It had only been light for a matter of minutes, when the minivan pulled up, which meant they must've left Alexandria at the official fucking break of dawn. Which made sense for a search party.

Aaron seemed like the kind of guy made for worrying, like it came real natural to him. But it was slightly freaky to see Rick as stressed as he was, over something that wasn't starvation or survival related. I thought on what exactly was bugging him, as he demanded to know if I was okay and how bad I was hurt and kept asking even when I insisted it wasn't no big deal.

I tried to tell 'em that Daryl was banged around, worse'n me, but he just grunted, "Shut up. M'fine," and dropped into the front seat of their car, closing his eyes like he intended to sleep on the trip back. Only that was when Rick told him what had happened to the other run team, Glenn's team, while we were gone: Deanna's son, Aiden, was dead. Noah was dead. Tara was in a bad way, with a head injury.

"Glenn's okay, though?" Daryl demanded, his voice like splintering ice.

"He is." Rick's arm tightened around my shoulders as he answered. "But Aiden's wingman, Nicholas, he's got some answers to come up with. Eugene reckons it was all on him, Noah especially."

Daryl lay his head back and closed his eyes, but no longer looked anywhere near relaxed enough to sleep, despite the fact I suspected he'd stayed awake all night, while I was passed out on him.

There was no arguing with Rick, who insisted my first stop be the infirmary, even though I tried my damnedest—until he asked if I was nervous about seeing Tara laid up, reassured me she'd be okay.

I smiled weakly. I'd realized a beat or two too late that I oughta be worried about her, of course, what with us havin' been roomies an' all. Only I had no frame of reference for what it meant, to be a 'concerned friend'. So I said I'd go, see her, get a proper sling and all that.

Admittedly, I assumed Daryl would stop in there too. He didn't. He accepted Aaron's offer of breakfast and went with him.

Rick said he'd come pick me up, after he checked in at the house; he'd lit out before anyone was up, when he realized we didn't get back during the night, dragging Aaron out his bed to make him show him the route we'd taken. Now Rick needed to let Carl know he was back, plus he was supposed to be 'on duty' and needed to change into his uniform.

"Sure," I drawled, as we prepared to go in different directions. "I'mma sleep the rest of the day, anyhow." Another hit of Oxy oughta see to that. "You go direct some traffic, or whatever."

He let a smile slide onto his face and leaned in, almost close enough to kiss me. "Glad you're back."

"Glad to be here."

I was still smiling to myself as I went into the building. Until I saw Tara, lying like a statue in the bed, and Rosita sitting with her. Rosita exclaimed some and asked about my arm, then volunteered all the shit I should've been asking about Tara.

All I could do was watch for her chest to move, to prove that she was breathing.

"Will you stay with her? While I go back for a shower and change of clothes?" Rosita asked quietly. My knee-jerk response was to open my mouth to point out that I was the one just spent the night in a goddamn car, but then she smiled and added, "I think she'd like it, if you were here when she woke up."

These people. These fucking people. Sure, I'd worked on the ones I had to, but only to get to the one I needed most. Turned out, maybe they liked me anyhow. Go figure. Shit, I was still mellow from the Oxy. That had to be it. I said okay, otherwise Tara would be alone—Colin the puker's appendix had turned out to be a false alarm.

The pleased vibe evaporated, soon enough, when Sleazy Pete turned up for duty. I told him the short version of events.

"And this has happened before?" He motioned for me to sit on the examination couch and take my arm out of Daryl's T shirt. "Any loss of feeling? Tingling in your fingers?"

"Ever? Or now?" Maybe he was going to be straight doctory, today, that would suit me fine. "One time it was real bad, but that was years ago. Since last night, when it went back in, it's okay. Sore enough—Jesus!" He'd grabbed my arm quicker than I'd anticipated.

He didn't apologize, just went through a range of tests, including holding both my arms in front of me, like he was weighing my elbows. He was close enough that his legs were against my knees. "Seems like you were lucky and it reduced without complications." His hands slid up the backs of my arms.

"You givin' me a sling, or what?" I demanded rudely.

