A/N: Thank you all for reading and commenting. I have to say, member00 your comments give me life. They actually help me because I feel like I'm working through the story when I read your comments. And titaneos whenever you feel comfortable, chime in. If not, I still appreciate you taking the time to read my stories. That goes for anyone reading.

Michonne headed to the gate with Deanna, who carried a rifle and a box of ammo. It looked weird seeing her that way. Even in this new world where everyone should carry a gun and be thankful to have one, Deanna looked awkward. Michonne wondered if Deanna voted for or against the Iraq War.

"Given her state of mind, I'm not sure I should even give this to her," Deanna said.

"Survival is her state of mind," Michonne said.

Deanna glanced at her.

"You think she'll go out and hurt herself?" Surely while her group was out on the road, she could have strayed off and handled that. She wouldn't go through that brutal trek from Georgia and then finally blow her brains out once she reached a safe place.

When they arrived, Sasha was leaning against the wall looking at the world on the other side of the gate. Michonne knew she was anxious, but it appeared there was a look of longing on Sasha's face. Like she'd been caged up and was itching to be free. She was out shooting yesterday as well. She was wearing an olive load bearing suspenders and belt complete with a canteen attached and sitting at the small of her back. A black bag was on her shoulder. She held her hand out for her rifle but Deanna was slow to hand it over and Sasha shook her head. This was a woman who refused to mollify others. Michonne appreciated that quality, especially in women.

"I'm trying to figure out what it is you see or don't see," Deanna said.

"This," Sasha said and looked around the community. "This isn't real." Her hushed tone was grave and her words ominous. Her eyes were large pleading maybe straining to see some sense in Deanna as she tried to press upon her to wake up to the truth.

"Sasha, I know you've been through a lot and I'm sympathetic to that," Deanna said. "But what you said, that's bullshit." She handed the ammo and rifle to Sasha.

Sasha looked at Michonne for the first time and they held each other's stare. Michonne wanted to say something to her but Deanna's presence meant it wasn't the right time. Instead, she watched Sasha walk away.

Deanna closed the gate with a look on her face. Michonne wasn't sure if Sasha's words angered Deanna or worried her but she walked off without another word. Michonne found herself alone, watching Sasha until she disappeared. Deanna called Sasha's skepticism of this place bullshit, but Michonne was never under the illusion that what happened at other settlements couldn't happen in Alexandria. She watched several destroyed due to outside forces — biters and humans — and watched a couple that imploded from unresolved differences of opinions. The male ego was deadly.

Michonne rarely took it upon herself to look out for people on a personal level in Alexandria for various reasons. Mostly because everyone walked around like life was perfect. However, like Waltman, there was something about Sasha. Michonne wanted her to be okay. Maybe because so many women who spent an extended amount of time out there seldom were. Also, Sasha reminded her of herself in two ways. After being out in the world for a long time, like Sasha, when Michonne arrived in Alexandria she couldn't understand these people; it was like playing house. And then there was the loneliness. Though she was surrounded by people, clearly, Sasha was alone.

She ventured outside the gates. The weather was getting cooler. The leaves were changing and there was a bed of them on the ground. This was her favorite time of the year. She inhaled deeply as she looked up at the sky and imagined now was the time coffee shops and grocery aisles were filled with pumpkin everything. Rick gave her hell for her love of pumpkin and said people who drank pumpkin spice lattes were more likely to join a cult. It was true, he said, he read it in a law enforcement journal.

She imagined she'd covered about half a mile. No one spent much time outside the walls especially not this far away from the community. The only person who made trips out here on her own was Enid. As far as Michonne was concerned, what that kid did out here was her business. She told no one about Enid's trips, didn't even bother to mention it to Enid. If that's what she needed, so be it. And Michonne understood it. Life out there was beyond hard and Enid survived out there alone. She could handle herself and Michonne wouldn't patronize her by treating her like a stupid kid who didn't know the danger.

