A/N Hey readers, thanks for so many reviews, it was reassuring to know that there's nothing in particular that people dislike which has resulted in the reviews.
Yes, Lana is driving us all nuts, as she should be! Totally okay for readers to be sick of her right now! Thankfully Lana is going to bury her head in the sand for a little, which I think she needs.
Without further ado, I introduce the catalyst for the nest 10-15 chapters! It's a long one, so settle in. Cheers everyone.
Monday December 29
The night was quiet, the residents of the Kingdom having turned in for the night, with the exception of a few stragglers. He too having turned in, Rick pulled the covers off Carl's bed and carried them over to the couch where he was almost asleep. Sprawled out atop a mountain of cushions he had finally managed to get himself comfortable, sleeping with his head propped up and his left forearm cradled against his chest. Concerned about the chill in the air, Rick spread the blanket over him, wanting to be sure he slept through the whole night. He'd had his skin graft only yesterday, and tonight was his first night home with morphine readily available at the click of a button.
"Thanks Dad," he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.
"Do you need anything?" The first night had been spent in the Infirmary under the close supervision of the doctors, but tonight they were in their apartment with Denise close by. "Bathroom? Water?"
"Nuh."
Satisfied that he was okay, Rick dimmed the camping lantern and then joined Carol, Michonne and Denise over at their small table. It was barely seven o'clock in the evening, far too early for them to go to sleep, and so a deck of cards had been dealt. They'd have to keep it quiet in order to not disturb Carl, but they'd pass the time for a couple of hours.
Time was quickly slipping away from Rick's people, with Christmas having recently passed and New Year looming. Although they had made a happy return to Alexandria to be with their family over Christmas it had of course been too brief, Mak allowing Carl to leave his care for two days only. The wounded eye socket was now in such good condition that the surgeon wanted to operate immediately, to get the skin graft over sooner rather than later, but ultimately had agreed to some flexibility. He had seen the disappointment on Carl's face when he learned he couldn't return home to Alexandria, that he would spend Christmas miserable and in pain, confined to the classroom that was his temporary home.
With his surgery deferred and his health good enough to travel again, Rick, Carl, Michonne, Carol and Denise had returned to Alexandria for a brief visit. Despite having only a few minutes of warning over the radios Carrie and Judith had met them at the gates with the rest of the community, ecstatic by their unannounced arrival on Christmas Eve. Until then it had been difficult to know if he would be able to come through on his promise, their reunion determined only by Mak's agreement to defer Carl's treatment. Carrie had greeted him with a long kiss before sweetly whispering into his ear, telling him exactly how he was to be rewarded under the Christmas tree that night.
In their absence she had decorated the house and put up a tree in the living room, draping it in lights, tinsel and baubles, declining Daryl's halfhearted offer to help. Being newlyweds with time to make up for they had spent most of the night under the Christmas tree, curled up together with a blanket to protect them from unexpected interruptions. Between Judith constantly awakening during the night and Carrie's insatiable desire they didn't exactly get a full night of sleep during his short stay, not that either of them were at all bothered. The second trimester of her pregnancy was agreeing well with her, both of them eager to take advantage of one another until it became too burdensome and difficult for her to take him the way she liked the most.
Conscious that they had only limited time together they lazily spent Christmas day as a family, the entire group congregating at Maggie and Glenn's house for a couple of hours before eventually retiring home to their own. It was there that they simply spent time with one another, listening to Carl playing the few guitar chords he knew while Judith played along on her toy drum kit, a toy that was sure to go missing if Rick had anything to say about it. It was only his role as Alexandria's leader that compelled them to go to church that evening, to watch on while the kids sang Christmas carols and performed a nativity scene. Confident that Carl couldn't quite see what he was doing, Rick spent most of the service with his hand resting on Carrie's thigh beneath her coat, slowly creeping higher and higher until she cracked and pushed him away.
"We're in church," she scolded him under her breath, though her poorly concealed smile gave her away.
"And?" he questioned, taking hold of her hand instead. It was her left, and with a gentle squeeze he could feel the engagement and wedding rings she wore on her fourth finger. "We are married."
With only the following day left, Carrie and Rick made a point of staying home together, just them, Daryl and the kids. Home was where they wanted to be, together. After much debate over what Rick considered to be three colours that were exactly the same, Carrie had finally made her selection of pale yellow, allowing he and Carl to start painting the nursery. Carl had made it twenty minutes into the painstaking task of cutting in the edges before calling it quits, too impatient to focus and ensure a clean line. Telling Rick to call him back when he could use the rollers, he left to spend a little time with Enid instead.
"You sure you don't want to try?" Rick asked Carrie. Sitting atop a ladder he dipped his angled brush into the cup of paint and then wiped off the excess. A drop landed on his knee, making him glad he had exchanged his jeans for a pair of sweats instead.
"No thank you," Carrie shook her head in disdain. "That looks like a pain in the ass."
"It's actually very satisfying," he said softly, falling silent as he brought the brush back to the wall and ever so carefully smoothed the yellow paint on.
The skill of getting it perfect had come back with just a little practice, and aside from a few areas of Carl's that he had fixed up, not one smudge of yellow marred the white ceiling. In the early days of their marriage he and Lori had painted the entirety of their first home both inside and out, Carl sleeping or playing nearby, and Shane was never far away when there was something to playfully criticise. This would be the third bedroom he had painted for a child, though he seemed to recall a wallpaper trimming of cowboys that had been in Carl's bedroom. Perhaps if this baby was a boy Carrie might agree to something like that, should they find the resources that was.
Behind him she was cross legged on the floor, Judith sitting in her lap. There she was sorting through a box of overturned baby clothes, cutting off the tags of the new items and looking through the various sizes and types. Some of it would need to be laundered before it was hung up in the closet, while others would be set into storage until they needed it in a few more months.
"Awwww Rick, look at this."
From atop the ladder he turned around and looked, but immediately shook his head at the puppy onsie she was holding up. "No. That's not going on my child."
"Come on," she pleaded, showing him both sides as if the tail on the back would convince him. "Look, it's even got ears on the hood! He'll look so cute in this."
At this remark Rick lurched, a smudge of yellow appearing on the ceiling before he hastily wiped it away with a rag. "He?" he questioned, looking down at her in suspicion. "He?"
Carrie sighed, rolling her eyes as she folded the puppy costume and set it in the pile of too large clothing. "Or she, whatever."
"Do you know what it is?"
"No!"
Still suspicious, he turned back to the task at hand. "Do you swear?"
"I swear, I don't know." She muttered something under her breath, likely something he was glad not to hear. "Although, this whole thing would be easier if we knew what we were having."
"It's too late now, there's yellow on the wall. We are committed to the yellow."
"The yellow doesn't make a difference to us finding out."
"Good. Because we're not finding out."
Wisely they left their debate at that, Rick grateful that she hadn't found out. This had been his one request from the beginning of the pregnancy, that they not find out the gender before it was born. He didn't regret finding out that Carl was a boy, but he had also seen the other side of things, he knew how wonderful it felt to be surprised with a daughter even in the midst of his grief. After he and Lori decided they were content with only one child he had resigned himself to the fact he would never have daughters, but things were different now. He was to be a father of three, and he liked not knowing exactly what was coming up for them.
He climbed down from the ladder and moved it over a few feet, careful not to snag it on the drop sheets he had set out. As he resumed his position sitting on the top he looked down at Carrie, observing the swell of her belly now that Judith had moved off her lap. Her belly was quite small overall, not yet burdensome on her lower back or even on their sex life. For now it hadn't put a stop to anything, but Rick knew as the months progressed they would have to get creative, that there would come a point when she needed help to simply get up from the floor. Still looking at her, for he had a great view down the front of her shirt, he started thinking about that morning, the way they had greeted the day together. God, the way she moved on top of him…the way her swollen breasts bounced with every…gritting his teeth he stopped that train of thought. Judith was awake, and Carl could come home without warning, so there was nothing he could do with his imagination except taunt himself. Taking one last glance down the front of her shirt he turned back to cutting in the ceiling line.