"I think we should do some more checks—you have been in an accident, after all. There might be other injuries you're not aware of. Why don't I get you a gown..."

"You gonna be giving Daryl a thorough goin' over?" I scoffed and tried to move away. Unsuccessfully. He was just being pig headed, I told myself. Tara was—technically—right in the room.

"Sure. If he comes in."

I snorted. "Yeah. You got about as much chance of that as you have of seeing me in your fucking gown. Gimme a sling and I'll be outta here."

"You're a very hostile person," he commented pleasantly, still without moving. I was pretty sure it wasn't just his leg pressing into me now, but I refused to look down. He leaned right into my personal space, so's I could smell his minty breath. "I'm trying to be nice to you."

"Yeah, well, you got all the bedside manner of a stalker." I scooted backwards, thinking I'd swing around and get off the other side of his goddamn casting couch.

The grab around my throat caught me completely by surprise and he shoved me down onto my back before I could react.

"I said, I need to examine you."

Outraged, I swung with my left fist and by luck, clipped him on the side of the eye, giving myself the opportunity of twisting away from him and onto the floor.

"You little bitch." He wasn't even yelling. I knew that was dangerous. There are men who yell and men who let their anger out in other ways. Pete was between me and the door. I scanned quickly, looking for another exit, checking what I could use as a weapon, checking the whole room.

And I saw what I needed.

I took a sideways step, angling more towards the door, and he mirrored me.

"This is about to become your worst nightmare," I said, "you still got time to let me go."

"My worst nightmare? I think you're the one in line for a lesson or two."

I checked the door again. Or more specifically the window, next to the door. The one with a view of the street outside.

"Fuck you," I said, making each syllable crystal clear as I took one more step, this time, going against all sense, towards him. Then—and his confusion was fucking hilarious—I put my hand to the strap of my vest top and ripped it open. "Fuck. You."

Pete slapped me, an open handed slap to the face, meaning my head snapped to the side at the exact second that Rick, in his new uniform, stepped through the door.

Rick's eyes flashed, even before his hand had a chance to leave the door handle, then he was across the room and his hands were on Pete's throat and he slammed him against the wall. "What the hell was that?" he roared. Like there was going to be any answer that satisfied him.

His eyes flicked to me, while the two of them struggled. I held my cheek, going for a combo of fear and shock. Then I 'noticed' my exposed bra and tugged the material of my top up.

Pete yelled in Rick's face, "She did that herself, I never—"

"You never hit her? You never assaulted her?"

As Rick screamed back in outrage, Pete got in a punch that separated them briefly. He whirled around, yelling something about this being his town and Rick having no authority. Rick launched himself back at him and they tangled together again, until—with an almighty roar—Rick propelled them both through the front window.

The sound of the breaking glass echoed, like sharp rain falling on metal.

By the time I sprinted out the door, they were rolling on the blacktop, throttling each other, clawing, gouging. Blood was visible on both of them, but almost covered Rick's face. He looked like some kind of monster. He looked like not one single thing in the world was beyond his grasp, if he wanted to reach out and take it.

Pete was on top when his wife tried to yank him away, the first time I realized other people had been attracted by the noise and more were arriving. Blondie took a backhander from her darling husband that effectively stopped her interference and Rick gained enough momentum to swing back around on top of Pete.

Then it was the kid who went in to try and stop Rick. I coulda told him he wasn't getting nowhere with that plan. I helped him up as he was shoved away in turn.

"What'd you do?" Carl rounded on me, with a glare, then concentrated on the fight, called out 'Dad' again.

"Stop it! Right now!" Lady Fancypants herself was ringside. And Rick almost did stop. He had a choke hold on Pete and everyone heard the promise,

"You go near her again and I will kill you."

Glenn had arrived, skidding to a halt, his eyes sending me a worried glance, and he was already heading for Rick as Deanna ordered—ordered—Rick to stop once more. Like she had any say, any authority, left. She knew it, he knew it, they all knew it, as she told Rick to stop and Rick turned and sneered:

"Or what? You gonna kick me out?"

He drew his gun and they all froze. Comically so, in some cases, like it was the first gun they'd ever seen. Well, maybe it was the first one pointed at them.