She could hear whatever Sasha was shooting shatter with each bullet fired. Just as she got Sasha in her eyesight she stepped on a branch. "Shit," she muttered as the sound of the snap. She froze and grimaced at her stupidity. She'd been out there long enough to know how to be stealth. Besides, startling someone who was sending out rapid bursts was suicidal.

"Who's there? Come out," Sasha yelled. Her eyes darted around the area looking for danger.

"Just me." Michonne came out from behind a tree with her hands up. Sasha pointed the rifle in her direction. "It's me, Michonne."

Sasha rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for any company." She cradled the rifle in front of her like a kid squeezing her favorite toy, except this was no stuffed animal.

Michonne stepped closer and kept walking until she was between Sasha and her pile of targets. She eyed the pictures on the ground, glass shattered, faces ripped to shreds by bullets. The framed pictures were of actual people, kind of fucked up but it's was a fucked up world so she could roll with it. "I don't think you have to worry about losing your aim." She was an impressive marksman.

Sasha's head fell down, and she looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact.

"Where did you learn to shoot?"

"I thought Deanna did all the interrogating."

Michonne chuckled. "Just a question."

Sasha made a show of letting her know Michonne annoyed her. A huff and a loud sigh. She didn't want to be bothered, she made it clear. She had no interest in a conversation.

"It's just a question." Michonne reiterated.

"I belonged to a rifle and gun club back home." Sasha tossed a hand in Michonne's direction. "You can put your hands down."

Michonne was stunned. Sometimes she made up a past life for people. Some of them made no sense because they weren't based on conversations or someone's personality. When she knew little about them it was like playing dress up. Astronaut Barbie. Registered Nurse Barbie. Computer Engineer Barbie. Unlike her friends, Sasha didn't offer much about herself during her interview with Deanna. So in Michonne's mind, Sasha was a former high school cheerleader who went to college and became an accountant. She was beautiful but low maintenance, the exact opposite of Rosita who was probably never without makeup before the world changed. Rosita probably continued wearing lipstick after the world turned to hell until she ran out.

"What?" Sasha's clipped voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I wasn't expecting that. Where was home?"

"Florida."

"I learned-"

Sasha shook her head. "I don't care. We're not friends." She shrugged and looked Michonne up and down. "You're just a person in a place that won't be here for long," she said before looking through her scope again.

Waltman was right. Whatever happened out there affected Sasha in a way it didn't for the others. The others seemed to be hopeful for a future, or at least thought it was possible, but Sasha saw none.

"You put on quite the show last night at Deanna's party." When Sasha didn't respond she continued. "I know what it's like to see people happy and smiling. It makes you feel alone. Like there must be something wrong with you because you can't relax like the rest of them."

"There's nothing wrong with me. There's something wrong with you. You people with your pedicures, your book club, and perfectly curated playlists are the problem. That's what you people care about and it's ridiculous. It will get you killed."

"We know how fortunate we are. We know what it's like out there."

She dropped the rifle from her face and walked over and stood square before Michonne. "Do you? Do you? Or have you heard the stories of others and made them your own? Have you ever washed your friends' blood off your face? Had your hands stained with the blood of your friend you tried to save because it was in their guts trying to keep them from bleeding out? What do you know about life out there?"

Michonne didn't take it personally. Sasha was in pain and that pain made her angry. Angry enough to lash out at someone trying to befriend her. What she said, that wasn't something off the top of her head, to think of Sasha doing those things made Michonne hurt even though she had her own war stories.

"I know what it's like out there. In some ways, probably more than you. Were you ever a single woman alone out there?" She could see Sasha pause. She had her attention, and she aimed to keep it but she was clear to remain calm and gentle despite Sasha's own anger. "I was. You probably don't know what that's like and I pray you never do. I had to dig down deep and use what I could and what I didn't have I had to develop. I made myself into a weapon. I found strength in myself I didn't know existed. All of our experiences aren't the same but we're all survivors." She pointed toward Alexandria. "The people inside those walls will not apologize because they didn't have it as hard as you. They don't owe you that."

They stared at each other a few moments and Michonne turned and walked away when it was obvious Sasha wasn't talking. Whether Sasha would admit it, Michonne knew she got in her head. But she wouldn't push it. It would take patience, the same patience Deanna extended to her. A broken heart wouldn't heal overnight and neither would a crushed spirit.

