Carol and Rosita help with a sad but necessary task before the funeral service. Jessie complicates Team family's situation and Daryl impresses someone important.


The Price We Pay for Love

"Grief is the price we pay for love." Queen Elizabeth II


"You don't have to do this; I can handle it by myself." Rosita said while calmly removing the blood soaked shirt, button by button from the dead man the next morning. Reg lay on a table in the kitchen of one of the unused houses that was functioning as a morgue; Pete's shrouded body was waiting its turn on the floor.

"I'm used to it—I did it for them. At the prison—where we were before." Carol said, moving to dip one of the sponges into the warmed soapy water to clean the flaking almost brown dried blood from the man's hair, face and neck as the other woman peeled back his shirt. She assessed the gaping wound made by the razor slice of the katana. His jugular cut through cleanly, he had bled out in under a minute.

"But you did it for Beth and Tyreese...it's not fair it's always you." Rosita protested. There had been only a few drops of blood on the girl's lovely pale face, a small dark hole under her chin. The clots of crimson, white bone and brain had washed out of her golden hair in the cold clear water from the stream near where they'd laid her to rest.

Tara had helped her that time, wanting to spare Maggie and Glenn. Daryl had carried the sheet shrouded body to the grave dug by Tyreese and Abraham. Carl fashioned a cross. Rick asked them all to share their memories of the teen. Sasha had kept vigil with her rifle, watching for walkers. Noah sat silently by the grave with Maggie all night until they left for Richmond the next day.

Only a few days later Carol had been adamant that Sasha not see her brother until his terrible wounds had been cleansed and covered with only his ashen face visible. Carol said her goodbyes to him while she bathed and smoothed his brow, thanking him for her life, for keeping their secrets and then paid tribute to him by doing something she hadn't since he had returned the child to her father. While the others buried him, she held Judith and told her about the big hearted gentle man who had saved her life.

"How many have we lost since this all began?" Rosita asked rhetorically, thinking of the nine who had given their lives to get Eugene to D.C. and then farther back, to her own family and friends.

"It's easier this time. We didn't really know him." Carol said pragmatically, pushing down her choking grief for three other broken little girls turning back to clay on abandoned farms hundreds of miles away.

"First her son, and a day later her husband," Rosita sighed, finishing removing the rest of the man's clothes, grimacing at the reality that they'd been soiled from the inside out. The fact that at death one's bodily functions often let loose was something she'd learned the hard way.

'I know you lost something back there...' Carol thought of Rick's words to Daryl on the road. Who among them hadn't? Husbands, wives, daughters, sons, brothers, sisters, lovers... Sasha and Maggie had suffered a similar one two punch of loss and were dealing with it in completely different ways—how would Deanna?

'Oh my love, my love...' the ASZ leader had kept repeating last night. Then she'd been steely eyed when she'd ordered Rick to execute her husband's killer, stoic when she'd granted Carol permission to keep him from turning, and she was back to work this morning in the hours before the funeral, interviewing Morgan, getting an update from Daryl and Aaron on what they had encountered in meeting the man. Like Carol, perhaps she didn't have time for grief...

"Grief is the price we pay for love." Rosita said, startling Carol by saying the word just as she thought it.

A knock on the outside door drew their attention away from their conversation and task. Rosita rinsed off her hands and went to answer it.

"He's my husband." a quiet but determined voice came from the doorway.

"We haven't—he's not ready yet, Jessie. I'm sorry..." Rosita turned and looked back at Carol, her gaze unsure and questioning. Carol nodded, giving permission to let the other woman in.

"We're doing Reg first," Carol told Jessie, who nodded, averting her eyes from the body on the table and instead focusing on the sheet covered one waiting in the corner of the room. Blood had soaked through at the head making a Rorschach blot in rusty brown.

"What do I tell my boys?" Jessie murmured, sinking into a kitchen chair, staring blankly ahead.

"The truth." Carol said without hesitation.

Jessie blanched.

"That he was weak." Carol continued, looking down at Reg's blue tinged lips, the throat laid open, "That he made himself feel powerful by hurting others and it got him killed."

Rosita looked assessingly at the older woman. She had admired Carol since she met her, had been impressed by her long con with the Good Housekeeping shtick when they arrived at the ASZ and had enjoyed observing the little dance she and the Archer had done before finally settling into whatever it was they were now. That she so intimately understood the kind of man Jessie's husband had been was interesting. Perhaps she'd had good reason to keep Daryl at arm's length for so long.

"Your husband?" Rosita asked Carol, "You take him out?"

"Walkers." Carol shook her head side to side, but then added with a little smirk, "But I did have the honor of putting a pick axe through his head after."

"I shot the twig and berries off an asshole who tried to rape me in Houston, before I met up with Abraham and Eugene." Rosita nodded solemnly, and then her lips slipped into a tiny smile. "If he lived he's peeing sitting down."