I let a smile start to grow inside me. 'Just in case', he'd said. Well, this was the case, all right—and now they had to listen to Rick tell 'em how it was. Exactly how it was.

"You still don't get it...None of you do...We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live."

They twitched. Fuck 'em all. He was right.

"You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done."

My peripheral attention was on the kid, who was edging forwards, behind Rick's back. I was prepared to grab him, stop him if necessary. These fucking candy asses needed to hear this. This was where Rick stepped up and over the whole goddamned bunch of 'em. Took the control that should be his. Took the town.

Deanna tried to make some feeble point but it was gonna be a waste of her breath because Rick was still in charge:

"Starting right now, we have to live in the real world...If you don't fight, you die—"

He fell sideways.

"Nooooo!" I didn't have time to think as I flew at Michonne, fully intending my fingernails to connect with her eyeballs. She hit him! She hit him in the head, took him out. Stopped him. "What did you do?" I screamed, but I barely touched her because Glenn caught me around the middle and swung me away. I fought him, flailing, as I yelled at Michonne, "You stupid bitch! What have you done? What have you done?"

My frantic scrabbling got me out of Glenn's grasp and I fell onto my knees, huddled over Rick's completely still figure.

She didn't kill him, she didn't, don't let her have killed him... So fucking close to taking over. So fucking close...

He was breathing. Because he wasn't dead. He wasn't. He wasn't.

Rosita squatted at my side and asked me to let her take a look at Rick's injuries. I wondered why she was talking so quiet, so gentle. Why she didn't just do it.

"Sarah? You wanna let me...?" I watched Glenn's hand reach slowly for the knife I had no memory of drawing, but which was keeping them all away from me. And Rick.

My eyes went over to where Michonne was talking with Deanna, their tones hushed, their hand gestures urgent. So close...

"Sarah." Glenn unclenched my fingers one by one and I let him.

xxXxx

I sat with my back against the wall, staring at Michonne.

"Just hand them over." She and I had faced off, when they brought Rick—still unconscious—into the empty house. Jail. Call it whatever they fucking well liked, that's what it was. Glenn wasn't exactly refereeing, but he had carefully positioned himself between the two of us.

"Or what? You gonna pat me down?" I took a step closer to Michonne. "You wanna try it? Bring it on, bitch."

"Whoa there." Rosita looked up from where she was wiping the blood off Rick's face. "Some of these are deep, I could do with another pair of hands."

Michonne shook her head at me. "Sarah, you're not staying. Not unless you hand over your knives."

I sat down near Rick, leaned against the wall and folded my arms. Stared her out. "And yet. Here I am."

She pulled up a folding chair and sat down, opposite me.

Rosita clicked her tongue on her teeth. "I guess I'll manage on my own then." She and Glenn exchanged glances and he dropped down, passing her another cloth, opening band aids and little sticky wound closures as she asked for them. Between them they got Rick looking like a fucking patchwork quilt.

How the hell was I to know he'd end up going through a window?

But getting Pete out of the picture had so nearly advanced the whole fucking plan, it was like it had been meant to happen right then. Rick would've been in charge, and I'd have been safe. No one would mess with me ever, if the town leader was in my bed every night.

C'mon, Sheriff, wake up. Wake up.

After a minute, I looked around and realized there was only Michonne in the room. I curled my lip at her. "Why don't you piss off? He ain't gonna want to see you, not after what you did."

"I did it for him."

"Bullshit. He was all over it, he had it—"

"No." She kept her voice steady. "That wasn't the way."

I clenched my fists in frustration.

"Michonne?" Carl came in. His face went kind of pale. "Hasn't he woken up yet?" He went down on one knee, shook Rick gently. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"'Course," I said at the same time as Michonne said, "Yes."

I was on the receiving end of a scowl, she got a more grateful look. Well, that figured. He sat down, next to the mattress and did what I was doing, watched Rick breathe. The silence flooded the room. I actually jumped, when Carl finally looked over at Michonne and quietly spoke.

"Will we have to leave now?"

"I don't think it'll come to that."

I wasn't so sure she was right.