She paused and looked toward Sasha. "Anytime you want to talk or anything…"

The sounds of bullets drowned out the end of Michonne's invitation. A biter headed her way, and she unsheathed her sword and waited for him to come for her. Just as she raised her arms over her head it fell to the ground as she registered the sound of the rifle. Quickly she turned to see Sasha with the rifle up to her face.

Once again they were in the woods near the junk pile having what Rick hoped would be their last secret meeting outside the walls. The least amount of suspicious activity the better especially now that he was in a position of trust. Within days he had become a symbol in the community, while that would allow him access, it already made him someone people knew of. Already random people on the street said his name as they greeted him in passing.

Carol stood before Daryl with a Ruger in one hand and a Sig Sauer in the other.

"There's a Glock in my bag," she said.

Daryl shook his head. "You know, I was thinking," he said as he held onto the grip of his crossbow. "Do we really need these? If things go bad, sure we do what we gotta do." He shrugged. "But like you said, we don't need those to handle these people."

Rick knew Daryl was off, had been since they hit the road for Virginia. It was like he lost something back there in Atlanta that he hadn't recovered from since. Like Maggie, Daryl lost Beth twice and from where Rick stood he had a harder time than Maggie recovering from it.

"Right now we don't," Carol said.

"What if we're caught and they want to kick us out?" Daryl asked.

"Like Rick said, we'll just take this place. These people aren't anything to worry about," Carol said.

"Maybe that chick, what's her name? Michonne?" Daryl mispronounced her name but Rick held back in correcting him.

"Neither is she," Carol said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"No. Don't underestimate her," Rick said. "It would be a mistake." He taught her how to shoot a weapon and he remembered ending up on his back many times when she wanted to practice her Krav Maga.

"Why? What do you know?" Carol frowned at him.

There was no reason to tell the others about his past with her. Not yet anyway. Maybe never.

"I saw her walking around with a sword," Daryl said. "What more you need to know?"

Carol and Rick glanced at each other. Rick hadn't seen the sword, he'd only seen her at the party since their first encounter. She seemed to make herself scarce. He didn't know what she did. But per Deanna's request, they were to work together.

Daryl looked at Carol. "You wanted me to try, right?"

Annoyed, she offered them to Rick. He looked down and hesitated, wondering which he should take or if he should take one at all. One thing was for sure, he wasn't used to being without a gun. Better to have one and not need it than need it and not have it. Frankly, it was irresponsible of these people. Danger didn't take a timeout while you went to get your gun. He looked up at Daryl before taking the Ruger and secured it in the small of his back hidden out of sight by his constable jacket.

"I don't get you," Daryl said.

Rick expected to look up and see Daryl looking at him, but Carol was the focus of his stare.

"One minute you're saying we need the guns and the next you're saying these people ain't nothing to worry about. Do you even know what you think?"

Rick thought back to the first meeting they had out in the woods. Daryl mostly remained silent which was nothing new, but now Rick thought there was a reason for his silence at that meeting. He wasn't sure Daryl was against this place. Sure, he was antisocial, but he didn't seem as concerned as Rick and Carol had always felt. Maybe, just maybe, Daryl wanted it but didn't believe it was something he could have or even deserved, instead deciding to fight off disappointment before it took root. He wouldn't be the first person to go through life that way.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe it won't be these people but it'll be somebody or something. It always is. Like the Governor or the group you were with when you came across Rick, Carl, and Tyreese."

That was the night Rick thought he may have lost his son for good. Carl barely looked at him. What he did wasn't human. He turned into an animal. Daryl tried to convince him anyone would have done what he did, but not that. He was sure. It took time for his relationship with Carl to go back to normal.

"Why do you do this?" Daryl pointed at her clothes.

"Because these people are like children. All they want to hear is a nice story."

"And what story did you tell?"

"A housewife who misses her husband and loves to take care of people."