Despite his observation that her belly was still quite small, time was slipping away from them. She was twenty nine weeks now, and by the time he returned home from the Kingdom for good she would be at least thirty two weeks pregnant, the start of her eighth month. Just like it had with Lori's second pregnancy, things were going faster than he had expected. With Lori it had at first seemed like they had all the time in the world before the baby was due, but then the months soared by and her belly grew, and all of a sudden it seemed more like a ticking time bomb than something to celebrate. With Lori he had struggled to get her through each day with enough food and a safe place to sleep, he spent his days searching for the long term solution before she went into labour. He thought things would feel differently with Carrie's pregnancy, that the days would drag on and they'd be eagerly counting down, but it seemed that wasn't to be the case. Time had passed quickly, the birth of their first child creeping up on them.
"Madeleine," he stated, trying to change his train of thought. "What do you think of that?"
"Madeleine?" she questioned, glancing up at him before handing Judith something to put into a box. "I don't like it."
"Why not?"
"It's pretentious. Madeleine," she said in disdain.
"Abby?"
"Short for Abigail?"
"Just Abby."
Carrie repeated the name in full, testing how it felt and sounded. She shrugged her shoulders, neither approving nor disapproving. "I've been wondering…why did you suggest Georgia?"
Rick paused at this question, glad that he was facing away from her when she asked. For a moment he felt paralysed, wondering if he was making a common mistake of walking straight into a hot topic argument. The first and only time he had suggested the name Georgia she hadn't taken it well. She'd been openly upset, bluntly telling him to never suggest that name again…and now she was bringing it up again?
"I'm just asking," Carrie continued when he didn't answer. Still on the floor she continued sorting through the clothing, trying to appear nonchalant about it. "Why that name?"
"Because we met in Georgia," he hastily answered, not wanting the silence to return. He hesitated before elaborating more, for he always hated to bring up Granger's group with her, the fact that she had given them the name Georgia rather than her own. She didn't talk to him about them any more than she absolutely had to. "And you used that name to protect yourself," he cautiously continued. "It gave you strength."
"I guess so," she said quietly. There was a longer pause now, Rick slowly releasing the breath he had been holding. "I like the name you suggested last night. Alexandria."
He smiled at this, glad she liked it. "It's fitting, don't you think? A bit long though."
"Does that matter?"
"It does when you're yelling at them. You'll run out of breath before you even get to her second name. I was thinking maybe we could call her Ally."
"I could go for Ally," she agreed.
"And for a boy, I was thinking Kyle?"
Her reaction was swift. "No," she said bluntly, Judith laughing at her expression of disgust. "Where did that come from?"
"I just like it," he lied. Going ahead with his strategy, he suggested two more names he knew she wouldn't like, and finished with the one he did. "What about Asher?" As he climbed down from the ladder to move it over again he observed her reaction, pleased that she didn't look disgusted.
"Asher?"
"It means happy, I think."
"What happened to Ethan?" she frowned. "I could have sworn you had your heart set on Ethan."
"You don't like it."
"I never said that. It's on the refrigerator list, isn't it?"
He sighed as he ascended the ladder again. "Alright, Ethan's our top contender."
"Well not so fast," she protested. "I like Asher…it's nice. Besides, maybe if we give him a name that means happy, he'll be a happy baby."
"Oh yeah? In that case I should have named Carl something that means sleepy. A sleepy baby would have been nicer than the crier we got."
As their debate continued, one that was surprisingly light hearted given they were discussing names, Rick's attention eventually moved on to other things. Though he'd come home to spend time with his family, there was something else he needed to take care of while he was here, something he didn't relish. Carrie's pregnancy wasn't the only thing that felt like a ticking time bomb in the back of his mind. There was Vetor too. Vetor, and what he had done to Spencer.
By now he knew that Vetor had supposedly confessed to responsibility, having cruelly told Lana what he did to Spencer and why. All along there had been little doubt in Rick's mind that Vetor had something to do with this, that it wasn't just an unfortunate accident. He had barely been back at the Kingdom a whole day following the funeral before it was all confirmed to him, Daryl and Rosita making another unscheduled visit. It was them who reported to him what Vetor had said, but it wasn't quite as simple as they thought it to be. Lana had told Carrie all of this, but had also expressed her doubts as to the truthfulness, claiming instead that Vetor was simply taking credit for an accident. Lana had refused to believe him, and had warned that she would deny everything if she were confronted about it.
Predictably, Daryl and the others were foaming at the mouth in rage, expectantly waiting for Rick's blessing that they take care of Vetor once and for all. "We gotta get rid o' him," Daryl growled, pacing back and forth inside the Kingdom's walls when they met that day. "I should'a never brought that prick in, none of 'em."
"I don't know if it's that simple," Rick apologised, knowing this wasn't going to be well received. "We can't throw him out, and we can't kill him."
Daryl looked at him incredulously, as did Rosita and Michonne. "He killed Spencer…he killed one of us!"
"According to Lana. According to a claim they'll both deny."
"Rick," Michonne began, surprisingly on side with Daryl. "You can't believe Lana, surely. We all know he did it."
"I know he did it, this isn't about Vetor. If Lana's willing to blindly defend him, she won't let us kill him, she won't let us exile him. We need to play this out right, or we'll lose her too."
"And good fuckin' riddance," Daryl snarled loudly, capturing the attention of some nearby gardeners. "Let 'em all go."
"We can't do that to Lana," he said firmly, for he still felt a sense of loyalty and obligation where she was concerned. He could recognise that she never wanted to rob Alexandria, that she had the potential to thrive and become a great leader if she could just make it out from under Vetor's influence. He hadn't been exaggerating when he once said that Vetor's death would be the best thing that ever happened to Lana. "She's one of us too, and I can't subject her to having to go back out there alone. Same with Mitchell and Mina. Vetor has his hooks so far into them they'll follow him off a cliff, we can't let them do that."
Daryl scoffed at him, gripping the strap of Carl's crossbow over his shoulder. "So, what? He just ge-"
"He does not get away with it," Rick said firmly. "But we need to deal with this in the right way. He cannot be kicked out, and he cannot just disappear."
"So we can't do him the way we were going to do Pete," Rosita confirmed, her hand on Daryl's forearm settling him long enough to listen. "What do you have in mind?"
Rick paused, looking at Michonne as he thought out loud. "It has to be an accident. An act of God. Sickness. Walkers. I don't care what kills him, so long as we are beyond reproach for it. If Lana thinks we're responsible for something happening to him, she'll leave."
Over Christmas this entire topic had been the elephant in the room between he and Carrie, for they both knew that it needed to be discussed, there was just never a good time to bring it up. Not Christmas Eve, and definitely not Christmas day, and their final day they were enjoying the time together, preparing the baby's room. But for the first time they had found themselves alone, and this might be the best time to talk privately. As he poured paint into the roller tray, reminding himself to leave a section of wall for Carl to do, Rick reluctantly raised the subject. He needed to know where Carrie stood on the issue, on the consequences that would come of him choosing the worst case scenario of exiling the whole group. It was bad enough that the community had almost come to see him as a would be executioner, but he didn't want his wife to see him that way either. He'd been down that road before with Lori and it had been the catalyst of their breakdown, and it had almost ruined things with Carrie when it came to Pete.
He knew that Carrie used to give people the benefit of the doubt, that her refusal to kill people resulted in her being raped by Granger's group in a deal gone wrong…but had that changed? Certainly Pete's attack had hardened her, had sent her down a path of self-doubt, turmoil and ultimately resulted in a much bleaker outlook on life…but would she agree to him killing Vetor? Would she support it? Then it posed the question of Lana. They talked it through for quite some time, and then finally they came to the crunch.
"Do you know what I'd have to do?" he asked, carefully moving the roller up and down the wall, taking care to avoid leaving drip marks. "What it will mean for me to exile someone?"
"Yes, I know." Still sitting on the floor surrounded by baby clothes, Carrie's mood had plummeted when this subject arose.
"I need to hear you say it."
She gave a heavy sigh, and then welcomed Judith into her lap, placing her hands on her belly so she could feel her sibling moving. "You'll take him out as if you're exiling him, and the you'll kill him," she said, her tone very matter of fact. "You won't do it here, you'll do it out there."
"And you're okay with that?" he asked skeptically. "You're okay with me killing him based only on a confession that he'll deny. No evidence, no eye witnesses."
