Yeah, ummmmmmmmmmm, so I genuinely thought that I would write the story and kill Essie off and then carry on about my day. It hasn't really worked out like that.

Then I thought i would wait a good long while before posting this next part but that didn't work out so well either. I was going to make this another story and post it under a new title and I'm still thinking about that; but for now I'm just going to keep adding to this one even though it ruins the epilogue. I haven't even the vaguest idea where this one will end up but I'm going to give it a go. The time frame of series 5 has been extended. Anyway I'll see what happens with this next bit.

As always, thanks for reading this and please (please for the love of God) let me know what you think, especially as I'm properly lost at sea with this.

When you hear the guns fire, don't listen.

I can hear someone moving about. I have no idea where I am. I could be dead; should be dead. But I'm not. That's strange.

I have been awake for a while; I'm not sure how long, time seems to have lost all meaning.

I wonder who it is.

"Are you thirsty?" asks a voice. It's a man's voice but I don't recognise it. I decide it will be best if I keep quiet.

"I'll leave the bottle by your hand. You can get it whenever you want." and then he is quiet again.

I try to piece together what has happened. I remember seeing myself burn, but it wasn't me. It was a painting from a long time ago, before I was born.

I remember the sky falling in.

I remember…I remember the blood. Their blood, his blood, my blood.

I remember the Great and Terrible Essie. I let out a laugh and feel my side explode with pain. I try to find where the pain is coming from.

"No. No." a hand gently moves mine away, "You need to leave it alone or you'll rip the stiches again."

Ok, I'm fine with that.

I remember the look in his eyes as he held me upright and on my feet.

I remember the feeling of his hands on my skin.

I remember.

I hear the whisper of a Joni Mitchell song on the wind but then it's gone and so am I, for now.

This is definitely the worst day since yesterday. He's got to change the dressings again. He nimbly cuts through the bandage and then peels back the gauze. It's still sticking to the wound, which means it's still infected.

"I'm going to have cut more of the dead flesh away. I'm sorry." I nod and close my eyes.

I'm back in Alexandria. The room is warm with a glow that only comes from people who are, for now, safe and happy. They are my friends, they are my family. I feel the scalpel cut into the ravaged flesh but I don't cry out. That would attract walkers and we are a little busy at the moment. It becomes too much and I go away for a while.

It's morning. I can hear the birds and I can definitely smell food. I sit up and for the first time I don't feel the electric ice of the wound.

"You want some of this?" he asks, holding out a cup of oatmeal and a spoon.

"Do you know, I think I do." I answer, taking the food.

"Good." he says, "that's good."

I shovel the food into my mouth and look over at the man who saved my life. He is an odd one. He's a survivor but he's also very generous. He told me the story of how he found one night when my fever caused me to scream out that I was being burned alive.

He was looking for someone, he hasn't told me who, and he saw the fire from the warehouse. When he got there, the building had already collapsed but he saw me lying on the ground. He thought I was a dead, mutilated animal and was about to walk away when I whispered a name, Eugene Cernan. He knew who that was. He checked my pulse and then carried me.

Apparently I stopped breathing twice before he found a safe place to begin his work. I laughed when he said he'd been about to stab me in the head when I suddenly started breathing again. He dug out the bullet lodged in my side, he sewed up the stab wound in my shoulder and tended to all the other injuries I had.

The knife wound had become infected, badly infected. He told me he was surprised that was the only one that did. He'd had to cut away the infection 3 times and used all of his iodine supply. At one point my fever reached 106 degrees. Again, he thought I was going to die but I didn't.

I've been with him for about 3 weeks. We haven't travelled very far. I'm not all that steady on my feet yet.

I like him. He's very zen. I think he's seen a lot. I think he's lost a lot; but in this day and age, who hasn't?

He knows my name but I don't know his. That's fine by me, I don't mind. He's never asked me what happened and I haven't volunteered any information. I still haven't quite processed it all yet.

"What are you going to do?" he asks suddenly, out of the blue, "It's not that I don't like your company but you don't seem like you're going to be staying too much longer."

"I haven't decided yet." I answer, it's the truth.

"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asks, concentrating on his food. I like that about him too, he never pushes he just waits for you to come to him.

"I'm not sure. There was a place but…I'm not sure."

"Ok." he says and waits.

"There…there were some people that I met. They made me part of their family. They came for me when they didn't have to. They were my friends."

"Friends are important." he says.

