AN: Here we go, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Send Andrea to unlock the gate," the Governor said when everything, apparently, was signed and sealed. Andrea didn't move from her spot. She wasn't sure, actually, that she could move from her spot. She'd locked her knees to keep them from shaking her whole frame and now she feared trying to make them do anything beyond hold her in place. She could barely breathe.
"Sasha and Tyreese are unlocking it now," Rick said. He didn't move his hand from where it was holding the upper part of Andrea's arm. Andrea didn't drop the rifle she was holding across her chest.
It ran through her mind, quickly, that if she acted fast enough she could move the gun and shoot the man. The fence, however, might deflect the bullet and, without a doubt, as soon as a shot was fired another would follow—and then they'd be getting into what they were trying to avoid.
Everything seemed to be happening around Andrea. Outside the fences, there was still some signs that people were unsure of what they were really doing. Michonne and Hershel were pushed toward the gates. Rick commanded that they be sent through first.
The Governor repeated his request that Andrea be part of the "welcoming committee."
Before she could say or do anything, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. Naturally, and actually without giving it any thought, she put her arm around the person that had approached her from behind and accepted the support that they were offering. It was Abraham. Without saying anything, he walked with her toward the gates and she stood beside him, his arm still around her and her rifle still hugged close to her even though it went unused, while the Governor's people came through leading Michonne and Hershel.
The Governor followed right behind them, the rest of his people filing in behind him. Andrea didn't know how she expected to react to seeing him—up close and without even a barrier between them—but she didn't expect to suddenly feel distinctly like she was dying. Her chest felt like it was closing up. She couldn't get air in, and she couldn't even tell herself to gasp for it. The knees she'd locked earlier were doing less for her now than they'd been doing before and she was silently grateful for Abraham's support since it was the only thing, she was sure, that kept her from hitting the ground. Immediately he moved toward her, but she was surprised when, in front of her rifle, another rifle crossed. Quietly, Abraham drew a line in front of her with the gun.
"We're not on friendly terms just yet," he said. He offered nothing else.
The Governor chuckled and looked at Andrea before Rick's voice interrupted the scene.
"Drop your weapons," Rick said. "Everyone. Guns in a pile. We're coming at this without firearms. We're coming at this from a position of peace. We'll handle this with words and agreements, not with fighting."
"Can you drop yours," Abraham asked Andrea, quietly and directly into her ear when he'd dropped his on the ground beside him. The Governor moved away from her, but Andrea still felt frozen.
"Mmmm mmm..."she hummed.
Abraham reached and took the gun in his hand.
"Just let go of it," he said. Somehow Andrea obeyed him. She remained, at the moment, staring straight ahead. With her pounding heart and the limited intake of air that she was getting, she felt like her vision was narrowing. She felt like it was darkening—but she didn't really care to alarm anyone. She didn't want to look at anyone. Not at Rick. Not at the Governor. And certainly, not at Michonne. "Rick?" Abraham announced Rick's name loudly enough that the word travelled over any of the other noises around them. Before he could say whatever was on his mind, though, it was Daryl's voice that came out, almost as though the two of them were sharing some kind of mental wavelength from across the yard as Daryl approached.
"We'll see the new—people—to D block?" Daryl offered. "Then we'll talk?"
"D block?" Someone from the Governor's group asked. Andrea didn't turn to try to put physical appearance to the sound of their voice.
"It's a cell block," Rick said. "We're in C. You'll be in D. That way we can—live together without having to be up under each other. At least—until we're all ready."
"You mean until you're ready?" The Governor asked.
"Until we're all ready," Rick responded. "Your people don't know my people. My people don't know yours. We all need space. Just until we get things sorted out. This way—we'll get you settled in."
Without turning her head, Andrea could see the people moving. They followed Rick as he led them up toward the prison. She heard the metallic slide and clank of the prison gates as Tyreese and Sasha—or someone—slid them shut and locked them. She heard the pounding sound of feet as those from the upper yard rushed toward them all. She heard the clattering sounds of someone collecting weapons. She heard Hershel's voice as he said something to Maggie—but it sounded far away.
She felt it all spin around and she felt the hard dig of fingers into her legs and she felt the world rock and sway but there was nothing that she could do about it. There wasn't anything that she was sure she wanted to do about it. She just let it go wherever it was going and she went with it.
It was all out of her control now at any rate.
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Andrea came back to herself some when the world stopped the swaying to and fro that it had been doing. The metallic sound that filled her ears jolted her heart and she sucked in a breath, some noise escaping her, before she realized that it was only the sound of her bedsprings.
"Mich?" She got out, the first words she'd attempted to say for some time. She wasn't even sure if the word escaped her lips. Maybe it had only been formed in her mind and stayed there.
"I'm here," she heard, though, as true as any call and response. "I'm here. And you've got to breathe."
"I'm sorry," Andrea responded. Some question came to her about the apology, but she didn't respond. She wasn't sure if she was apologizing because the Governor had come, because he was staying, or because she had apparently forgotten to breathe.
There was some flurry of activity and Andrea was immediately aware that there were too many bodies in the cell. It was too crowded. She was lost in a sea of people and she didn't even care to open her eyes and make out who they were. Michonne was there, somewhere in the sea of them, but there were others.
Carol.
