Hey, there, I'm reposting adding another section at the end, because, I realized writing this section needs to be here to close the loose ends before we move to the next parts in the plot. Sorry for the mess. I'm just not good with organizing the chapters these days.

XXVII.

Amanda wrapped her arms around him, and snugged at his chest, her insides melting again, "And you're doing great, Rick," she told him, words leaving her lips on their own, burning with the fire inside her, "You're doing great."

He was—she didn't even want to think how her life would've been without him—she remembered her fears of losing him, how she'd felt when she'd thought him dead when he hadn't returned from the quarry with everyone else, how she'd felt seeing Maggie crying—how empty her life had been before him…

How barren, how meaningless, telling herself it'd been better that way—She suppressed a sob, the bastard's words pushing back in her mind again, soft and empty but she didn't let it. Not this time. She was going to listen to Rick, only Rick. She—she should've done it at the very beginning, had never doubted him. He'd told her the first time—it's not about control, it's about trust, trusting someone enough to be vulnerable.

Letting someone to see you vulnerable, letting them take care of you when you were weak—like she'd let Rick. Because they trusted each other. Her arms squeezed him weakly remembering, warmness spreading over her further. Bowing his head, giving her shoulder another light kiss, Rick flipped himself on his back, carrying her on him in the meanwhile.

Once he was settled, she was sprawled out over him, her right leg resting against his outer hip, as the other slipped between his. "You 'kay?" he asked her, his head tilting down to look at her.

Hiding her head at his chest, she nodded, "Yeah—sorry…sorry I doubted you again, Rick—"

He let out a small, resigned sigh. "Did you really feel like that, Amanda—like I want to own you?" he asked then.

She didn't know. She had no idea what the hell she was feeling anymore. "I don't know—" she told him then not knowing what else to say, resting her head aside back at his chest, "I—I'm confused. I know you aren't like that—"

"But couldn't feel it—?" he asked back, cutting in.

She shook her head. "I—I—" she faltered, and repeated, "I don't know, Rick." She felt hot tears welling in her eyes again, "Everything's a mess. I—I'm a mess."

"Hey—" His voice raised, his arm reaching out to make her look back at him, "You're not a mess—" He paused, "Or you're not the only one, at least. This's hard for everyone, Amanda. After they took you—I turned to a mess too—Carl started blaming me again—and I started blaming myself too—I let them. I let him to take you away…couldn't stop it—did nothing. I watched it. It was—" He deeply breathed, and tightening his arm over her waist, he slid her up over him closer, "I—hallucinated you—trashed the hall—then saw you—you told me to get up and fight."

She felt something seized her at her chest, and she bowed her head again, "I heard you too—" she confessed, "Later—in my mind—you told me to fight too."

He smiled at her, "So we were really together, eh?" his hand going to her, "Baby—you're not a mess. You're the bravest woman I've ever seen—" he told her lowly in a whisper.

And something in her broke so much, she almost heard the sound it made, "I—I'm not, Rick," she told him back then… "I—I thought I could take it," she finally confessed, something forcing her to tell him… She wanted to—she had to—she had to confess. It was too much, just too much. She—she wanted to share—the pain—her shame. He would understand. They trusted each other. They knew each other. She couldn't do this anymore. She wasn't that strong. She—she'd learned that too.

"I thought I could be brave," she said, "thought I could suck it up. He—he told me if I let him, he—he could've used his hand—" she forced the words out, "He—he told me I only needed to ask. I didn't. I didn't want him to touch me—I chose the whip. Pain sucks but there's…a pride in it. You know you're suffering, but you also know you didn't take easy way out. You fought." A bitter laugh broke out of her, "I thought myself tough enough, thought I could take it. Thought—he—he couldn't break me." She stopped for a breath then couldn't continue again—words still couldn't come out even though she wanted to confess.

But it didn't matter at the end, she knew, Rick had understood what had happened nevertheless. "Baby, it's okay—" he told her, words only placate her, only to make her feel better because she'd fucked it up, his hand going through her hair.