Rick could understand playing the role of the unassuming woman but it seemed sadistic to bring up the husband. Then again, maybe a mild-mannered housewife was the safe bet.

"We better get back before someone misses you," Carol said as she looked at Rick. "We're not out here pretending you're teaching me to shoot."

When they made it back to Alexandria, they went their separate ways. Life was on a loop inside these walls. At the prison, there was more variety to the day. But here, it was the same. He saw the woman walking the black labrador. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear children playing even though he didn't see them. Then there were the Andersons. The two boys ran ahead as Jessie and Pete brought up the rear.

"Hey, Rick," Jessie waved as they kept walking.

He waved and returned the smile only Jessie offered. He walked around the community a few times, stopped to chat with a few people who were standing around gossiping. He spent most of his time at the armory and pantry with Olivia checking to see if there was something the community needed. She assured him they were well stocked, but the things he thought about these people didn't. That was why being out there wasn't desirable but valuable.

In the past, after a shift, he wanted to sit on his couch and relax, but here all he did was walk and he still wasn't comfortable just sitting around. Not here, not with these people. There was so much to learn about how they operated. He feared there was a gaping hole in security that made them vulnerable and he hadn't found it yet. But he needed to before there was a breach. There was a knock on the door and standing on the other side was Pete holding two bottles of beer.

"Hey, Rick. Have a beer with me." He made his way into the house after Rick made the mistake of stepping aside as if that was an invitation.

"No, thanks."

"Come on. You can have one. Don't let me drink alone. Don't tell me it's because you're still on duty."

Rick figured Pete's solitary drinking happened often, and it was probably just how he liked it. "I kinda always am."

"Not at Deanna's party." He punched Rick on the shoulder. "I saw you," Pete said.

Rick waited to see what he was talking about. Rick's mind drifted back to the conversation he had with Jessie at the party. She convinced him having a party as the world destroyed itself was the wrong way to think of the evening. In her eyes, it was a way to bond and it would foster trust.

"You had some. I saw you drinking with Reg."

Rick laughed, not out of amusement but to mimic Pete's actions. It made people comfortable enough to let their guard down when others mimicked them.

"I'm sorry," Pete said as he leaned against the support beam near the stairs. "I heard you lost people out there."

This place was not one where secrets could live in privacy as they were meant to. He nodded his head as he looked at Pete, trying to figure out this guy's angle. Why he was here. What he was hoping to get out of this visit. Pete stared back at him and silently they checked each other out and it looked like it would be a battle of egos until Pete blinked first and looked away.

Pete lay his head back against the beam and closed his eyes briefly. "You're like rock stars with everything you people have been through. I'm sure it looks like we haven't lost much, but we have. We've lost things. I lost a beautiful home." He waved his arm and looked around the room. "Much nicer than this. I had to leave behind my baby. Couldn't get to her. Brand new. Less than five thousand miles. Black. Porsche Panamera."

"I'm sure that hurt," Rick said, but he wanted to punch this guy in the face. He hadn't thought about the material things he lost; he focused on making sure he didn't lose those he loved.

"And there are things we're fighting like hell to hold on to. I will not lose another thing."

"Yeah," Rick said.

"It's not like anything happens around here, but thanks for being the constable. We keep growing like this and we'll need even more. Eventually, I'm sure Aaron will make another mistake with bringing back the wrong kind."

"The wrong kind?"

"Some people can't handle a place like this where we police our own." He laughed. "No pun intended. But it works because people so far know how to mind their own business." He stepped closer to Rick, too close, in his personal space. "Let's be friends, man."

It sounded less like an invitation to friendship and more like a warning. He was a doctor, the kind of guy that tried to be nice but his true self came out, especially when he was drinking. He was arrogant and self-absorbed. He tried to pretend he cared about others but it was always about him. He was a dick. He never understood why good women fell for abusive men.

"I was serious about your boy coming in for a checkup." Hit tapped Rick on the chest and headed for the door.

"That'd be nice, Pete." He followed him to the door and closed it behind him. There was no way he'd let that asshole touch his son unless it was life or death.