"If we do...Do you think Dad'll let anyone come with us?" Oh, wait a minute now. Very casually asked. That was interesting. Who was he thinking of taking? I watched him hedge around answering Michonne as she asked exactly that, to the point where he didn't even put up no argument when she suggested he go home.

Rosita came back, briefly, with a clean top for me and a goddamn sling. I was torn, between admitting that my elbow was throbbing and looking weak in front of Michonne. I settled on the sensible option and threaded the stupid thing around my neck. But I grit my teeth and drew the line at taking any more Oxy; I needed my wits about me.

I made a show of being tired, edged onto the mattress next to Rick, daring Michonne to say something. Which is when I noticed his hand.

xxXxx

I never left his side. I was there when he came around, when he played along with Carol's story about the 'secret' guns—and when he went ahead and told Michonne anyhow. And she said she was on his side, whatever. It was just the way they took over that they disagreed on. I wanted to get Daryl's take, but he'd gone back out with Aaron, to retrieve the stuff from the lake trip.

We were back in the house by then. Deanna was holding some kind of 'meeting', some kind of kangaroo court more like. As if kicking out Rick made any fucking sense. He was their best chance, still.

He was my best chance, still. That hadn't changed. In one sense it had worked better than I expected.

I glanced at his hand again. Told myself to fucking shape up. I was spooked is all, and maybe it didn't mean a damn thing anyhow. Maybe he took off his wedding ring, regular-like, maybe he always had, it didn't have to mean anything.

Stay calm. I turned around, paced over the window to give myself thinking space. Blinked, as I looked out.

"We oughta get—"

"Rick." I cut him off. I could see down the main street. As far as the perimeter wall.

"Sarah—"

"Rick. The gate. The gate's open."

He was next to me in one second and whirling out the room the next. I followed, but by the time I got to the entrance road he was already running back.

"Walkers. Inside the perimeter." He was scanning the houses, the prissy little walkways and garden paths. I fell in with him and fumbled for my knife, left handed.

"No." He stepped in front of me. "I got this. Go. Go to the meeting, tell Glenn, Michonne, Abraham. Tell 'em Daryl isn't back yet. Get the rest of 'em inside." This was what he did best.

I nodded, took off in the direction of Deanna's lynch mob, got there just in time to hear:

"And all of us, who were together before this place...we're family now. Rick started that." Maggie might have just become my favorite person in the whole fucking world. Shame to gatecrash her speech, but needs must.

"Listen up." I skidded to a halt, almost elbowing Deanna out of the way. "You wanna know what Rick's doin', right now? The man you're fixing to kick out? He's cleaning up your mess." I couldn't see Glenn, but I marked where the others were. "Your fuckin' gate was open—there's walkers in here—" Some of the candy asses squawked, all the real people went for their knives, Abe making a move for the doorway behind me. "You people got no fucking clue exactly how much you need Rick Grimes."

It was like poetry or something that Rick came in, toting a walker corpse that he threw down in front of 'em. What more fucking persuading did they need?

And then Pete showed up, waving Michonne's sword, ranting like a raving lunatic. He shoved at the old dude, Deanna's husband, when he tried to shut him up. He probably didn't even mean to cut him. I ain't sure he knew what he was doing, sword or no fucking sword. But the outcome was the same.

Blood.

Yelling.

People moving, pinning down Pete. Deanna wailing against the inevitable.

When she looked up at Rick, I saw it in her eyes. Finally. Finally she knew hate, knew it deep in her bones. Knew the fire and the ice of it. And she had the weapon she needed.

"Rick. Do it." She was judge and jury, and now she had a executioner.

And right at the second that the shot rang out, three new figures moved into the light from the fire.

Daryl.

Aaron.

And a third man, dirty blond and dressed in a shabby leather jacket with a new rip in it, who stepped forwards into the scene and ignored the whole deal. Despite the shocked crowd, the sobbing widows, the one old and two fresh corpses and the gun wielding Rick, he ignored everything and looked right at me and, with a smile, he drawled:

"Hello, Janey."

A/N: Yeah, not Morgan – he's gonna have to find his own way to Alexandria!