"I'm okay with a lot of things I wasn't before," was her blunt answer. "I've always acknowledged that you were right about Pete, that you should have killed him and that I convinced you not to. Let's not make the same mistake with Vetor."
Rick didn't respond for a few moments, something she said bothering him a great deal. "I didn't know you felt that way about what happened with Pete."
"It's what happened."
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "I don't hold you at fault for what happened to Carl. There were plenty of reasons I didn't kill Pete. What he chose to do with his second chance is not our fault."
Though she nodded in agreement, it was clear her heart wasn't in it. "It feels like it is sometimes. Even now."
"So let me get this straight," he asked, returning to his former task. "You're okay with me killing Vetor?"
"Yes. In fact, I'd recommend it."
"And Lana?"
"What about her?"
"You know I'd have to kill her too. Carrie…if I'm exiling Vetor, she won't let him leave without her. That means I kill her too."
"Yes."
"I'm not okay with that," he admitted. "We're supposed to be looking out for her best interests. We know what it's like with those two."
Carrie was quiet for a long time, clearly thinking things over. "She's a grown woman Rick, she can make her own choices. If she wants to go down with him, then she can."
This made him hesitate, her remarks feeling a little colder than he anticipated. "What's going on with you two?"
At this she shrugged, her expression downcast. "She acts like she's the only one who's ever done something she regrets, like no other woman had to be a whore to pro-"
"Don't," he said sharply, cutting her off.
He didn't need to say anymore than that, the single word communicating to her everything she needed to hear from him. He'd never held the delusion that she wanted sex with those men, that saying yes to them had been genuine consent. Nevertheless he suspected that although she understood that distinction, perhaps she hadn't quite accepted it yet. He put the roller down and then sat on the lower rung of the ladder, giving her some space because he knew she'd need it.
"Why don't you talk to her about it?" he asked gently, worried that he may be entering territory he had no business occupying. "Tell her."
Carrie shook her head, using a laugh to hide her discomfort. "It took me months to talk to Denise about it. I'm going to tell Lana just to make her feel better? I don't even really like her…I sure as shit can't trust her with something like that."
"It's a fair call," he acknowledged, testing the waters by brushing his fingertips against hers. As he expected she might she reached forward for a pair of baby pants, avoiding his touch and trying to occupy herself instead.
"She doesn't want our help," she said bitterly, tossing the pants into a specific pile. "She's made that very clear."
"Just because she doesn't want our help, doesn't mean it shouldn't be available."
It was this remark that made her take pause, to reconsider the bitterness and lack of sympathy she had been feeling. "I know," she muttered dejectedly, already selecting the next item of clothing to be sorted.
Nothing more on the subject was said, neither of them having much more to say. The topic itself wasn't closed for discussion though. They had reached an impasse, unable to exile Vetor without also exiling Lana, a compromise Rick was unwilling to make. Precautions were being taken though, the run crew suspended from duties at least until Rick returned home for good, and the surveillance of Lana's household being increased. Vetor was now to be under the greatest scrutiny possible, while Daryl was to have no interactions with him lest there be lingering resentment towards the fling with Lana, a fling Rick had been assured was now over with.
Despite the precautions being taken to protect themselves from him, that wasn't enough to satisfy anyone. He had left it in Daryl and Rosita's hands to take care of, for them to find some way to alleviate the community of Vetor while still keeping Lana safely in Alexandria, her home. A construction accident, sickness…anything that didn't publicly lay responsibility on them for his death was going to be acceptable. Until it happened, Rick simply had to wait and trust his group.
Carl's surgery had been performed yesterday afternoon, barely a day after they had arrived back after Christmas. It had taken only a brief inspection from Mak to ascertain that he was still well enough for it to go ahead, that the wound was free of infection and full of healthy tissue, a state that had been maintained for weeks now. It was then he made the call that he was doing to operate, that it was the most ideal time for the surgery to be performed. Carl had been appropriately nervous, particularly given how quickly it was scheduled and things went ahead. Uncharacteristically quiet for the entire morning, he said very little as he changed into the gown and tied his hair back from his face, stoic right up until the moment the anaesthesia took effect. It was then that Rick was asked to leave, the three doctors preferring him to wait outside rather than nervously breathe down the back of their necks throughout the procedure.
Michonne and Carol had waited outside with him, the three of them playing a lacklustre game of cards for the three hour duration. The surgery itself sounded simple enough in layman terms, a portion of skin was being removed from his shoulder and placed onto the healthy wound bed of his eye socket where it would take hold and grow. Mak was confident that all had gone well, that it was going to succeed. His initial hopes to minimise the scarring with a full thickness graft were only fleeting, Mak deciding on the necessary compromise between aesthetic appearance and the potential for a smooth recovery. It was disappointing to know that the mottled scarring Carl already had couldn't be fixed, that overall it was going to get worse, but to Rick at least he was satisfied. The wound was going to heal, Carl's general health had already taken a dramatic turn for the better. His appearance was never going to be restored to what it was, and that would taken even more time to accept, but this was a step in the right direction.
The morning after he had been discharged from the Infirmary, Carl so tired he even accepted the suggestion of a wheelchair and allowed Michonne to push him back to their apartment. It was there he had stayed ever since, the anaesthetic and procedure having taken a lot out of him, and he seemed disinterested in anything other than laying on the couch watching movies on a borrowed laptop, the luxury of electricity having been afforded to him for the initial duration of his recovery. Funnily enough it seemed that it was his shoulder causing more pain than his face, the donor wound so uncomfortable he had still been asking for morphine, the effects of which he normally didn't like.
While Carl lay on the couch the card game passed the time, Carol getting smug when she repeatedly beat them. Just as Michonne was about to suggest another game, her pride having been significantly wounded already, there came a knock at the door. It wasn't unusual for them to get visitors, even after dark, and suspecting it was only Mak or Brea coming to check on their patient there was no cause for concern.
"I'll get that," Rick said, tossing his worthless cards into the pile. "Deal again, and do it properly this time."
"Said the loser," Carol teased as she collected the cards and began to shuffle.
While they laughed at his expense Rick glanced at Carl as he passed him by, glad to see he was fast asleep. When he reached the door he paused for a moment, allowing his hand to rest on the grip of his Colt. It was a habit he still exercised despite how safe they felt here at the Kingdom, because there was no telling when things might change. Prepared to find one of the doctors on the other side Rick opened the door, and he blinked in surprise when he saw who it was.
"Richard," he said awkwardly, quickly collecting himself. "Hello."
Bundled up for the cold weather outside, Richard nodded his head in greeting, managing a rare smile that might have even been real. "Rick. I thought I'd stop by and look in you all." He paused and looked past him, raising his hand in greeting to Michonne and Carol before turning his attention to the couch where Carl lay. "How is he?"
"He's doing okay, thanks. Just resting a lot."
"Good, good," Richard muttered, shifting the weight between his feet. "Could I have a moment, outside?"
Agreeing to his request, Rick stepped out into the hallway and closed the door, but he made sure to leave it slightly ajar. From the corner of his eye he had glimpsed Michonne deftly crossing the room, her movement so smooth and agile that not a sound was heard when she stood on the other side of the door to listen. They had all been waiting for this moment, for their sudden return to Alexandria following Spencer's death meant they had cancelled on Richard's plans. He had invited one of them to join him on a supply run, and though he downplayed it they got the feeling it had been a big deal. At the time they were increasingly suspicious of those supply runs, concerned by the fact that they had once glimpsed them departing with fresh produce and returning without it. They were meeting with another group to trade, and Rick wanted very much to be a fly on the wall at one of those meetings. If there was another group around he wanted to know everything he could about them. Three weeks had passed since he was invited on that supposed supply run…was this the moment Richard asked him to the next?
"Chef's been sending meals for him, right?" Richard asked in concern. "And for you too? You shouldn't be lifting a finger right now."
"Everyone's been taking great care of us," he assured him, meaning it too. "People are sending food, keeping the laptop charged for us. Benjamin and Henry came by this afternoon, but they didn't stay long."
"They told me they stopped by. Is there anything else you need? Just say the word."
"We're okay for now. Thank you."