"I'm sorry to lose you, Tobin," Deanna said as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She traded pointed looks with Reg; they seemed to carry on a silent conversation. You'd expect no less after almost thirty-five years of marriage.

Michonne stood on the threshold of the room arms folded as Tobin detailed the danger they encountered while outside the gates working and why he was abdicating his position as leader of the construction crew. Waltman was part of that crew and Michonne would get his version of the story, but she imagined Tobin told the truth. No one lied to make themselves look like a coward, and that's what Tobin was when his crew needed him.

"Are you sure?" Reg asked. He sat with his legs crossed wearing that sweater. Michonne always felt he was missing a pipe. He was the consummate politician's spouse — always by Deanna's side. Often whispering in someone's ear the things Deanna wanted them to hear without having to be the one who said it.

"More than anything since this world changed. If Abraham had followed my orders, Francine would be dead."

Reg shifted in his chair. "Well, saving someone is noble, but it doesn't make him qualified to lead a construction crew."

"They're still out there working and he's leading them and I'll follow him too if he'll have me."

"Well, okay," Deanna said as she stood. "I'll speak to Abraham and make it official when he returns."

Tobin offered a smile to everyone before heading for the door. Reg walked out with him surely to offer ego-soothing words.

Deanna sat back down, her head bowed and her hands clasped together.

"He's right," Maggie whispered. "Abraham won't let you down."

Deanna laughed. It signified anything but joy. She probably laughed to keep herself from yelling or crying. Deanna liked to be in control not in a dictatorial manner, but more like a Type-A manner to feel order.

"I put another one of your people in a position of power and you vouch for them. It's becoming a pattern."

"That's why you wanted us here," Maggie said. "We know what we're doing."

"Construction is vital to this community. You think Abraham has the skills to handle that? You think he's a leader?"

"There's something you should know about this group. It doesn't matter if we're in leadership positions," Maggie said. "No matter what we're doing, who we are will rise and show itself and people will be attracted to it. My daddy said leadership isn't a position, it's how you act. It's a mindset. Told me never to wait on a title to be a leader and that's what Abraham did out there today. He led by example and that's why they followed."

Deanna turned her head in Michonne's direction. "What do you think?"

Michonne looked at Maggie and then back at Deanna."Not long ago I was them. You trusted me and I hope I have done nothing to make you regret it." Michonne was opinionated and rarely hesitated to make decisions without consulting Deanna when it was necessary. At times, Deanna spent too much time discussing the pros and cons like she was in the House Chamber instead of pulling the figurative trigger. Seemed that's what Abraham did.

"No, of course not."

"The way I see it, they're doing — they are — exactly what you wanted them to be. You said yourself this place would grow and we need strong people to make that happen."

Maggie smiled at Michonne, maybe thanking her for being on their side. But Michonne was loyal to doing the right thing. Maggie looked at Deanna. "We want to help. If you don't let us we're as useless as a Junebug in July."

Michonne smiled. If this group was a threat to the community, and anyone fooled her, it would be Maggie. Whether it was her pain in her interview with Deanna or her unwavering support for her group, she seemed genuine.

"I'm gonna get back to work on those field plans." Maggie tossed Deanna a sympathetic smile then made her way out of the room and down to the basement.

"Field plans?" Michonne asked once they were alone.

"Maggie grew up on a farm. She wants to put the seeds you came back with to use. Grow crops."

Michonne nodded. "Good idea." With Deanna's vision of expanding the community, scavenging for food would no longer be good enough. They had the space to grow their own, and it was best to figure it out before they starved.

"Apparently they're full of ideas for this place."

Michonne detected despair maybe even annoyance in Deanna's voice. "What are you having a hard time with? That she thinks her people should be in positions of power or that you agree?"

"What?"

"I'm thinking you didn't think about what it would feel like for them to stake their claim." She thought it would take time and it would take a little more than taking over the construction crew for Deanna to feel uncertain about her decision. She figured it wouldn't be until Rick gunned for Deanna's role. But now, Deanna probably thought she was losing this place one position at a time. That they were usurping her power in the most calculated way — by getting her to give it to them.