Carol raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"So we're supposed to just...what?" Jessie looked back and forth between them with disbelief. "Give everyone guns and knives and swords and let the slaughter go on?"

"You do what you have to do to survive and you don't apologize after." Rosita said, her voice hard, "You people have been living in a fool's paradise in here—this was bad..." she looked down at Reg's lifeless form and over to the shrouded body on the floor "...but there's worse shit coming and you need to be ready for it."

"You have to be strong—not just for your boys—for you." Carol said, returning to her work preparing the body, looking down at it. "Show them that you're willing to do whatever it takes to protect them by learning how."

"You don't understand—you don't have children—I can't let them become like him—give their lives over to the violence...I can't..." Jessie protested.

"I had three daughters." Carol said quietly, pausing to remember each in turn in her mind's eye. She gave a small weary sigh and shook her head, "And now I don't."

Rosita reached out and put her hand on top of Carol's, giving it a small brief squeeze before releasing it and looking over at Jessie with narrowed eyes.

"I...I'm sorry...I didn't know..." Jessie murmured, wringing her hands in embarrassment.

"You didn't want to know." Carol said with a dismissive frowning half chuckle. "None of you want to know what it's really like out there." She dropped her bloody sponge back into the bucket and used a clean towel to dry Reg's face and hair a bit and then nodded at Rosita. "He's done—did they bring what they wanted him buried in?"

"Spencer left some things." Rosita said.

"Okay. Rigor has almost passed; we should be able to get them on him now." Carol said, lifting one cold arm to check its flexibility, inadvertently causing the body to shift, the head lolling to the side facing Jessie, creating the illusion it was looking at her with unseeing eyes.

"Oh God." Jessie gave a small cry, tears spilling over, her hand moving to cover her mouth.

Glancing over at Jessie's horrified face, Carol supposed she couldn't blame the woman—if you were like most people before the Turn, perhaps you had only ever seen a body in a funeral home, prepared by professionals to have some imitation of life in carefully controlled conditions, a serene expression frozen onto the face with wax, putty and make-up. The reality was something those who had lived outside the walls saw every day. Death was an ugly limp bastardization of life.

"You should go now." Carol said, sighing impatiently. She gestured at Pete's body. "We've got this."

"He's my husband," Jessie protested, and Carol heard the guilt in her voice. Guilt that somehow it had all gotten out of control and it was her fault? Guilt that she was relieved her tormenter was dead?

"The vows say till death do you part." Carol said with more sympathy in her tone than she'd been able to summon for the woman up to now, but wasn't going to let her forget who and what was most important, "Your boys are still alive and they need you now. "

When Jessie remained seated, looking uncertain, staring at what was left of the man with whom she'd tried to make a life.

"Would you like some privacy to say goodbye?" Rosita asked gently.

Jessie turned back to them and bobbed her chin up and down a few times, unable to speak, sniffing back her tears.

Carol sighed out her ambivalence. It wasn't that she lacked empathy, she knew exactly how Jessie felt, had lived it, but was so far beyond it now that watching the woman deal with this particular kind of loss felt like squeezing into a garment two sizes too small, itchy and uncomfortable and frustrating. She just wanted it to be over with. To get beyond it so they could deal with whatever was coming at them next.

"We'll be on the porch." Rosita said. "Come out when you're done."

Carol followed her out and they leaned against the porch railing, waiting, arms crossed over their chests.

"It's still new for them, Carol." Rosita reminded her.

"I know." Carol said flatly. "And I hate them and feel sorry for them and just don't care...all at once."

"Yeah." Rosita agreed. "...all at once."


A subdued Gabriel led the services. Killer and victim both lay in their graves; judge and executioner stood to either side of them. Deanna was supported by her remaining son. Rick's focus was on Jessie standing with her sons, the fact of which did not go unnoticed. Carol and Daryl stood next to Abraham, Eugene, and Maggie. Rosita was with Tara and Glenn back at the Clinic, babysitting Judith. Eric was leaning on Aaron, both of them extremely sad. They had known and admired Reg longer than almost anyone in the group; had helped him build the wall. The new man, Morgan, was off to the side closest to Michonne, both of whom were looking pensively at Rick. The rest of the Zone residents were arrayed around them, looking shell shocked at the third and fourth funerals in less than a few days.

"We live surrounded by death." The priest began in slow measured tones, "It is the only constant in this world. The second you are born, you begin to die. If you are lucky you will have good things before the end—family, friends, love, faith, honor—if you are lucky, your time will not have been filled with despair and darkness; your soul will not have dried and cracked, shriveled up with sin."

He seemed to say the last words as a warning, an admonition to all those present. He looked to Maggie, standing alone because Glenn was in the Infirmary with Tara, recovering from a gunshot wound inflicted by Nicholas, a man deep into his own darkness. A man Glenn had already forgiven.

"I did not know these men well." Gabriel continued, "I know both were loved." He looked over at Deanna and Spencer, then at Jessie and her sons, "Both will be missed." He paused, looking up into the sky for a long moment before he continued, "Judgment? I leave that up to God."