"I don't know if I can go back." I say and set the empty oatmeal cup down by my foot, "I…I think I might have left myself back at the warehouse. They might not like this me coming back."

"Who did you leave back there?" and then he points at the oatmeal cup, "Do you want some more?" I nod and pass him the cup.

"I think she was broken. She didn't know how to do very much else but fight against everything and everyone. She was lost. But they gave her hope that she might be found."

"And now?" he asks, handing me the full cup, "Who are you now?"

"I'm not sure." I reply.

"So these people who took a broken, angry and dangerous person in, this person who you say you left behind in that warehouse, might not accept this new person who isn't as angry and broken? Seems to me that if you went back to them, they might treat this new person like they did the old person."

"That's too many times to say 'person' in one sentence." I say and he laughs.

"Actually," I say finishing the second cup of oatmeal and setting it down with a defiant clang on the rock I am sitting on, "I'm me. I've always been me. I'll always be angry and impetuous and funny and brave and strong. I haven't changed because I don't need to change." and he nods and smiles at me like my teachers did when I had finally got the answer right.

I heave the bag onto my uninjured shoulder. It contains water, a little food and a piece of cloth that had been wrapped around my arm when he found me. I've washed the blood out of it and kept it safe.

He's also given me a hunting knife. He says he doesn't need it, he has a rifle and an aiki-jo that I've seen him use many times to break walkers' skulls.

"You take care." he says.

"I hope you find who you are looking for." I call back to him as he walks away.

"I will." he answers and then he is gone, hidden in the trees.

I look up to see where the sun is and head west.

Carol met Michonne outside the church and they walked back to the house together.

"Deanna asked me to box up her things. We need the space for the people who have decided to stay." Carol said.

"Did you do it?" Michonne asked.

"She didn't have much. It didn't take me long."

"What have you done with it?"

"I put the box under the kitchen sink. He won't find it there." Carol sighed.

"How is he?" Michonne knew Carol was the only one who might have an answer to that question.

"He's who he is. He won't talk about it. He won't talk about her. He needs to work it out in his own time. I'm not going to push it."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Daryl brushed some fallen leaves from the wooden cross. He'd only just returned from a solo hunt that had kept him away for 3 days. He'd gone to the graveyard before anywhere else. He straightened up when he heard someone coming and turned to see Reg crossing the grass.

"Sorry." Reg said, "I didn't think anyone else would be here." Daryl didn't say anything and went to walk away.

"I wanted to put some flowers on her grave but I couldn't find any still in bloom." Reg said quickly and Daryl stopped walking away but didn't say anything either so he kept talking.

"I'm not sure if she'd even like flowers. She might think it was too sentimental. God, I miss her. We used to eat lunch together sometimes, when she was working with Deanna. She could make me cry with laughter; do you know she once told me a story about how she got caught smoking in the girls' bathroom at her school and tried to escape through the window but ended up losing her skirt on the hook. The whole school was out on the field for a sporting event and saw everything. I hadn't laughed so much in a long time."

Daryl was frozen to the spot; torn between the pain that someone knew something about her that he didn't and desperate to hear more. Reg seemed to sense this and carried on.

"And she could eat. Boy could she eat. Aidan would rage about the lack of food after she had been working. She once ate an entire pot of leftover spaghetti in an afternoon and still managed 2 meatloaf sandwiches. I miss her." he said again. Daryl felt his throat tighten and his fingers flickered.

"Snapdragons." he rasped, "snapdragons are out at this time of year." and he walked away leaving Reg by the graveside.

Essie had walked for most of the day but it was slow going. She wasn't as strong as she had been and she was tired, so tired. She stopped in a clearing and built a small fire. She boiled the water and made up the soup packet. It was getting colder; she warmed her hands on the mug and shuffled deeper into the coat he had given her.

Her clothes were hanging off her, they'd have been too big before but she'd lost weight because of the fever. He'd found some in an abandoned car after he explained that he'd had to cut her own clothes off her and had ended up burning them. She missed her jeans, they were worn to a soft and comfortable shape around her. Luckily he had kept her boots. These clothes weren't hers, they didn't feel right. She hoped they'd kept her clothes back in Alexandria. She hoped a lot of things had stayed in Alexandria.

She calculated that she had about 20 miles to go. 3 days if the weather held. 3 days to work out what she was going to say. She pulled the cigarette out of her pocket and looked at it. He'd saved it from her pocket before burning her jeans. It had a faint bloodstain by the filter but other than that it was fine. It was unbroken, just like her. She resisted the urge to light it and carefully put it back.