Andrea immediately identified her voice. She wasn't addressing Andrea, but she was talking about her. She was talking about the whole thing. She was speaking as though Andrea wasn't there and as though she couldn't hear her.
What was Rick thinking? Anyone could have expected something to happen. It was the first time Andrea had seen him since...They should have done something. Someone should have done something.
And then Michonne promised her that, somehow, something would be done—but she didn't elaborate.
Andrea drank what she was told to drink and she shivered a little at the sensation of the damp rag that was wiped across her face. And then, seemingly as quickly as the cell had filled, it emptied entirely.
"Mich?" Andrea asked, sitting up and opening her eyes for the first time.
"I'm here," Michonne responded. "And there you are."
She smiled at Andrea. The smile seemed out of place at the moment. It seemed out of place with the situation, but Andrea accepted it. She almost choked on it, like Michonne's expression could get stuck in the back of her throat.
"There you are," Michonne repeated, leaning from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing her forehead to touch it to Andrea's. She sighed and then she leaned enough to softly kiss Andrea's lips, breaking the kiss before Andrea was even really able to respond to the gesture. "You scared me."
Andrea laughed to herself and brought her hand up to catch the one that Michonne put to her face.
"Me?" Andrea responded. "You're the one that—Mich..."
Michonne shushed her, hissing out the sound as though Andrea were a small child that needed to be told it was time to be quiet and calm.
"What happened?" Andrea asked.
"We were out with the others," Michonne said softly, all the while stroking Andrea's hair. "Hershel and I went ahead—a little farther out. We didn't come in with the others on the last load. I don't know, really, what happened. I heard something. I thought it was Walkers. He knocked me out. Someone knocked me out. When I woke up? We were in the car."
Andrea felt herself choking up. She fought against it.
"He could've..." she started, but she was shushed again.
"He didn't," Michonne said. She sighed again. "He didn't. He didn't do anything—and my head doesn't even hurt. How are you?"
Michonne backed off of Andrea and her hands started a strange trial from Andrea's neck down her body. She searched her like she was looking for missing parts. Like she was looking for some visible sign of injury. As far as Andrea knew, she wasn't going to find anything.
"How are you?" Michonne repeated, quietly and absentmindedly, like she wasn't even aware she was breathing out the words. "Your blood pressure went through the roof—you have to rest. It isn't good for you. It isn't good for her. And she's not ready yet...it's not time yet."
Andrea finally caught Michonne's hands, stilling them, aware that maybe Michonne wasn't even thinking about her actions. She was working through her own things—just as Andrea had to—and this was how it was manifesting itself.
"I'm OK, Mich," Andrea said. "I'm OK."
Michonne looked at Andrea, concern creasing her forehead.
"Are you in any pain?" Michonne asked. "Anything at all?"
Andrea shook her head.
"I'm fine," she said. "I—couldn't breathe. Out there? I couldn't breathe. But now? I'm fine. I feel fine."
Slowly it washed back over Andrea. The conversation. The fact that Rick had invited them to stay here, in the prison. The look on the Governor's face when he realized that Andrea was alive and that she was, very obviously, carrying his child. She shivered.
"He's here," Andrea said.
Michonne nodded her head.
"He's here, Michonne," Andrea said. "And he's—in our home."
Michonne shook her head.
"You don't need to worry about that," Michonne said. "He's in D-Block. They're under lock and key. And—he's not getting near you."
Andrea shook her head.
"D-Block isn't going to hold him," Andrea said. "Eventually they're going to want out. They're not going to be satisfied with being kept as prisoners."
Michonne leaned closer to Andrea. She caught her face and held it so that Andrea couldn't have looked away from her even if that's what she'd intended to do.
"He will not touch you," Michonne said with enough assertion in her voice that Andrea couldn't have said it was untrue, even if she'd wanted to. "And—we'll think of something."
Andrea laughed to herself. The last part wasn't as sure as the first part.
"What do you think we're going to do, Mich?" Andrea asked. "Rick isn't going to let..."
"Rick can't control everything," Michonne said. "Maybe he did the right thing. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did the only thing there was to do. But he doesn't control everything. And we'll—we'll think of something."
Michonne stood up and Andrea saw that, in the commotion of everything, she'd acquired her katana again. She took it from the corner of the cell. Then she pulled something out of her pocket.
"Where are you going?" Andrea asked.
"We have a meeting," Michonne said. "You're going to stay here and rest—but don't worry about anything." She tied a scarf to the bars by the door.
"You don't have to leave that, Michonne," Andrea said. "I don't need it."
"Just in case you do," Michonne said. She reached and grabbed the door of the cell, pulling it closed and Andrea got up as quickly as she could. "Lie back down," Michonne commanded. "I have the key. I'm coming back. This is just—a precaution."
Andrea walked over to the doors and looped her hands around the bars. She leaned her face against the bars.
"I'm a prisoner now?" She asked.
"Until he's gone?" Michonne said. "We all are."
She leaned and kissed Andrea through the bars, this time giving her enough time to respond and return the gesture, before she walked off. Andrea stood at the bars and listened to her boots on the floor until she couldn't make them out anymore. Then she touched the scarf that was left hanging there, twined it between her fingers, and returned to sit on the bed, already wondering what would be decided—and how they would handle the wolf in their midst.