Richard nodded, giving a polite smile as he stood there a few moments more. Sensing that he had something more to say, that he was working up to something, Rick patiently waited for him to get to it. He was banking on the invitation, for Richard to invite he or Michonne on another supply run like he had once before.
"I hate to ask you this," he finally began. "I know it's bad timing with Carl the way he is."
"You need someone to take watch?"
"Nothing like that. I was hoping I might…"
Richard trailed off for a moment, falling silent as another Kingdom resident and her children came towards them down the hallway. Judging by their towels and damp hair they were making their way back from the shower block, cutting through this building on their way home in order to avoid the cold outside. Perhaps seeking a little privacy for this conversation, Richard waited until they were out of earshot until he continued.
"I was hoping I might introduce you to a friend of mine…someone you may already know."
Richard slipped his hand into the satchel he was carrying, and by the clinking of glassware Rick suspected what he had before he saw it. When he removed a bottle of single malt whiskey Rick couldn't help the smile that came over his face, one that started small and then grew a little.
"I do indeed know your friend," he said conversationally. "He and I have been acquainted over the years."
"You've been here five weeks, yet you and I we haven't shared a drink. What do you say? There's plenty to celebrate."
At this he had to pause, his gaze drifting through the door he had left ajar. He made eye contact with Carol who was still sitting at the table on the pretence of dealing the cards. From here he could also see Carl, still fast asleep on the couch…Richard's timing still left a lot to be desired.
"Cause for celebration?" he asked, trying to stall.
"We just had Christmas, and we've got New Year creeping up on us. You're having a baby, Carl's doing well. No significant injuries from our Dodgeball tournament," he added. "That's a reason to celebrate."
Michonne appeared in his line of sight, nodding her head and giving him the thumbs up. Her message was clear. Go for a drink. Find out what he wants.
"I just, uhhh," he said, pretending to be unsure. He wanted to know how badly Richard wanted to share a drink with him. Was there an agenda here, or merely a friendly offer? "I'm not sure it's a good idea tonight."
As he expected, Richard pressed at him just a little more. Had it been a friendly offer he would have taken Rick's refusal and suggested they take a rain check, but he didn't. There was an agenda here.
"Just a couple of drinks," Richard pressed. "We won't be more than an hour. I promise."
He feigned hesitation just a little more, and then nodded in agreement. "Alright, a couple of drinks. I'll be right back."
Slipping back inside the apartment he shared a loaded glance with Michonne and Carol, though conscious of the fact Richard was still within earshot he didn't say anything other than relaying his plans. Getting ready he slipped on his coat and then removed his Colt from the holster, thanking Michonne as she took it and stowed it in their safe.
"I promise I'll have him back by midnight," Richard joked to Michonne and Carol, his tone sounding unusually friendly.
"If you don't, he'll turn into a pumpkin," Carol smiled. "Have fun you two."
They set off across Central Park in the dark and cold night, heading towards the administration building where Richard lived. In the back of his mind Rick noted that Ezekiel lives there too, as does Shiva. Confident that Richard wouldn't be naive enough to bring him to see the tiger, for he knew how poorly her presence had been received, Rick followed him through the darkness, not protesting when they went behind the buildings he was less familiar with. The area was lush with vegetation, and he soon recognised the area as the Royal Gardens.
"What's been going on here?" he enquired, noticing that what had at first seemed like lush gardens was in fact an array of vegetation that had been pulled out and left on the ground to wither.
"Weevils," Richard answered, bringing him over to a large steel drum in the middle of the courtyard. "The whole garden's infected with them, so we have to cull it all. We're supposed to start the burn off tomorrow, but I figured you and I could get a head start."
Agreeing, Rick looked around while Richard started the bonfire in the steel drum. He hadn't visited this area much, having never been asked to complete any work in here, but he and Carl had come by in the early days of their stay here. That night he and Richard set to work, stoking the fire and intermittently adding in the vegetation to be destroyed. As they worked he couldn't help but remember nights like this back in Kings County when he was just a few years older than Carl, nights when he and his friends would congregate around a bonfire, thinking they were top of the world because they had beer hidden in their thermos.
"Thanks for joining me," Richard said as he poured them both a drink. Having filled the steeled drum to the brim they were sitting back now to let it burn. "When I was asking you, I felt like some seedy high school kid trying to convince his girlfriend to go all the way on prom night."
Rick chuckled at the analogy, gladly accepting the drink. "Cheers."
Warmed by the growing bonfire, they settled into their chairs and began to drink. There was a brief pause, the awkwardness reminding Rick that although the two of them had been on good terms, they'd not been sociable with one another. Though he'd made an effort to get to know the Kingdomers, Richard had never seemed particularly social with anyone but those in his immediate ranking, the so called knights and stewards of the King.
Making an effort to get the conversation going Rick brought up Christmas, a topic that could easily occupy thirty minutes of time. There was still a certain element of uncertainty between them given they'd never talked casually before, but as more liquor was poured the conversation began to flow with ease. Rick relayed the events in Alexandria before Richard did the same for the Kingdom, laughing as he recounted their Christmas pageant and the way Shiva roared along with the music.
"How's Carrie doing?" he asked. Perhaps he still felt bad about their first encounter, for this wasn't the first time he has asked about her well being. "I'm told Chef sent a food package for her when you went home for Christmas."
"He did, and she loved it. Sure overshadowed the gift I gave her for Christmas."
"Which was?"
"Me," Rick said sheepishly, taking a sip of the smooth whisky.
"Oh, and how did that work out for you?"
"A little better when I followed it up with a book and scented candle."
"Excellent choice," he praised. "The Kingdom's candle making skills are second to none."
"Well, thankfully she wasn't expecting anything at all. It's easy to exceed low standards," he chuckled, taking another sip of his whiskey. Though they'd exchanged gifts, he and Carrie got just as much joy watching Judith unwrapping hers, the phenomenon of receiving toys for no apparent reason baffling and exciting her.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but how did you lose your first wife?"
Somewhat taken aback, Rick paused before he intended to answer, but Richard hastily tried to clarify the source of his question.
"It's just, you told me the other month that you'd just been married. Besides, Carrie doesn't seem old enough to be Carl's mother."
Though she was old enough, Rick didn't correct him. He didn't mind the curious question, and Richard wasn't the first to ask. "Carl's mother, Lori, she died in child birth. Not with Carl," he added, elaborating a little. "I have a daughter back home."
At this Richard smiled, taking a drink and ushering Rick to do the same. "Colton told me about her after his visit there, said she's practically the Princess of Alexandria. A real fire cracker apparently."
"She's her mother's daughter, that's for sure," Rick chuckled, gladly holding his empty glass out when Richard opened the bottle to top them up. "We've had it easy with her so far, but I think the terrible twos aren't far off."
"Better you than me with all that trouble," Richard said dismissively, though not impolitely.
Considering him, Rick wondered how receptive he would be of the same question. "What about you? Your wife?" He gave it a moment before continuing, noting the familiar haunting look of grief that appeared in Richard's eyes. As he spoke he gestured to Richard's hands, for tonight he wasn't wearing his leather gloves. "That first time you take the wedding ring off…that tan line is practically blinding."
"It sure is," Richard agreed desolately, setting the bottle of scotch aside and taking another sip from his glass. "I traded my ring for food early on…I wish I had it still. Did you keep yours from your first wife?"
"Carl wears it now," he answered, conscious of the fact that Richard hadn't answered his question about his wife. Though it was understandable he not want to share details of his wife's loss, Rick pressed him for other information, curious as to what he would share. "Were you here at the Kingdom from the very beginning? Or were you somewhere else before?"
Slowly, Richard shook his head. "I got to a refugee camp pretty quickly. It was like a tent city that place…fucking awful," he cursed. As he spoke he stared into the bonfire, fingers restlessly tapping against the glass he held.
"We've seen of those places, what's left of them at least. I've always wondered what they were like. Can't have been very safe."
"They were safe for the most part, but the outbreak was still so new…we hadn't had any time to acclimate, to catch up to the new world." There was a long pause now, Richard apparently not keen on doing much more of he talking, and just as Rick was about to speak he started up again. "I could always see that there were problems brewing. I could see it all coming a mile away but I didn't do anything about it. I assumed someone else would."
