AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Carol had darted after Daryl the moment that she'd been able to escape clean up duty from supper. He hadn't been hard to find. He'd told her that he was going out to walk the fences and that's where he was. He'd gone out to take over for Michonne and leave her with less than half the distance to cover so that she should go inside—where she should be—and handle things with Andrea.
Now, the fences checked and a few Walkers put down, Carol was standing with Daryl down near one of the barns that they'd erected to house animals that they'd brought in. He was fretting, silently for a moment, and puffing away at a cigarette. It was at least his second since she'd reached him, but she wasn't counting out loud. He was working through something and it wasn't likely that it would be cigarettes that did any of them in these days.
Carol simply stood, arms crossed across her chest to ward off the slightest hint of a chill to the air, and waited on Daryl. That's what she did. He was comfortable with it. And, just as she knew he would, he finally spoke.
"It's a fuckin' mess," he muttered.
Carol waited for clarification, but it didn't come.
"The baby?" She prompted, finally, seeing that he wasn't going to offer her more without a show that she wanted more.
Daryl hummed in the negative. Beyond the glow of the cigarette and some dark outline to his form, Carol could see nothing else of him. She could sense him—and she could sense his tension—but her vision wasn't going to give her anything to go on.
"They act that way because it's Andrea and Michonne, or because it's a kid?" Daryl asked.
Carol didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't immediately say anything. Obviously, though, her input was entirely unnecessary because Daryl continued without it.
"Because—I was in there for a while," Daryl said. "They go on—Maggie goes on—mumbling and bitching about how we can't keep this kid safe if we hit the road. Like—we just gonna toss the damn kid and Lil' Asskicker both, right on to the Walkers, as we go out the damn gates."
Carol snorted.
"Maggie wasn't talking about Judith," Carol said. Daryl already knew that though.
"If it was me and you?" Daryl asked.
"It won't be me and you," Carol responded.
"Could be," Daryl said.
Carol wasn't going to argue. Sure. It could be. If all the factors that made it a guarantee that it wasn't going to be them weren't in place? It could be them.
"It's about the Governor," Carol said with a sigh. "It's about—Maggie never getting over what happened. Maggie..."
She dropped off.
"Maggie what?" Daryl asked, finally prompting her to continue.
"Maggie's looking to this prison like the rest of us are," Carol said. "It's somewhere safe. It's somewhere to spend the rest of our lives? Maybe? She and Glenn are young. They might want kids."
Daryl made a sound that Carol couldn't quite identify. Then he spoke again.
"We throw that one to the Walkers too?" He asked. He chuckled at his own statement. Carol laughed at it too, appreciating it for what it was, his words had practically dripped sarcasm. "If we hit the road—if we had to go? Reckon Michonne and Andrea could keep a kid safe as good as the rest of us."
Carol hummed.
"Maybe better," she said.
Daryl mumbled something of an apology at her. He thought, apparently, that he'd offended her. He hadn't. Carol was—or at least she felt like she was most of the time—beyond being offended over things.
"It'll pass," Carol said. "Maggie's just going to get over her mood. Beth too."
"Beth'll get over shit when Maggie does," Daryl said. "She ain't got no more opinion than that cow over there. Not if Maggie don't tell her to."
Carol chuckled.
"Not much more sense," Daryl added.
Carol clucked and scolded him for his comment, but she did find it amusing—for what it was worth.
"I don't condone violence," Carol said. "But next time? If there is one? It might be best to just—let Michonne finish. I mean, if it comes to that? Let her change Maggie's—tune, I guess?"
"Better not come to that," Daryl said. "If it was us? Wouldn't come to that."
Carol hummed and shifted her weight, content to wait for however long he wanted to be out there, and she never bothered to point out that she felt—somehow—it wouldn't happen the same way if it were them.
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Andrea sat on the edge of the cot with her face in her hands and Michonne hovered behind her, on her knees, and kneaded at Andrea's shoulders.
"I'm giving you five more minutes," Michonne said. "Then? No more. You're not letting any of them do this to you. You're not giving them that control."
She glanced around the cell. She wished that there was something, these days, to use to distract someone. Their lack of entertainment, though, left them with very little to do besides think and talk—both activities leading to too much dwelling.
"And you have to eat," Michonne pointed out, the untouched plate of food that Carol had brought to the cell being the only thing that she could pick up on as a possible way of distracting Andrea.
Andrea did lift her head out of her hands, at least, and Michonne stopped rubbing her shoulders to move around and sit beside her on the cot. She pretended that she didn't see the expression on Andrea's face for the moment.
"Food Maggie doesn't even think I should have," Andrea pointed out.
"Yeah...well," Michonne stammered. "Fuck Maggie," she said with a sigh.
Andrea laughed. Michonne smiled too, pleased that at least she could get some kind of amusement out of Andrea.
"That's the best you can come up with?" Andrea challenged. "As eloquent and well-spoken as you can be?"
Michonne hummed.
