Chapter 6

Despite Daryl's original opposition of Deanna interviewing Michelle so early after her arrival, the fact that she gave the okay for her to remain in Alexandria once she was better did relieve some anxiety he hadn't even realized he had. The idea of having her back only to lose her again was just far too similar to what they'd gone through with Beth and, quite honestly, he needed someone here to make Alexandria more bearable. Most of the group was adjusting, and some genuinely seemed to like it here, and even though Aaron asking him to be the Safe Zone's second recruiter was making things a bit easier, he still felt isolated from everybody. The only other person who seemed in the same situation was Sasha and, unfortunately, he didn't know quite how to reach out to her. Michelle's unlikely return was giving him his ally and friend back and he wanted to all he could to ensure she stayed.

She still had one more day of observation left when she had inquired about her walking stick and gasmask, wanting them back to her side. She didn't need to say that she felt uncomfortable without those around, the slightly ashamed expression on her face and the tone of her voice that she desperately tried to keep casual made that all too clear. Because of that, he'd been more than happy to go and fetch for her, and when Pete stopped him from bringing them inside, arguing about potentially contaminating the infirmary or something that nature, he'd found another way to get her more at ease. He'd gone outside, by the window facing her bed and planted the sharpened end of the walking stick into the ground, before placing the gasmask at the top of it. Through the glass, he'd seen her laugh, something he'd very rarely seen her do before and he was glad to have been able to do that for her. As he headed back inside, he gave a glance at the improvised sculpture; from the back it most likely looked like some emaciated scarecrow but from this angle, it was exactly the image he'd seen running out of the general store, the very image that told him it was her waiting in the cellar. A strange vision of hope.

"I can do this, Daryl," Michelle assured him, as she reached the steps in front of the house he shared with Carol. Switching one crutch over to her left side and gripping the handrail, she began making her way up far quicker than he was expecting. Still he couldn't help but standing near in case she toppled over. He was being overprotective, and he knew it, just like he'd done with Beth when she'd gotten hurt, except Beth had allowed it and Michelle was clearly not interested in being treated any differently. "I was on crutches for months after the accident... and my bedroom was on the second floor, so I got a lot of practice climbing stairs," she explained, a little breathless as she reached the top of the steps.

It'd been an hour since Pete had deemed her ready to leave the infirmary, in part, it seemed, because he was getting tired of doing his job, smelling more and more like alcohol with every passing check up. She was supposed to be be on bed rest for a few more days to help her bruised ribs, but still she'd insisted on a tour of Alexandria first. He suspected that she wanted to make sure the place was as safe as they'd been saying before letting her guard down. But after making their way around, stopping only to talk to Glenn and Maggie and again later when they saw Abraham on gate duty - the Alexandrians staying clear them - he had guided back to the house where she'd be staying with Carol and him.

After checking out the first floor, and both of them expressing their reserves about this place, they made their way to the second floor, to the bedroom where she'd be staying, at least until her recovery was further along. He hoped she'd stay with them beyond that, but as the others had all wanted to claim their houses, maybe she'd want to do the same. The room was supposedly his, but he hadn't slept there one night since they'd arrived, choosing the couch downstairs instead, only keeping his few meager belongings - two extra shirts and some various knick-knacks - up there. As they reached the top of the stairs though, it was clear that all the moving around had taken it out of her. She wouldn't say anything, of course, but the way she was panting, and the tensing of her jaw as every breath hurt her ribs, he would have had to be an idiot not to notice.

"You should get back in bed," he told her, as she walked into the room, her dark, dirty clothes a stark contrast with the pristine and untouched decor. He placed her gasmask on the dresser and rested her walking stick against the wall, the walkers blood and mud at the tip leaving a satisfying stain against the gray wallpaper as it rolled before coming to a stop. Turning around, he noticed that she looked just as out of place in the room as he did and, somehow, he found that comforting.

"What's wrong?" He asked as she stood by the large bed, looking at it hesitantly. She looked at him over her shoulder, commenting on how she would dirty the crisp linen if she climbed in and even though she seemed to be laughing it off, underneath it appeared to truly be bothering her. Then he remembered, this was the woman who still washed her clothes, even if she wrapped herself in a blanket covered with viscera, in order to feel more human, of course, this would bother her. "There's a bathroom. Second door, there," he added, nodding his head toward it.