Understanding, Rick withheld judgement. "It's the bystander effect. If there are other people around, people assume they'll do something. It happens a lot in emergencies. It happens in life too."
"You were a cop, right? In Georgia?"
"Yeah."
"Well that was me," Richard bitterly admitted, pawing the ground with the toe of his shoe. "I saw things going bad, and I assumed someone else was doing something about it. But not any more," he added, clearing his throat as he raised his head and looked Rick in the eye. He held his gaze for a moment, his expression serious. "I don't want to sit back and let things happen."
Maintaining his gaze, Rick waited with bated breath for Richard to say something else, for the serious tone to bring them into the territory of something important, but it seemed nothing was to come from it. Instead Richard turned away and returned his gaze to the bonfire, making Rick wonder again what the purpose of this conversation was. Did Richard really just want to share a drink with him, or was there something else at play? Thinking over what had already been said he made an abrupt change of conversation, wondering how Richard would respond.
"What did you do before all this?" he asked, his tone friendly and conversational. "How did you fill the hours?"
Richard seemed uninterested in the question, trying to brush it off. "What does it matter? The past is the past."
"The past matters," Rick insisted, the words of Deanna returning to him with ease. "Who you were then, matters now."
At this Richard laughed uncomfortably. "I don't talk about what I did before. People think I'm some kind of asshole."
"What were you?" he asked again, genuinely interested now. "A drug dealer? Pimp? Puppy farmer?"
Giving a great sigh, Richard steeled himself before answering. "I worked for the IRS. I was a tax auditor."
Rick looked at him in astonishment, having not seen that coming. "Well shit. I wouldn't talk about that either."
"Enough about me," Richard said, tipping his drink back and finishing it. "I want to hear all about you, Rick. What happened to you when the world went down the toilet?"
"I think for that, we might need another drink," he suggested, he too finishing the last of what he had in his glass.
Acquiescing, Richard unscrewed the cap and poured them both another, and the moment Rick mentioned the word coma he knew he had a captive audience. With the liquor helping he explained how he had awoken alone in the hospital, bewildered by the horrors that awaited him on the other side of his hospital room door. Skimming over some of the details he tried to make quick work of his story, mentioning the camp in Atlanta and what happened to Merle, brushing through the CDC and then moving on to Herschel's farm. It was there he left most details unsaid, Shane's name not passing his lips even once. As he spoke he knew Richard was hanging on to his every word, listening in fascination as he recounted the herd that sent them fleeing the home that had been in Herschel's family for generations.
"After that we spent a couple of months moving around a lot. A couple of nights here, a week there."
"You never tried to settle down somewhere?"
"We did try…we've tried to make a lot of places work. We've been in Alexandria for as long as we were in the prison, and s-"
"Wait, a prison?" Richard cut him off in astonishment. "Now this I have to hear."
"It's a convenient set up," Rick laughed, the alcohol relaxing him. "Walls and fences were already there, they weren't just doing what they were built for. They kept people out rather than in."
Though he had anticipated more curious enquiries, for the story of their life at the prison seemed to draw fascination from all those who heard it, Richard went quiet for a moment. There was silence as he looked back into the bonfire, strumming his fingers against his glass before readjusting his coat around his neck.
"It's funny you say that," he began softly, all light heartedness having faded now. "Keep people out. I would have thought you'd be more concerned with keeping the dead out. Not people."
"Yeah," Rick said bitterly, taking a large mouthful and holding it there on his tongue. It tasted as sharp and strong as the memories that still haunted him. "I would have thought that too at the start. But I think you and I both know that's not how the world works anymore."
Richard nodded. "The dead are a nuisance," he agreed. "But it's-"
"It's the people you have to worry about."
"Yes," Richard said darkly, looking around at him again. "You understand that, don't you."
It was a statement, not a question. "Understand it? I've lived it…barely survived it. So have you, I'd say."
When Richard nodded, the conversation naturally turned to the Governor and his attacks on the prison, the terror that had seen the prison obliterated and the occupants either dead or running for their lives, Rick's entire group split up. With Richard still preferring to listen than recount his own stories, Rick found himself relaying every struggle that followed. The Claimers, Terminus, Grady Hospital, the Georgia supply run and the Ohio group, the Wolves. Though the event felt like a life time ago, details of each were still as fresh in his mind as if they'd just happened, details he would remember throughout the rest of his life.
"You can understand why we were reluctant to trust your group," he explained, taking care to speak clearly. He'd lost track of how many drinks had been poured, and his tongue was starting to feel too large in his mouth, the end of his words slurring a little. "Now, we're just waiting for somethin' else to happen…for the rest of that biker group to show up again."
Though his lips were becoming increasingly loose, bringing up the biker gang had been intentional. As he mentioned them he took care to observe Richard's behaviour and reaction, to see if there was anything that ought to concern him. He had confronted Richard about this group the first time they met after the quarry imploded and the Wolves attacked, the knife wound in Daryl's back still unhealed. But Richard had vehemently denied any connection or knowledge of that group, and Rick had believed him at the time. Hell, Rick still believed him now, yet he was sure there was something Richard was keeping from him, something that wasn't quite right. But when Richard smoothly changed the subject Rick was drunk enough to let it slide, though he had noted his avoidance of the topic.
"But Carl?" Richard implored, spilling the whiskey as he needlessly topped up their glasses. "I mean that boy…what a feat. Surviving a shot to the face? That's incredible."
"Incredible, yes," he agreed, not quite sharing Richard's enthusiasm. "But completely avoidable."
"Oh…an accident?"
"No. One of our own attacked him," he said softly, his stomach churning as he remembered that day and the events leading up to it. "They were trying to get to me, so they attacked Carrie. Damn near killed her…Carl tried to intervene."
Richard let out an incredulous laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as he struggled to put the cap back on the whiskey. "I hope you got the pleasure of killing the bastard."
"No," Rick answered, a smile crossing his face before he too was laughing. "Not that was Carrie's pleasure…it was all her."
"Carrie?" he said in disbelief, sitting forward to look at him properly. "Carrie, that sweet, nice woman who…" he trailed off with a frown, perhaps recalling their first encounter. "On second thought, I can see that."
For a few moments they both burst into laughter, both wholeheartedly agreeing that Carrie was capable of more than it first seemed. Quickly enough they trailed off, and then to his frustration his thoughts turned solemn. It felt strange to laugh about what had happened to them that day, as if he was making light of Carl's injury and Carrie's near death, and instantly his mood plummeted.
"The one thing I've never been able to handle, the one thing I couldn't fix," Rick began, trailing off for a moment when he lost his train of thought. "It's Carl. Nothing I did saved him. There's nothing I can do to give him back his eye, to make him healthy again."
"Come on now," Richard began, his words heavy with relaxation. "That's not true. You've done lots, I'm sure."
Rick waved him off, disagreeing. "I owe his survival to Denise. Without her, he would have bleed to death right in front of me. But she saved him…I owe his life to her. And now…now, I owe his health to the Kingdom."
"It's nothin'…"
"No, it's not," Rick shook his head, struggling for the right combination of words. "You haven't lived the last six months….he's smiled more than in the last few weeks than he has since it happened. He's himself again. I can't thank you enough for that."
Richard nodded, understanding the magnitude of these words. "Your son needed help," he said simply. "Help we could provide."
"Well, I thank you," he said sincerely, meaning it with every fibre of his being. "Truly."
"Rick," Richard said seriously, looking at him and holding his gaze. "In this world, we need each other more than ever. The Kingdom would never sit back and ignore someone who needed us. I hope Alexandria wouldn't do that either."
"We wouldn't," he agreed without hesitation. "Like I said…I owe my son's happiness to you. Can't put a price on that."
"Good," Richard said. There was a loud clunk as he set his glass down onto the ground, and then he clumsily reached his hand over to Rick. "To a long partnership. To Alexandria and the Kingdom."
Suitably pleased by how well the evening had gone, Rick didn't need to second guess himself as extended his hand and grasped Richard's, shaking on it. "To Alexandria and the Kingdom."