The priest stepped to the side of the first grave and gathered a handful of soil from the mound next to the vacant earth, saying as he sprinkled it over the body,

"In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brother Reginald Monroe and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen."

He repeated the words for Pete and then stepped back. One by one the community members filed forward and did the same. Some ignored the second grave, uncomfortable with the idea that they would be honoring a killer, but as Aaron had reminded them all in his eulogy for both men before the service proper, the surgeon had also saved several lives during his time in the ASZ.

Carol and Daryl were standing talking to Aaron and Eric when Sam rushed up and flung himself at Carol. She crouched down, hugging him tightly.

"I'll never tell." The boy whispered against her neck. He pulled back and looked at her with solemn seriousness, his big blue eyes wide, "Thank you."

Carol looked startled. Had he put together that Rick had used one of the guns she had taken?

"Sam," Jessie interrupted, frowning at her son's obvious affection for Carol.

"I was just thanking her for the cookies she gave us." Sam said, releasing his hold on her. She'd had Carl deliver a fresh batch early this morning when he went to see how Ron was doing.

"Yes, thank you." Jessie said a bit stiffly. She nodded at Carol and the others and gathered Sam close with her arm around his shoulders.

"Are you coming over for the—" Eric started to ask, but Jessie shook her head no.

"We're going home." Jessie told him. "Thank you though." and then she led Sam away.

"Carol-I'd like to speak with you—do you have some time now?" Deanna asked as she walked up to them, her tone brisk, but her voice was hoarse and her eyes red. She'd spent an hour before the service sitting next to Reg's body in the make-shift morgue.

Daryl's hand came up and rested in the small of Carol's back, supportive, but not visible to the others standing in front of them, including Deanna, Olivia and Spencer.

"Mom—there's the supper—at Aaron and Eric's?" Spencer reminded his mother of the unofficial wake that the recruiter had offered to host after the services.

"Why do people always try to feed you when everything tastes like ashes in your mouth?" Deanna said philosophically, her lips caught between a grimace and a wry grin.

"Brought back a bottle of Macallan from our last run," Daryl uncharacteristically volunteered.

Carol reached back and found his hand, giving it a thankful squeeze.

Deanna's face let the wry grin win. Macallan was considered to be one the finest Scotch whiskey brands. Reg had been proud the Monroe family's Scottish heritage, something Aaron must've communicated to Daryl.

"You're a bonny man, Mr. Dixon. Lead on." Deanna said, stepping forward and lacing her arm through his.

Carol released Daryl's hand and walked beside him, proud of how well he was trying to fit in here, smiling at the red flush she saw rising under his collar to be so formally escorting the woman in charge of the whole place. He'd dressed up for the service, as much as he ever did, with a long sleeved black western shirt under his vest and clean dark jeans sans holes, patches or shoe lace anti-tick garters. Carol almost matched, her dark navy slacks with a blue striped blouse topped with the same long coat she'd worn to the party the night she'd done her little invisible act.

About a half a block ahead, Rick, Carl, Ron, Sam and Jessie were making their way down the street towards her house.

Early this morning they'd had a "family" meeting and they'd advised Rick to keep his distance from Jessie for the time being. Carol was displeased to see that he hadn't followed the group's advice. It was important that everyone in the ASZ focus on the murder of Reg as Rick's justifiable motivation for killing Pete and not on any nascent romantic interest the constable might have had in the dead man's wife. The consequences of the main population turning against them weren't a price they were willing to pay if they could help it.

Michonne had been dismissive, expressing sympathy over what Jessie had been through, but opined that she was a complication, an indulgence distracting him from leadership. Daryl had been blunter, telling Rick that last thing they needed was to have shit kick up over his need to get his dick wet.

Rick's response had been sullen and defensive; even a bit ugly, asking Daryl if he had to follow the Dixon time table of mooning over the widow of an asshole for two years before he had the balls to even touch her let alone fuck her. It was only Michonne's threat to put him down again that staved off the men from coming to blows.

"Michonne? Could you run ahead and ask Rick to come to Aaron's now? I need to talk to him as well." Deanna requested.

Michonne nodded and increased her long stride to catch up to the others. Morgan fell in behind Deanna's group, keeping the same slower pace as Aaron and Eric, who was crutching along.

Deanna looked over to Carol, seeing her frown and catching her eye. The look asked: we're on the same page with this, right? Keep him away from her for now?

Carol didn't smile, her frown returned to bland passivity, but inside she felt a flutter of panic. Deanna knew—like Carol, she knew—that Rick Grimes was a tool, a blunt force object to be strategically managed now, not the leader he imagined himself to be.


AN: Father Gabriel's words as he sprinkles the dirt are the death service from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.

Carol is the chess player, Deanna the card sharp, but they seem to be coming to similar conclusions about how to make the ASZ a better, safer place.

I think you can figure out my personal opinion on "Jessick."