"I'm not nearly as insecure as you're saying," Deanna said. She walked away, leaving Michonne alone.

Headed back to her townhome she saw Rick walking toward her wearing the constable uniform. She expected him to turn and walk in the opposite direction or at least cross the street but he headed her way with a walk and a look of determination.

"We need to talk," he said. "I'll see you later tonight." He didn't break stride.

Rick wanted to talk to her and suddenly she was nervous and excited. He always brought on a multitude of emotions in her. Whether it was love and fear or anger and desire.

Michonne fiddled around her townhome waiting on Rick to come over wondering what he wanted to talk about. There were quite a few topics on the top of her head. She wanted to talk about Carl. She wanted her and Rick to put their differences aside if not fix them because what was going on in the world was bigger than them or their relationship. She never meant to cause him any pain. But he wasn't the only one that hurt. Every day she was without her family she hurt too. She wanted him to know that. Maybe he needed to know it. But she feared it wouldn't make a difference to him.

The sun had set; the sky went black and still no Rick. She'd given up hope as she placed her teacup in the sink. She was just about to turn off the lights she hardly kept on but wanted to signal to Rick she was up when a loud bang on her door caused her to jump.

"Damn police. They all knock the same. Probably teach that shit in the academy." She never imagined she'd date a cop much less marry one. The door was barely open before he spoke in a fast clip.

"You said Carl and me, that we're not the same. What did that mean?"

"Whatever you're feeling that's your right to feel, but it doesn't mean he feels the same."

Carl didn't react the way she feared even if it wasn't the warm welcome she dreamed to have. But it was understandable. They had been a part for a while. She left, and he probably had a lot of questions, not to mention Carl would always be loyal to his father. She didn't want him to side with her over his father, she just hoped there was still room in his heart for her. That it wasn't all or nothing.

Rick stood there, and she took it as a positive sign, or as positive as any interaction between them could be considering his feelings about her. Most times he practically ran from her. She opened the door wider and stepped to the side, relieved when he accepted her invitation and entered. She inhaled the scent of him as he walked by. He smelled like soap and sandalwood and it took her back to their better times when he smelled so good she would bury her face in his neck and he'd laugh as she refused to let go. One time, he had to get dressed with her attached to him.

He was dressed in a white T-shirt and blue jeans but he still wore those awful boots that, by the look of them, were many miles beyond well-worn. Not expecting him to accept, she offered him a seat and to her surprise he wordlessly accepted, choosing to sit in the armchair that faced the room with its back closer to the fireplace. Just like when they would go out, he never sat with his back to the door. It was one of the many unwritten rules her father taught her to look out for when choosing a man. Rick passed them all with flying colors. Too bad unwritten rules weren't enough to make a marriage last.

"There's no one else here," she said. His head, as usual, was on a swivel as he took in his surroundings.

She looked at the pictures on the wall and occasionally glanced his way, checking to see if he was looking at her. Neither of them said a word. She didn't want to be the one to speak first, like in negotiations, the first to speak loses, but the silence was deafening and the longer it went on the more difficult she figured it would be for them to talk, potentially wasting an opportunity to move forward. He wanted to talk about more than the comment she made the previous night at the party or he wouldn't have come inside.

"From Georgia to here, every stop along the way we've dealt with bad people. Why should I believe this place is different?" He stood and walked over to the mantle. "Because you have candles and board games?"

"No, because we're good people. All of us, at least in the ways that matter now."

"The ways that matter, huh?" He looked her up and down. "What ways are those?"

"People who have it good and rather than keep it for themselves, extend their good fortune to others."

"You're just good people with good hearts?"

"Why would we welcome you in, take the risk, unless it was real?"

"The last time we went to a place that was supposed to be safe they almost ate us."

"What?"

"They were cannibals." She came across many kinds out there. Of all the things, and she thought she had seen it all, that was not something she experienced. People killed to survive off your weapons, food, and shelter, not your flesh. She wasn't sure if that was any worse than what she did see.