Tuesday, December 30
Opening his eyes was a mistake, that much was clear the moment he cracked them open. Nevertheless it seemed his body wasn't listening to his head right now, for he soon found himself clumsily sitting up. His head swirled and his stomach clenched, but he dimly noted that this wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had. For a few long moments Rick sat with his head in his hands. He dimly noted that he was covered with a warm blanket, that somehow he had made it back home. A glass of water was nearby, but he lacked the strength to reach out for it. Consciousness felt like a burden.
"It's about time you woke up."
Hearing Carol approaching Rick raised his head and looked, thanking her when she put a plate of dry toast down beside the water. Staring at it he tried to summon the strength to reach out, and it was only the horrible taste in the back of his throat that compelled him to do so.
"How did I get home last night?" His voice didn't sound like it belonged to him, and it was awfully loud inside his head. A tentative sip of water quenched the insatiable thirst that ravaged him, the relief encouraging him to take another.
"You don't remember me coming to get you?"
Thinking on this for a moment flashes of last night started coming back to him, his mind catching up with him. He recalled Carol guiding him with her hand on his elbow, his feet dragging on the ground as he put one in front of the other. "Yeah…thanks."
"Well you said you'd be just an hour. It was getting close to eleven o'clock, I figured I better make sure you hadn't passed out on your way home and frozen to death."
The memories came back to him now. The weevils and bonfire, the whiskey and uproarious laughter. "I threw up on the way, didn't I…" he muttered, still tasting something terrible in his mouth.
"Well you two polished off what was left of the bottle," she admonished him. From a blister pack she cracked two Tylenol pills and dispensed them into his hand. "The poor goat never saw you coming. Neither did my shoes, for that matter."
"I did not throw up on a goat," he stated, certain that he hadn't.
"Not on it, no. But you threw up in it's pen."
Swallowing the pills, he chased them with some water and then rubbed his eyes, acclimating himself to the bright sunlight streaming through the large windows. Taking a few moments to himself he looked at his watch and saw that it was approaching nine thirty in the morning, a significant sleep in for him even after he'd been out drinking. Not going to the effort of getting to his feet he looked over his shoulder towards the bedroom area of their apartment, the open curtains allowing him to see that the two beds were unoccupied.
"Where's Carl?" he asked, aware that he now occupied the couch Carl had been sleeping on last night.
"He's taking a shower. Michonne's with him."
"Good," he muttered, glad he had found the strength and will to go out and do something, even if it was only taking a shower. "And I suppose he's responsible for this," he said, gesturing to his toenails that were now painted bright blue. He checked his fingernails, relieved to note they had been spared.
"Actually, that was Michonne and I. The blue is lovely, don't you think?"
Making his disagreement clear, he took another sip of water and then tentatively tried the toast, glad to note that it eased his churning stomach.
"So, what happened last night?" Carol asked, seating herself on the coffee table in front of him. "What did he say?"
It took a few moments to properly remember. "We talked about things…the outbreak, where we ended up after. Nothing in particular."
"So nothing about the next supply run?" she asked, pressing for more information. "I saw Colton this morning. He's wearing his riot gear, was filling bottles with drinking water. A group is going out today, they must be."
"Well if they are, I'm not invited. Richard didn't say anything about it. He seemed more interested in listening to be honest."
"Listening to what?"
"To me. Asked about what happened after the outbreak, where we ended up. He seemed…fascinated."
"And me?" she asked, no doubt thinking of her role at Terminus, of her attempt to rescue Beth.
"I kept you under wraps. You're still nice Carol, don't worry." Deep in thought he slowly made his way through the piece of toast, dwelling on the night before. The longer he thought about it the more memories came flooding back, the stories he told him of the CDC, the Governor, Terminus, Atlanta, the Wolves all coming to mind. "No, I think it was something else…he seemed to admire it."
"Maybe he's thinking of inviting us to stay," she suggested thoughtfully. "It makes sense. We've got a lot of strength to offer."
"Leave Alexandria? That's our home."
Carol didn't answer for a moment, and she looked away and turned her attention outside the window. "It's just a bunch of houses. It's not our home."
He raised his eyebrows at this, surprised by the comment. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he simply stated, drinking the last of his water and then forcing himself to his feet. He needed to take a shower, to get himself together before facing another day. Hopefully things would be better today, that Carl might be convinced to go out and see some of his friends if he felt well enough.
Collecting some clean clothes and a towel Rick left his conversation with Carol somewhat unfinished, conscious that there would be more to talk about, there always was. Outside the sky was cloudy and overcast, the sunlight blissfully not too strong and objectionable. Making his way to the shower block he joined the short line and waited patiently, looking between two buildings in the distance where he could see Michonne and Carl sitting on a bench. He was glad to see them out there, figuring that by now Carl had showered and redressed, and was simply getting some fresh air.
"Hung over?" Danny teased when Rick got to the front of the queue. Seated at his small fold up table he was keeping track of the water usage and time restrictions, making sure no one took longer than they ought to. "I was on watch last night, could hear two idiots laughing their asses off until pretty late."
"That was Richard and I," he admitted.
Laughing at his expense, Danny handed him a kitchen timer and sent him on his way. "You can have the hangover special. Three and a half minutes."
Taking the perks where he could get them, he made his way up the five metal steps and into the portable shower block. He slipped into the only available cubicle and locked the door behind himself, lamenting the lack of hot water, though perhaps the cold would help properly awaken him. As he undressed he listened to the sound of the others in the shower block, cringing as he Gino singing at the top of his voice, not giving a shit who had to listen to his dreadful caterwauling. What the man lacked in talent he made up for with enthusiasm and commitment. In a nearby cubicle a kitchen timer sounded, the occupant giving a cry of relief as he turned off the cold water. Sometimes the short showers were a pain in the ass, other times the restrictions were a relief. Rick turned on the water and was annoyed to see the pressure was particularly low this morning, though it increased a little when another kitchen timer sounded and someone else turned off their shower.
Gasping from the shock of cold against his skin, he forced himself under and began cleaning up, conscious that he hadn't showered since he had left Alexandria. When resources were scarce it wasn't unusual to go for a couple of days cleaning up only when you absolutely had to, and given the state of his fuzzy head he knew for certain that he needed the cold water. As he made quick work of cleaning himself up he couldn't help but long for the last decent shower he had taken, the thirty glorious minutes he and Carrie had spent under the warm water the morning he had left. The more he thought about it the more he missed his beautiful wife, missed running his hands over her body, grasping her hips while he…
Quickly he changed his train of thought, not allowing himself to think that way. He may have received an extension on his shower time, but three minutes wasn't enough time to accomplish anything other than becoming more sexually frustrated than he already was. Besides, he had barely ninety seconds left now.
"You sons' o bitches, where's my applause?" Gino bellowed, emerging from his cubicle fully dressed and making his way towards the exit. "Don't make me sing it again."
Immediately the entire shower block broke into applause, a couple of cheers thrown in for effort before they gave a sigh of relief upon Gino's departure. Giving up on his shower before his kitchen timer rang, Rick turned off the water and stepped away, starting to feel a little better. As he redressed he took a couple of deep breaths to quell his still queasy stomach, remembering that he hadn't had that much to drink since the night Herschel was born. There had been drinks all around that night, Alexandria indulging in the old time tradition of wetting the baby's head in order to celebrate. Given he had been the first baby born in the community it had been quite the celebration. That night Carrie had been tasked with putting him to bed, warding off his clumsy attempts to come on to her as she removed his boots and belt.
The clouds had parted to bestow some sunshine on the Kingdom, and when Rick stepped out of the shower block it was thankfully not so harsh on his eyes. Taking a few moments to enjoy the warmth on his face he made his way back to his room to return his laundry and damp towel, and he was glad to find that Carl hadn't yet returned. He set off in search of him, roughly dragging his fingers through his damp hair as he followed the familiar route towards Central Park. While at first it seemed the community was slow to rise that morning, it quickly became apparent where they all were. A crowd of sorts was gathered in Central Park, the atmosphere one of celebration and excitement. He located Michonne and Carl rather quickly, glad that he was still up and about that morning and hadn't gone home just yet.
"How are you feeling?" he asked in concern, giving him a quick once over.
