When the next meeting had been called, Connor had been allowed to sit in and participate, listening carefully as Rick recounted what the Governor had told him when he'd gone to meet with him. There was no room for negotiation; the Governor wasn't interested in bargains or deals, nor was he prepared to live side by side with the prison and the group that lived there. He wanted them all dead, and was prepared to do whatever it took to make that happen. They were going to war, and the prison would need to be fortified in any way they could manage. The catwalk had already been reinforced, but the same had to be done for the courtyard, giving it more hiding spots and places of cover. With everyone on the same page, and with the decision to fight wordlessly unanimous, the meeting came to a close.

As everyone disbanded and went their separate ways, Connor was the last to get up and leave the common area, tactfully ignoring the sound of his name as he headed outside into the late afternoon light. The Governor would be here before the week was out, that much was certain. But while that news should have given him a sense of urgency, and the need to do as much as he could to strengthen their defences and pack away as many supplies as they could spare, his mind wouldn't rest on any other topic but Murphy.

One after the other, the days passed one another, and it became harder and harder for Connor to cope with the fact that he'd likely never see him again. His trips into the forest and out onto the roads to look for him were cut off when Rick told him they couldn't spare the fuel any more, that he was needed around the prison more. That he'd have to either risk looking for Murphy on foot, or stay put. And while the rest of the group noticed the change in him become more and more prominent, Hershel was the only one to really see through the cracks in his demeanour. He'd watched as Connor had continued to pull his weight, but had withdrawn further and further into himself. He stopped smiling, and he'd avoid group interaction where he could, preferring his own company, or the company of God when he could find a place to sit in peace and quiet. He hadn't found his brother, dead or alive – but in this world, that tended to only mean one thing, especially when the evidence was so stacked against Murphy. Andrea hadn't come back with news about him – she hadn't come back at all, in fact, and that in itself was worrying. But it'd been too long for any other option to be feasible. Both he and Connor had known that Murphy was likely dead. But it was obvious that Connor was nowhere near ready to face that brutal reality.

The old man worried about him, and had tried to talk to him, to help coax out the hurt he was feeling. Of course, nothing he could say to him could make him feel better – only time could heal grief, in the end – but he also knew how going through mourning alone could change a person for the worse, and forever. Connor was a good man, with a good heart and a solid set of principles. Brave, loyal, skilled, honest…these things Hershel could all see in him that were all suddenly at risk of being pushed aside to make room for this new anguish; an awful turmoil that kept him from sleep at night, and kept him distracted and apathetic during the day.

He often saw him reach for his rosary, momentarily forgetting that it no longer sat in its usual place against his chest, as he often saw him instinctively turn to his left when a door behind him opened, or someone called out to him. There was that bittersweet hopefulness in his face for the tiniest second that he'd imagined everything that'd happened, that Murphy would come rambling down the stairs and clap him around the back of the head, or collapse down next to him, back into his natural place by his side. If he cried, it was never where Hershel or anyone else could see.

Taking his turn to go down to the outer fence and get rid of any walkers that had strayed onto the perimeter, at first, Connor just did his job; taking them out one by one, the blade of the knife entering each skull with practiced ease. Though gradually, with every rotting, disease ridden face that pushed against the chain links that he came across, he quickly found himself looking at each one, hoping Murphy wouldn't show himself as the next in line. And the more this thought whirred at the forefront of his mind and the louder the moans of the dead became, soon the force he was using to put them down became more and more violent, and by the time only a few stragglers remained, he was out of breath and doing his best to calm himself down.

Why couldn't Murphy have just stayed put? He should have stayed in Woodbury – he would have known that Connor would have come and found him again, so why couldn't he have just been patient for once in his damned life and waited? He was pleased to be alone now, because the sight of him slumped back against the fence was surely a pathetic one, not that he gave a shit what anyone thought anymore. The piles of dead walkers only a few feet in front of him just served as a reminder that Murphy could have easily been one of them, out there somewhere, either wandering aimlessly and killing indiscriminately, or perhaps he'd been shot already. Of course, Murphy could have chosen to take his own life if he had been bitten; it'd be a quicker route to the inevitable than bleeding out or succumbing to fever. Both of them had grown up being told that suicide was wrong. That killing yourself was, while not unforgivable, not something that could easily be forgotten in the eyes of the lord, but this wasn't the world that they'd been raised in. And it left Connor conflicted with both the hope that Murphy wouldn't let himself suffer, and the hope that he wouldn't have committed such a sin, should the situation arise. Either way, it was something he should have been present for, and the knowledge that he hadn't been eroded away at him.

Connor didn't return to the cellblock for quite some time – so long, in fact, that Hershel was half-way down to the fences to find him by the time he was seen again, although any attempt from the older man to speak to him about Murphy was rebuffed after that; not rudely, but not in a way that left much room for persuasion either. While he wasn't the kind to become self-destructive, Hershel could see the Connor that they'd grown to trust was gradually disappearing.

And then the day came for them to pack away the remaining supplies, sending the cars out and hiding them in the forest, with a select few members of the group staying put in the prison itself to gear up. They planned to ambush the Governor when he made his move, and although the timing had been vague, when their attention was drawn to the yard as a hail of quick-fire bullets showered the area, the sound of each shot an announcement to all who could hear it; 'We've arrived. Show yourselves or show us what you've got'. God only knew how they'd managed to arm themselves so well, but look Connor gave Maggie helped to reassure her none the less. They had the upper hand, they knew the layout better, and they had the best spots of cover.