"I'm too tired to be either," she said. "And it's the most accurate wording for what I feel about Maggie Greene right now. Fuck her. Since I've been here? Since you've been here? Both of us have done twice the work that she's done. You're supposed to be taking it easy and you've—every day you do more than she does. And you complain about it less."
"So we're having a bitch session?" Andrea asked. "A tear into Maggie kind of bitch session."
Michonne sighed again.
"Is it making you feel better?" Michonne asked.
Andrea seemed to consider it.
"A little," she admitted.
"Then bitch away," Michonne said. She reached and grabbed the plate. She passed it to Andrea. "Just eat while you do it. Carol made it especially for you and picked out some of the good stuff for you."
Andrea curled her lip at the plate, but she did pick up the fork and start to eat from it.
"Maybe we should just leave, Mich," Andrea said.
"Hell will freeze over first," Michonne responded. She shook her head. "We're not leaving. You want to stay. I want to stay. We're working to make this place into something. We might leave—someday—but it won't be because of Maggie."
"Mich—what if he does come back?" Andrea asked. "What if he—hurts someone or kills someone?"
Michonne didn't need any clarification to know what the driving force behind the question was. She shook her head at Andrea.
"It isn't your fault if he does," Michonne said. "And—you've got to go ahead and come to terms with the fact that he's coming back. We don't know when and we don't know how, but we know he's coming back."
"We don't know that," Andrea said.
"If he's alive, he's coming back," Michonne amended quickly. "And if he comes back? He might kill someone. It might even be me or you. But no matter who he kills, if he kills anyone at all, it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault."
Andrea sighed now, but she seemed to be calming down from her earlier state.
"He doesn't even know you're here," Michonne pointed out. "Did you even think about that? Because I don't think anybody else has. He doesn't even know you're here. As far as he's concerned? You died in Woodbury, just like he planned for you to die."
"Except he went back and I wasn't there," Andrea said.
Michonne shrugged.
"So?" She said. "If you died, then you were a Walker. If you were a Walker? Then you got put down. You could've been buried there. We could've brought you back here and buried you. Where you're buried doesn't matter. The Governor thinks you're dead. You don't exist to him anymore. He's not worried about you. He doesn't even know the baby exists. We hardly know it exists. If he comes back here—and he will—then it won't be for you."
Andrea looked like she might argue, her lips parting just enough to make it seem that she'd offer some protest, and then she stopped. She seemed to think better of it. A slight hint of something like amusement made her lips curl into a small smile and she nodded her head as she turned her attention back to the food.
"He doesn't know about the baby," Andrea said. "But the baby's going to have to know about him because Maggie will tell the poor thing stories about him like he's the boogie man."
Michonne laughed at that because Andrea's tone was, for now, lighter.
"I think Daryl and I should go look for him again," Michonne said. "Once more. Before the cold weather? Maybe—he didn't go far. Maybe it won't be hard to find some sign of him."
Even Michonne didn't believe it. She knew that they weren't going to find him. They weren't going to just walk right out of the prison, stare at the ground for ten minutes, and then have Daryl lead them – with all the charming qualities of a bloodhound—right to where this man was sleeping, alone, on the hard ground somewhere so that they could finish his pathetic life with less drama than snubbing out a candle.
But she wanted to believe it because she had as much interest as anyone else in finding the man and keeping him from getting there.
"There's a lot to be done before the cold weather," Andrea pointed out. "All day, every day, we're talking about what needs to be done."
Michonne nodded her head gently at that. It was true. There was a lot to be done. They were in a desperate scramble to get everything prepared. It was the human equivalent of bears preparing to hibernate for the winter.
"But if you think you should go?" Andrea said. "If you think—that it's the best thing and there's a chance? Then you should go."
Michonne looked at her, almost surprised to hear that Andrea was giving her blessing on an expedition such as the one that Michonne had mentioned.
Andrea smiled at Michonne's expression and nodded her head.
"You should go," she confirmed. "We'll take care of the rest."
Michonne shook her head.
"The only thing you're taking care of is that plate of food," Michonne said. "It's not your job to get everything ready for the winter. You heard that today. It's decided. Whether I'm here or not, you're off duty from the hard work. It's not for you to worry about. None of this—really—is for you to worry about."
Andrea laughed.
"Except I'm still going to worry," she pointed out.
"I know that too," Michonne said. "I'll talk to Daryl in the morning. I'll get his opinion on things. If he says we go? We go."
"I know that too," Andrea said, echoing Michonne's earlier words. "Maybe I'll talk to someone about organizing a run? I could do that. Get things for the baby. Get other things we need for the winter. I could do a supply run."
Michonne didn't respond immediately. She might not like the idea, but it might not be worth the fight right this moment. In the end? She might not have to fight about it at all. Someone else might step in and point out all the obvious reasons this might not be something that was a very good idea. Maybe even Hershel would do it to make up for his daughters.
Regardless, it wasn't something they had to fight about tonight, and tonight? If Michonne could avoid fighting? That's what she was going to do.
"Finish eating," Michonne said. "I'm going to go shower. Then we'll call it a night."
She got up, without any more discussion, and gathered her things together to take a shower. She felt like she needed to wash this day away.