"I'm great," Carl laughed, returning Rick's critical gaze. "You're the one I should be asking. You were in bit of a state when you came home."
"Don't you worry about me. Thanks for the nail polish by the way," he said to Michonne. "You're going to get me some remover."
"You're lucky I didn't draw a dick on your face," she teased. "Daryl would have."
"What's all the fuss about?" he asked next, casting his eyes in the direction that seemed to be of interest.
"Chloe had her baby this morning. A little girl."
"Good for her. Is there a name yet?"
"Ada Marie."
"And Carl, you remembered what we discussed about this?"
He grinned, laughing for a moment. "Yeah, I said Ada was beautiful, even though she looks like a squashed potato. Seriously Dad, you gotta get a look. It's like her face is too big for her head."
"It's all in the eye of the beholder," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "You did a great impression of a squashed potato when you were born. Mom and I still thought you were beautiful."
"All babies are beautiful," Michonne lectured. "Even the ugly ones."
Waiting to catch a glimpse of the newest Kingdom resident, Rick lingered there with them a little longer, even though he was already entertaining the notion of going back to bed for a few more hours. Nevertheless this idea was not going to come to fruition, this made abundantly clear when he saw Richard approaching him through the crowd. Being subtle so that Carl didn't notice, Rick brushed his hand over the back of Michonne's elbow to get her attention, pointing out to her who was coming.
"Good morning," Richard greeted them all, he too looking like he had been suffering that morning. He turned to Rick with a tired smile. "How are you?"
"I'm feeling a little sorry for myself," he admitted. "I'm have some regrets."
At this Richard cheerfully laughed, emphasising the bags under his eyes. "Just like the morning after prom."
Rick too laughed, deferring Carl's confused look. That was a conversation for another day. "I have to say, I didn't know you had a sense of humour until last night."
Richard nodded, understanding. "I could say the same about you. I'm glad we did that."
"Same."
The conversation lapsed a few moments as Chloe and Craig came by again, their newborn Ada cradled safely in her mother's arms as they did the rounds, introducing her to all the residents. Following close behind was King Ezekiel and Jerry, greeting the people and telling them of their plans for that afternoon. The baby would be Christened in the auditorium, King Ezekiel presenting her parents with a birth certificate and his royal blessing. Though he admired the baby and said all the right things to her adoring parents, Rick had to agree with Carl.
"I told you, right?" Carl said quietly once they were gone. "Am I right?"
"She'll grow into her face, just like you did," Rick teased him, though only playfully.
Getting the feeling that Richard was lingering for a reason, he sent Carl on his way with a gentle jerk of the head. Getting the hint Carl reluctantly made himself scarce while Michonne did too, leaving Rick and Richard relatively alone given the crowd of people. Without needing to discuss it they fell into step alongside one another, heading for a quieter area near the animal pens.
"Something on your mind?"
It seemed there indeed was, for although he maintained a friendly pretence for the sake of any onlookers, Richard's tone and body language conveyed the seriousness of what he had to say. "The things we talked about last night…they weren't just words to me. I meant it when I said I'd like the Kingdom and Alexandria to come together, to help one another."
"I meant it too," he assured him. Interested in where this was going, he patiently waited while Richard mulled over his words.
"There's a supply run today. I'd like you to come if you can spare the time. No more than two hours at the most."
There it was. The invitation he had been waiting for. Noticing that this time the invitation was extended only to him, not Michonne, Rick took his time before giving an answer. "Two hours. That's a fast supply run."
"We don't waste time out there," was his only explanation. He held Rick's gaze, showing little of the camaraderie that ought to have developed after last night. "Will you join us?"
Again Rick took his time before giving his answer, deterred by what seemed like evasiveness on Richard's part. Fully aware that he still wasn't getting the full story, Rich was forced to hedge his bets and take the risk. Whatever it was, he wanted to be fully aware.
"Yes. I'll join you."
It hadn't taken long for Rick to seriously regret his agreement, for it immediately became apparent that this was no supply run. It wasn't even a trade meeting either, at least not the type that Rick had ever been party to.
He presented himself at the agreed place at the time instructed, having hastily removed the nail polish from his toes before farewelling Carl. Though they kept it to themselves, Michonne and Carol would be waiting on tenterhooks for his return, holding their breath as they prepared for whatever if was they were going to learn on this supply run. With them waiting for him back home Rick had donned his body armour and a spare gun, rifling through the pouches on his duty belt as he made his way across the Kingdom to the garages. But just like the first time he had caught a glimpse in the back of the trucks supposedly leaving the Kingdom for a supply run, the contents today created more questions than it answered.
The first truck was stacked two high with wooden crates of the Kingdom's home brew beer, the other stacked the same way with boxes of wine and spirits. Though a barrage of questions were on the tip of his tongue Rick said nothing, simply turning to look at Richard and making his displeasure known. He had been brought here under false pretences, that much was increasingly clear to him.
It seemed Rick wasn't the only one unhappy about something today, for although the others on the supply run knew what they were getting into, they apparently weren't expecting the extra company. Even Ezekiel who had been privy to Rick's first invitation seemed surprised to see him there, though not as surprised as Rick was to see that the King had donned body armour. His presence on whatever this was today only signified its importance, though that observation came at a distinct contrast to the presence of Benjamin. Just like he had for the trades made with Alexandria, it seemed Benjamin was accompanying them today. He greeted Rick like it was any other day, like he and Henry had come by to hang out with Carl, but even he seemed surprised by Rick's attendance.
"You going to tell me what's going on here?" Rick asked, he and Richard climbing into the back of the truck where they would be making the journey.
"I think it's best if I show you," he answered, making no apology for the way he had lured Rick onto this trip. "And for the record, you don't say a word today. Not one word."
The thirty minute journey was made in complete silence, Rick thankful for the silence that allowed him to pay attention to where they were going, to the route that was taking them north west. With every mile he was seething on the inside, furious as to how things were turning out. He felt duped, and although he had suspected Richard might be trading with another group he was increasingly concerned about the state of things. He had been warned to not say a word, the King himself was accompanying them. It had never been necessary for Ezekiel to come when they traded with Alexandria.
They came to a stop in an abandoned parking lot, a location that gave them clear lines of sight around their immediate vicinity. Following the lead he set, Rick followed Richard as he stepped out of the truck and began clearing away the dead that lingered. Rick drove his hatchet into one of the skulls of the dead, a gift Carl had given him for Christmas. He had made it himself, the blade and handle perfectly weighted to easily wield against Walkers. He hadn't had opportunity to use it yet, and he was pleased to note how good it was, how sharp and balanced. Taking out his frustrations, he swung the axe onto the head of another Walker he had just taken down, satisfied with the ease, the natural way it felt to swing it.
With the Walkers cleared Rick returned to the trucks where the others were waiting, though he was less than receptive when Richard tried to fall into step beside him. "I know that you're frustrated with me, but you'll understand soon enough."
He said nothing in reply, simply following the order that he not say a word. Ignoring him for the most part, Rick joined the others who were waiting by the cars, trying to prepare himself for whatever it was to come. Ten minutes passed in silence, and then came the sound of an approaching vehicle.
The sound made them all stand to attention, their attention focused as they gave their weapons a last minute check. Like the others did, Rick reluctantly kept his weapons holstered as the sound of the engines grew nearer, conscious that he needed to follow their lead. They wouldn't lead him into any immediate danger, that much he trusted. As they waited for the approaching car to make its appearance Ezekiel came to his side, softly getting his attention.
"What we are doing here is a secret I keep from my people," he explained, his voice heavy with the seriousness of what he was saying. As he spoke he held Rick's gaze, requesting his full attention. "Some see secrets as a privilege of ruling. Do you?"
For a moment Rick considered not answering, but only for a moment. "No."
Approving of his answer, Ezekiel grasped Rick's shoulder. "They are burdens," he said emphatically. "Not part of the reward. They are the cost."
As he said these words the approaching vehicle arrived, and Rick turned away to watch it. Emerging from behind the building was a bright red pick up truck, quickly followed by a maroon coloured one too. In an instant he felt the tension grow exponentially, everyone taking a deep breath in and preparing themselves for this meeting. The brakes squealed as the trucks came to a stop a few yards away, their engines falling silent as the doors swung open. Seven men stepped out, each of them carrying high powered rifles in their hands, a start contrast to the Kingdom whose hands were empty. Looking at each of them in turn Rick gauged their demeanour and confirmed his suspicions, that this was the worst case scenario.