Daryl was smoking on the porch, alone. It was late and he thought the others were asleep. Rick opened the door and quietly and joined him.

"I'm sorry." he said, Daryl didn't look at him.

"I had to pull you out of there. The whole building was gonna collapse. I'm sorry."

Daryl turned to look at him, "I know." he said and they stood in silence listening to the night sounds.

Essie checked the sun's position again. She was making good time; her shoulder was hurting but not too much. She stopped to get the water bottle out of her bag and heard a familiar moan. She turned to see 2 walkers approaching. She grabbed the hunting knife and took them out without much effort at all. She wiped the blade on the grass and picked up her bag.

"Still got it." she thought and smiled.

He was in Aaron's garage, cleaning the air filter and stripping the twin carburettor, cleaning them carefully with paraffin. He was tightening the jubilee clips before putting the seat back over the air filter when the screwdriver slipped and sliced his palm.

"Shit." he said and sucked the cut as the blood began to flow. Slowly he took his hand away from his mouth and squeezed it, making it bleed even more. The pain felt like a release so he pressed it harder. His blood dripped onto the concrete floor.

She now reckoned she was only about 9 miles away from the town. She'd made a camp for the night in woods that were becoming more familiar to her. She took the cigarette out again.

"I'm going to be home tomorrow."

"Smoke it then."

"But what if I don't find another one?"

"What if you do?"

"What if it's not the same?"

"What if it's better?"

"Hope for the best but expect the worst?"

"How about you just hope for the best?"

"Maybe."

"Night Essie."

"Night Lawrence."

She lit the cigarette and breathed in deeply.

Tara was on gate duty. She hated gate duty, it was boring, nothing ever came down the road except walkers. She was trying to work out how long she had left before someone came to relieve her. She looked up to see a figure walking down the highway. They were too far away to make out so she looked down the scope of her rifle.

"Holy shit!" she said and ran to find someone, anyone.

Essie's stomach had been tight all day. She had gone even slower than usual. What would she say to them? How would they react? Would they be angry that she'd put them all in danger? She saw the walls loom up over the horizon but she kept on walking.

Carol and Maggie were coming out from the pantry area when Tara nearly ran into them.

"She's back!" she shouted breathlessly and ran back the way she had come.

"Who?" shouted Maggie and Tara skidded to a halt.

"She's walking down the road. Come on!"

"Who?" Carol repeated.

"Essie!" said Tara and ran. Maggie and Carol followed her, picking up speed. They sped past their house.

"What's happening?" shouted Carl.

"Essie's back." yelled Maggie and kept running. Glen heard the noise and came out.

"What's going on?" he asked Carl who was racing down the steps.

"Essie's at the gates!"

"What?...Shit!" and he burst back into the house to tell the others.

Carol stopped running just before the gate and turned around.

"Where are you going?" asked Maggie as Tara began to unlock the gate.

"I've got to go and tell him." she shouted back.

Essie had made it past the barn, past the burnt out car. She started to pick up speed, then she started to jog and before she knew it she was running as fast as the prairie winds. Home was in sight.

By the time Tara had got the gate open, Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Abraham and Carl had joined them. She heaved the gate and saw Essie was running towards them. She stopped a little way outside the gate and dropped her bag. They were there. They hadn't gone. They weren't part of a dream. They were real and they were in front of her.

Abraham got to her first and picked her up, swinging her round and yelling. Then Michonne and Maggie were hugging her and yelling. Rosita was there, and Carl still clutching the comic he had been reading. They were all firing questions at her and hugging her. She was carried through the gates on a wave of relief.

She saw Deanna and Reg come out of their house, Aaron and Eric began running to meet her. But she didn't care, she couldn't see him. The sea of faces all wanted a piece of her but she couldn't do anything until she was sure.

Jessie enveloped her in a hug, crying and telling her how much she had missed her.

The she saw Carol come out of Aaron's house followed by Daryl. Essie disentangled herself from Jessie and began to walk towards them. She couldn't run, she couldn't trust her legs to carry her. He stopped dead. Staring at her. She walked past Carol and stood in front of him, she had no words.

He reached up and touched her hair, then her face. His hands moved down her arms and lifted up her hands, examining them. She didn't know what to do, it was like he didn't believe she was really there. He put both hands to her face.

"It's you." he said.

"It's me." she said.

There didn't need to be anything else.