Michelle made her way over and opened the door, eyes growing wide behind her glasses as they landed on the large shower. "I never thought I'd ever get to take a shower again," she said as he leaned against the door frame. She sat down on the top of the toilet, attempting to reach down and undo the laces boots, something her bruised body was not ready for. She sighed, loudly. "This is gonna more complicated than expected..."

He found himself kneeling in front of her, taking one foot onto his lap and starting to work on the knot. They looked at each other for a moment, something strange hanging in the air between them. As he looked away, his eyes landed on the cut on her jaw and after clearing his throat, he asked her about it, using it as an excuse to end the awkward silence.

"I was trying to get away from a group of dead ones. More than I could handle on my own," she said, running a finger along the healed cut. "I turned a corner by this house and looked behind me to see if I'd lost them. I turned my head back and came face to face with a piece siding that was hanging off the wall... Nearly knocked my glasses right off my face."

"No gasmask?"

"I had taken it off to eat," she explained, shaking her head. "I had it in my hand too... That was before I reached the farmhouse and I think in my addled state, I just blanked and forgot to put it back on until afterward..."

He was done with both her boots by the time she finished her story, he knew she'd need help with the rest of what she was wearing and quickly suggested getting Carol to help her with that.

Michelle stood in the center of the bathroom, waiting for either Carol or Daryl to come back up the stairs. She tried desperately to ignore the large mirror above the double vanity, but still her reflection caught her eyes. The cut on her jaw that he'd just mentioned, the frown lines on her forehead, the strands of silver in her dark hair; she looked much older than her thirty-two... or was it thirty-three years old by now? Heck, it could be thirty-four for all she knew. She could recall her reaction a few months prior, when she'd seen herself in the small mirror inside the funeral home, how distraught she'd been. Now, something was different, the person looking back at her didn't feel as foreign as she had then. Quite the opposite actually. Back then, she'd mourned the long ginger hair which had been her trademark and her best feature when she lived in New York, she had missed her contacts as well and her well-groomed eyebrows as opposed to the bushy mess they were now. But as she study the woman staring back her, she found herself smiling despite herself. This was the woman who had survived this world, not the put-together New York City redhead and maybe it was time to accept that this was who she had become.

The knock at the door took her by surprise and she gasped before opening it. Carol stood on the other side, a set of folded clothes in her hands and a smile on her lips, if Michelle had not met her right after Terminus, she could have believed that this woman had been hiding behind those walls since the beginning of the apocalypse. Closing the door behind her, the other woman put down the clothes and turned to her.

"I got these for you, just temporary stuff until I can get your clothes cleaned up," she said, with the same smile still on her lips. Michelle barely got the chance to utter a quick thank you that Carol had already began helping her with the many buttons and zippers of clothes she was wearing, careful not to hurt her as she went. It wasn't until Carol spoke again that Michelle realized this wasn't just about helping her.

"We thought you were gone for good," she began. "I can see how the death of Beth could have been too much to bare... It was a big lost for all of us. Are you staying this time? I really think you should, it was hard losing someone else just like that. I don't think we could really deal with that again. Not after everything else..." By that point in Carol's seemingly innocent speech, it was clear that when she said we, she meant he. She was protecting Daryl, gauging Michelle's response to see if she planned on leaving and hurting their mutual friend again and Michelle couldn't help but feel a deep respect for her. If the situation was inverted, she would most likely be doing the same, except not as subtly as Carol was.

"I'm planning on staying, actually," she assured the gray-haired woman, wrapping a towel around herself as Carol headed for the door. With one look over her shoulder, the older woman assured her that it was definitely the best decision for everyone and Michelle sensed quick clearly the slight threat underneath the kind words. As the door closed completely, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in, after Rick, Carol was probably the person in the group she least wanted to cross, after all, who would want to go toe-to-toe with the woman who had single-handedly destroyed Terminus...

With a shiver, she let the last of her clothes fall the floor along with her towel. She rested her crutches against the wall and after another half-second examination of her reflection, she carefully hopped her way into the shower, letting the incredible feeling of the warm water washing away not only the dirt and blood, but all those terrible feelings that life had ended a long time ago. She wasn't dead. She was still very much alive. Changed, yes, but alive. And maybe it was time to stop only surviving and start actually living again.