die at all.

In Alexandria, Rick snuck out of his house for the graveyard. He was in his pajamas and had a blanket around his shoulders, but that didn't ward away the cold inside. His beard was unkempt, but Rick didn't care. He felt every bit his age and more. It was a moonless night, but Rick easily picked his way through the graves by muscle memory alone, as he had for every night these past two years. Rick had been all but forbidden to die, but he was sure he had died anyway.

With old bones and creaky knees that spoke of a coming rain and arthritis, Rick knelt between two graves. One had his son. The other was empty. Maggie hadn't let him leave the infirmary for a week, and by the time he made it back to that tree the walkers had gotten to Negan. Someone had shot him in the head once they had dragged Rick away. He hadn't turned…but he hadn't been put to rest either.

All Rick took back was Lucille and the stained-glass fragments from the tree. The glass fragments were placed in the grave, traces of Negan's blood still on the jagged edges. Lucille was hidden in his house. Not even Michonne knew where she was.

As Rick laid himself down to sleep, he knew his slumber would be undisturbed. Though Michonne still lived with him, they slept in separate beds, and she was there on suicide watch for him as much as she was to raise Judith when Rick couldn't. But she was a friend. Rick knew that they could never go back to how it was or have more. After this, too, Rick also knew that there was not going to be a love for him again. Half of his heart lay with his son, and the other half with Negan. There was nothing left for him after this.