As planned, they all stayed low and silent as the Woodbury group made their way through, bursting through the fences and guiding their people safely inside the wall of the prison. They were well equipped and all armed to the teeth, and as each of them filed inside the cell block, Connor eventually managed a quick glance down through the sheets of scrap metal that now lined the catwalk. The Governor was recruiting young; some of the 'soldiers' only looked in their teens. But for the most part, it was all men Connor recognised, more or less. Strangely, that didn't make it any harder for him to kill any of them, if he had to. He'd chosen where his loyalties now lay, and those who posed a threat would be taken down. As more and more of the Governor's men infiltrated their space, he went over and over how many times he'd dismissed his brother's concerns, or told him to lighten up. How quickly he'd trusted the Governor when he should have been so much more careful. Not that there was anything thinking like that would do for them now.

No, all he could do now was wait for the signal that their plan was about to be put into action – and when it finally was, it all happened quickly, and as planned. Once the intruders had begun to flee from the cellblock's as the alarm system was tripped, the prison group had started to open fire on them. It was like shooting at fish in a barrel; utter chaos. A stray bullet had clipped the metal board closest to him, and while he normally would have ignored it and stayed low, the sound of a familiar voice, despite the shooting and the panicked screams, cut through it all like scissors through silk. It was a voice he knew all too well, but one he knew he had to be imagining, because the only other option simply wasn't possible. The universe was rarely so kind.

But then he'd dared to move the framework away from the chain fence, just an inch or so, just enough for him to look down beneath them and try to place the voice. At first nothing was clear, and all that he could hear was Maggie yelling at him to get back and to keep shooting. But then Murphy had peered round from behind his hiding place, and Connor had yelled to get his attention once more, shouted at him to meet him back inside cell block C, not having to tell him he'd cover him on his way back inside. Grabbing his arm, Maggie gave him a confused, steady look from behind her riot helmet. But she didn't have the chance to reprimand him for leaving, nor did he let her. He just pulled his arm away, and with that, he'd disappeared back inside the relative safety of the prison walls.

Of course, had this been any other situation, he would have been far more careful about checking for walkers or any remaining Woodbury residents, but when Murphy had skidded through the doors moments after him and they'd looked at each other across the room, caution was the last thing on either of their minds. For a minute or so, both men just stared at each other, emotion's running high in the two of them, but neither were sure how to act on it. For Connor, there was just pure, unadulterated relief that Murphy was alive and okay. The very fact that he was stood just a few feet away completely overriding the reason why he was there at all.

But for Murphy, as the distance between them closed and he pulled Connor into the tightest hug he could manage, the raw relief and joy at finding out his brother was well and truly alive was tainted with a new kind of rage. He'd been lied to. The Governor had kept up this façade, continued to lie through his teeth, lie to Murphy's face that Connor was dead and gone. He'd let him mourn, let him go through so much pain, but to what end? To make him fight for him? He didn't know. But thoughts of Woodbury's leader quickly slipped down his priority list as he let himself drink in the fact that Connor was here. That Connor was okay. That it really was his brother's arms around him and the comfort of a familiar accent saying God only knew what into his shoulder. And it was then, when he'd eventually gone to pull away and found Connor unwilling to let go just yet, that he realized that he hadn't been the only one who'd been under the assumption that the other was gone for good. Connor was protective and loyal, always had been – but the way his fingers were gripping Murphy's shirt and the way he kept apologising over and over, how his voice kept cracking as he did his best to keep tears back – this wasn't a side of him Murphy could remember seeing, not that he was doing much better. It was taking a lot to keep himself composed, not that that really meant anything anymore. While neither of them made a habit out of crying at every opportunity given to them, Murphy could honestly say he'd never felt so happy and so relieved in his life. He couldn't easily put into words how thankful he truly was.

The continued gunfire on the other side of the doors was all but lost on the two of them as they eventually released each other, smiles breaking out on both faces – wide and unashamed – as hands were rubbed across eyes and guns held at sides. Both of them had had so much they'd wanted to say before, but now that they were faced with the ever-rare second chance, neither could fathom anything they wanted to break the ice with now. Only when he'd managed a few deep breaths did Murphy finally go to speak, though the beginning of his sentence was crushed behind the door as it was slammed open, Rick coming through into the cell block, followed closely by Carol and several of the others. The sight of Connor wasn't a cause for concern, but the realization that he wasn't alone soon had guns up once more, though the twins were just as fast on the draw. Immediately, Murphy was guided behind Connor as they both backed up, Rick looking at Connor with an expression worth a hundred words. Each question was a demand, a spat-out statement, and every answer may as well have been in another language for all the good it did.

"Why is he here."

"Rick, put it down and we can talk-"

"He was with them – why is he here."

In a surprising turn of events, Murphy stayed completely quiet, keeping his gun up and his mouth shut as Connor slowly held up his hands in surrender.

"I was just about to find that out."

"Rick – we have bigger things to worry about." This time, Connor's salvation came from Glenn, who was quick to remind their leader that the Governor was still on the road, and therefore still vulnerable. With another look shot over Connor's shoulder, Rick finally gave it up for the time being, instead giving out their next plan; they would follow after the Woodbury group and take them down, continue the fight on the road if necessary. Only when everyone was agreed on a new focus point did Rick turn back to Connor, hissing out his words as he glanced at Murphy, who met his glare with a look of guarded uncertainty.

"Make sure you get answers."

"I will."