"This world is a chance for the worst to take control. It's like Disney World. Thieves, murderers… rapists. I've dealt with them all," she said hugging herself. She noticed the tiniest shift in him. His eyes narrowed slightly, his shoulders dropped as he looked at her.

"I made it though. Many people didn't, especially women. But I was lucky." She realized what assumptions may be swimming in his head and she didn't want false sympathy because he thought she was a victim. She survived — every attack, every misfortune, every loss.

"Deanna talks about her dreams," he said. "What she sees for this place and how to make it happen. She doesn't talk about how to survive long enough to make it happen."

"What do you mean?"

"What happens if this place gets overrun to the point you can't save it?"

"I came up with an exit plan," Michonne said. "There's a large warehouse about two miles away."

Rick held his head down and shook his head, hands on his hips. "If anyone knows about exit plans..." He looked at her and let out a derisive laugh. "I'm sure it's a great one. Kind of always seemed like you were planning your escape. I never saw it coming."

"Rick-"

"These people know they'll have to fend for themselves? I bet you got a go bag in a closet somewhere." He stepped toward her.

She stood up. "So because I walked out on you — your words — that means I would give up on these people. That's your opinion? The problem with you Rick is you make an arbitrary line and believe because people cross one they'll cross every line they come up against." She stepped toward him.

"If you think after all my people have been through that I'm supposed to let my guard down because someone from my past is here you've lost your mind. I don't know what your experience has been, but it hasn't been the same as mine. Or Carl. Carol. Daryl. Maggie. For all I know," he said as he stepped closer to her, invading her space. "You were part of the thieves and murderers."

They danced this dance before, angry and fighting and before long ripping each other's clothes off and having sex. But this wasn't Atlanta, and they weren't arguing over her Italian-silk blouse he ruined when he was trying to be nice and did her laundry.

"I'm gonna chalk some of this up to some form of intense PTSD. I know you hate me, but regardless of our past, to treat me like the enemy is a bit much considering there are people and the dead out there trying to kill us. Maybe you should focus on that."

"That's all I've ever focused on since the day this shit started." He looked around the room. "I sure as hell wasn't hanging pictures on the wall. Most times we never had a wall."

She studied him. The way he sneered. The way his eyes were full of fire. "What do you resent me for the most, Rick? Leaving you or being safe behind these walls while you were out there? Because you know what hurts me? That Carl had to spend even one day out there." She gently placed her hand on his arm. "Can we talk about Carl?"

He walked away. "What do you want to talk about? All the times I had to tell him it wasn't anything he did to make you leave?"

"It wasn't him." She shook her head. She'd always been afraid Carl would internalize their shit. She knew what it was like to be a child and struggle with adults' issues.

"Then he blamed me." Rick shrugged.

"Maybe we can talk to him together and explain things."

"Explain things," he said with a laugh. "Explain it to me first." She was about to speak but he continued on. "You left. What more is there?"

"You act like it was my decision to not be part of his life." He remained silent. "All you see when you look at me is the way it ended? That's what I've been reduced to?"

She let it pass when he spoke to her like she was some subordinate. He'd always been direct, and that was a good quality these days. What bothered her was the complete detachment in his voice when he spoke to her and the way he interacted with her — like she was a stranger. Not the woman who planned his mother's funeral because he and his father were too devastated to imagine their life without Brenda. Not the woman who sacrificed to be with him because, at times, she loved him more than she loved herself. Not the woman who loved his son as her own.

He paced the room thinking about what she said, that when he saw her he only thought of the bad. Actually, he saw it all, and that's what made it hurt so bad. Every time he saw her face it was a replay of his darkest times. It hurt like hell because this pain in his heart, in his bones, now that he was near her, felt new. It had barely been four months since she left them that the world went to shit. And during those four months, he wanted two things: for her to hurt like he did and to move on. So processing the end of his marriage never happened. Not out there on the run. Seeing her as more than the hurt she caused was hard. Sure, his mind still held memories of the happy times but he didn't see what purpose it served to revel in them.

"Can you please get over yourself and remember what Carl and I had? He was more than my husband's son. And I wasn't the lady his dad married."