This was no supply run, and it was no trade meeting either. This was a stand over.
"And here I was worried we were early," one of the men said in greeting, taking the lead as his group approached. He came to a stop a respectful distance away, leaving a comfortable space in the no man's land between them.
"Our arrangement is something I consider with the upmost seriousness," Ezekiel said, his tone serious but conversational. "We will fulfil out obligations on time, every time."
"You do," the man agreed with a nod of his head. "And you will." There was a pause now, and he frowned as he cast his eyes around the group and then set them on Rick. "Who's this?"
"This is Malcolm," Richard answered on his behalf.
Noting his response, Ezekiel was forced to go with it. "Malcolm been a trusted member of my community for quite some time now."
"I'm Gavin," he said, introducing himself to Rick. Thinking no more of the new addition to Ezekiel's group Gavin made his way over to the trucks and peered inside, going through the motions of counting the crates. "A dozen crates of home brew, a dozen wine, and a dozen spirits. That's good."
"You'll find it's a baker's dozen," Richard spoke up. "Thirteen of each. Happy New Year."
"Well, we appreciate your hospitality," Gavin said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Lucky for us we brought two trucks. Now how about you load 'em up."
There was a moment's pause before Gavin stepped back, clearing the way for Ezekiel's group to come forward and unload the trucks. In complete silence they got to work, hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible.
"They're a part of another group," Dianne quietly explained. Taking his hand she accepted his help as she climbed into the back of the truck. "They call themselves the Saviours."
Waiting for her to pass him a crate to carry, Rick looked at the new group over his shoulder, certain of their connection to the biker gang. "I know who they are."
With minimal fuss they set about the work, Rick taking the first crate Dianne passed to him before carrying it over to the Saviour's trucks. It didn't escape his notice that Richard lingered by his side throughout every step, likely supervising him as he too carried a crate of the alcohol. Very quickly things started to fall into place, understanding why they had traded so much alcohol with the Kingdom when it appeared not many of them seemed to drink. They had been stock piling it for the Saviours, anticipating the surge in demand over the holidays and New Years Eve. As they waited Ezekiel and Gavin stepped aside together, looking for all the world as if they were making small talk about the weather.
Rick knew what this was, he could foresee what was coming next. These so called Saviours were clearly stand overs, a school yard bully that somehow had forced the Kingdom into submission, and now Richard wanted to get Alexandria involved. The extent of that involvement was not yet clear to him, whether it be to help them gather supplies or to defer the Saviour's attention to another victim, but Rick was certain of one thing. He had walked right into this, he had trusted the goodness of strangers and stupidly found himself in their debt. He knew what was coming, what was about to be thrown back into his face…Carl's treatment. That hadn't come from the goodness of the Kingdom's hearts, it was a bribe, leverage…a debt to be paid.
"Be careful with our beer," the long haired guy sneered as Rick set a crate down, the bottles rattling. When he didn't say anything he pressed at him, antagonising. "Hey. Does the new guy speak?"
As he crossed the rear tray and climbed down to the ground, Rick glanced at Richard before turning back to the other guy. "No," he stated clearly, defying Richard's order. He held the guy's gaze for a moment before walking away without another word, leaving Richard to deal with that jumped up little shit.
With only a few more crates to go Rick grit his teeth and kept his mouth shut, knowing that for now he needed to be on his best behaviour. Clearly there was tension between the two groups, that much was increasingly clear. As he and Jerry brought over the last remaining crate and set them into the back of the truck, it seemed the long haired guy still had more to say.
"Hey, asshole," he said, looking at Richard. "How about a smile?"
Climbing down from the back of the truck one last time, Rick made a point of keeping his distance. This was sure as hell not his fight, and he wanted no more involvement in what might happen next.
"This?" the guy continued, goading Richard. "This is nothing. We've been letting you off easy."
Richard simply turned and looked at him. "Sure you don't have that backwards, kid?" he deadpanned.
A beat passed, a smile coming over the guy's face before he laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure," he laughed, looking around at everyone to be sure he had an audience. He boldly lunged, swinging his fist towards Richard and missing spectacularly when he ducked. A split second later Richard came back up with his elbow, landing a hard blow to the the guy's face that made him stumble, and then the fight was on. With an outraged yell the guy lunged, fists swinging as the two men dissolved into a fight, the escalation prompting them all to draw their weapons. With his free hand unlatching the hatchet from its holster Rick held his Colt at the ready, he and the nearest Saviour having drawn on one another.
"Cease this," Ezekiel instructed as he started forward, sounding impatient.
Neither man stopped, the long haired guy yelling furiously when he found himself in a headlock. As he tirelessly fought his captor Rick had to withhold a grim smile, admiring the way Richard simply held him at bay and eased him down. He had been trained well to fight, the technique of keeping an attacker in a headlock coming with great ease.
"Lower your weapons," Ezekiel said firmly, looking to them all. Behind him Gavin followed, looking to his men and gesturing for them to do the same. As the others obeyed so too did Rick, lowering his first before the Saviour did. "Richard, let him go."
Unable to ignore the clear instruction Richard did as he was told, releasing the guy and then backing away from him. The guy scrambled away and panted for breath, but the look of exhilaration and excitement on his face was most unwelcome.
"This is not what we do," Ezekiel said next, looking Gavin in the eye as he said this. The two leaders looked at one another for a moment, making peace with what had happened.
"Free shots?" the guy eagerly suggested, looking around at his audience. "Oh, I love this shit."
He bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times and then drew his fists, punching Richard in the face. Increasingly frustrated with the way this was going, Rick watched as Richard stumbled and managed to keep his balance. Yet despite the call for free shots, he did not retaliate.
"Gavin. Tell your man to stop." Despite the request, the guy punched Richard a second time, sending him stumbling to the ground. "Gavin!"
Finally Gavin stepped forward, taking control of his man. "Jared, Jared! The man said stop."
Unhappy with the command, Jared lunged for Richard and seized him by the top of his body armour, leering down at him with his fist raised. Watching on, Rick made no attempt to intervene. Like it or not, this situation had to be played out.
"They've been good to us," Gavin continued, speaking to the entire group as he helped diffuse the situation. "We've taken up enough of their time."
Wrapping things up, Ezekiel swiftly ushered his people back towards their vehicles, the Saviours too falling back. Still crouched over Richard, Jared sneered down at him before grinning, his clenched fist relaxing before he raised his middle finger. Finally he slapped Richard on the cheek and released him, looking quite proud of himself as he backed away and then climbed into the rear of the red truck, laughing with one of the others who clapped him on the back.
"Richard," Ezekiel began sternly, reprimanding him as he was helped to his feet. Blood was dripping from his nose, but he appeared to simply shake himself off. "We will discuss this."
"Same time in two weeks, Ezekiel," Gavin reminded him. "It's produce week, so…produce." He got into the front his truck, the engine starting as he lowered the window and looked out at them, still not done yet. "You got the list, not one bit less. Otherwise, you know…he's gonna have to go first."
When the Saviours left a heavy silence came over those who remained, and for a long moment they stood there motionless, taking in Gavin's parting threat to Richard. As he waited Rick looked around at each of them, noting that while Benjamin appeared shaken, the others seemed only mildly inconvenienced. They were used to this. It wasn't the first time this meeting hadn't gone smoothly. He looked at Richard now, outraged that he seemed to be avoiding his gaze, that he didn't want to confront his justified anger.
"Rick," Ezekiel began gently, approaching him in concern. "You've encountered them before?"
For a moment he didn't know what to say, words alone not adequate to describe the rage surging through his veins, the betrayal of being duped by the Kingdom for so long. With Richard still avoiding his gaze he turned to Dianne and Colton, who had been at their own trade meeting that day Rick had asked them about the biker gang who attacked his people. They had all vehemently denied any knowledge or connection…they too had to have known what they were dragging Rick in to. It was them he spoke to, them who bore the first of his disdain.
"I think you know we have."