What he wanted was for her to get over this desire to have a family reunion and concentrate on what was important, like not dying.

"Tell me about this Tobin."

She sighed heavily. "What about him?"

"What purpose does he serve this community? Because from what I know he can't be trusted. He's weak. I don't want him outside the gates anymore."

"That's not your decision to make."

"He deserted his crew. Left them behind."

"I know what you're talking about. He didn't desert them. He came back to tell Deanna what happened."

"That could have waited until the job was done. He left them a man short out there. You people don't know what you're doing."

Her head fell down. "Maybe Tobin's timing was off but his intentions were good," she said. "He put community before ego. He knew Abraham was a better man for the job and he admitted it. He stepped aside. Could you do that?"

"You're making this about me?"

"What is it, Rick? Are we evil or incompetent? You've gone from one to the other since you've been here."

He hated how she always said his name like there would be any confusion as to who she was talking to. It was like she was trying to make him feel connected to her or something by hearing his name come out of her mouth. But she had always been like that — calling his name even when they were the only two in the room. She said it when she was mad, when she was nervous, when… He shook his head because, why revel in the past?

"Everyone in Alexandria may not be fighters, not everyone has their shit together. We're all just trying to make it however we can. I mean, look at your people."

He frowned. "What about them? They know how to fight and they don't run when things get tough."

"Do they know how to live? Do they know how to be around people other than each other without wanting to kill? How to feel something other than the pain?"

"What are you talking about? See, this happens when you have too much time on your hands and nothing to do but sit on your ass. You make up problems. Things to worry about."

From the time he arrived, steadily she grew angrier. Now she was ready to explode. Her voice was at a fevered pitch. "You're supposed to be their leader but you're so caught up in yourself and your shit that you don't see your people."

"Now you know my people? What are you trying to say?"

"Sasha. She's hurting. She's in trouble."

"You don't know what you're talking about." He sneered.

"She's barely hanging on, Rick."

"Sasha bounces back. She's lost a lot but she'll be fine."

"Why? Because you hope so or because you say so? Did you see her at the party?"

She was defiant, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. The only thing to do was disengage. He reminded himself nothing good ever came of debating anything with Michonne. Because it was never a debate. It was an argument she wouldn't let die until she was the victor. Nothing was relative. It was absolute. Not that he had a good point, and she had a slightly better one. It was she won, and he lost. She was right, and he was wrong. She was itching for a fight, had been since the party last night. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

He headed for the door, slamming it behind him. He knew his people and even if he didn't she was the last person to counsel him. She knew nothing about who they were. Sasha was fine. They lost their home at the prison, then she lost the man she loved and her brother. If she walked around with a smile on her face acting like everything was okay, then he would worry. There was a steady breeze that worked to cool him off just a tad. At some point, he started sweating back there at her place. He loved this time of the year and he could enjoy it if Michonne hadn't pissed him off. She talked about being out there but her experience definitely wasn't like his group's experience, that's for sure. Or she'd been inside these walls too long to remember.

Heading back to the house he decided he'd check on Sasha because he let Michonne get in his head, he hated her for it. He wanted to see if he could catch some glimmer of what the hell she was talking about, but when he arrived back at the house Carol was standing on the porch.

He stood next to her and looked in the direction she was looking in and saw Jessie was on her porch alone. She was wrapped in a blanket rocking back and forth in a rocking chair. He was curious what made such a mundane moment catch Carol's attention. "What's going on?"

"Pete's hitting Jessie," Carol said.

"How do you know? Did she tell you that?"

"She didn't have to." She looked at Rick. "It was something Sam said. I know how this will end. The only way it can."

He stared at her, prepared to hear how Pete would kill Jessie.

"You're going to have to kill him."

He heard the air leave his lungs as Carol went inside, leaving Rick to watch Jessie as he took in what she said. It was casual the way she said it — kill him. Then again, that was how they spoke of killing these days. It was just something that had to be done. A well-oiled machine, or more like a tactical unit, they were effortless in their ability to take a life. If it had to be done, they did it and didn't waste time thinking about the ethics. The reality of life as it was now was that living meant killing.