She shook her head vehemently to push it away. "No!" she almost screamed, "It's not okay!" It wasn't— It wasn't okay. "I—I shouldn't have!" She had to be strong, "I—I should've sucked it up. I couldn't! I—asked him—begged him—begged him to do it, Rick!"

She hid her head again at his chest, shame and fury coursing through her…angry more than anyone at herself... "I just lay over his lap and let him—let him play my hair—" she seethed against his skin bitterly, her forehead resting on his heart, "Let him tell me all those horrible stuff—horrible, awful things—horrible, awful, and true things." She breathed on a sob, "about me—" she whispered.

"He told me I've got a hard shell, but a soft heart, soft and empty… He told me girls like me need men like you to fill their emptiness inside, to make them whole. Told me I hate to admit it, but I need it. Beg for it. And he—he was right." She raised her eyes back, and look at him, "I'm begging…begging you each time when you have me like this-" She made a little motion with her head, "I—I can't help myself. I want it, desperately. I want to…feel…" Feelings—emotions…so confusing, so complicated… but without them…without them, how the life would have been?

"Everything I had before you was so barren—so empty," she told him how it'd been when she'd been in her comfort zone, when everything had been just simple and plain, "and I wasn't even aware of it until you made me realize it. I always tried to protect myself so no one could hurt me, built myself walls, a castle—nothing can come in, but nothing can come out too—a-and-and I didn't realize—" She shook her head again, "or simply didn't care I was trapped inside a cage, too. And you wither, wither away in the cage then eventually forget your bars are even there."

Like how she had forgotten how much she liked cookies—how much she used to like helping the old lady in the kitchen when the woman had baked for them, how much she liked the smell, until Rick had made her remember again. "I wanted to have a piece of you inside me, Rick, so it couldn't be like that anymore—wanted us to be a family…"

Looking at her back in the eye, Rick shook his head, too, "Amanda, baby, I know. You—you already told me." His hand clasped her cheek, "We wanted to create a life together—together—" He put a strong emphasis on together, "So it couldn't be like that anymore—so we don't live anymore in the wilderness. Amanda, baby, you're not the only one who feels like this—You told me you felt alive the last time, do you remember?"

As her eyes closed for a second, she recalled the memory, remembered how everything had coursed through her, from head to toe, and how she had felt her babies stirred inside her—how she had felt life stirred in her… The feeling— gloriously alive…until her last atoms, life stirring in her insides…

She gasped, remembering it, then like a miracle, like their miracle it happened again—life stirred in her again.

She gasped even wilder, her eyes widening—her babies—their babies moving inside her—she felt it, like a heartbeat, fluttering in her, beating… A smile split her face in two as her tears ran freely. "Rick—" she whispered, her hand taking his at her cheek and dropping herself over his body, laying on her side, she brought it at her stomach.

Trembling, she pressed his hand at her little bump, "Feel it?" she breathed out as his eyes lowered, "They—they're moving."

And he smiled, smiled warmly, and she saw the light.

The stir slowly ceased, and Rick lifted his eyes back at her. "If they're like this now," he said, still smiling, "They're gon' give us hell when they're born."

She laughed, merrily, all of her dark, depressed thoughts vanishing, even the itches, pain at her ass felt like a distant memory—of darker days, now she was full with light—light and life, "They're ours. What else would you expect?" she laughed again, she couldn't help herself, and bowed her head, "Love cardio like Daddy, huh, little ones? Bet you do—"

Laughing back at her, Rick pulled her back closer against him, "Daddy hates cardio—"

"Still he's doing great—"

"Hmm mm—"

Amanda laughed again, then stopped as her eyes finding him again, "Rick—I wanna go home—" she whispered, "Please, take me back home."

And he promised her again, "I will. We'll have peace, Amanda. Then we'll go back home. I promise."

# # #

The next morning before they left for Alexandria again, she kissed him on the lips outside their cabin, smiling at him with love, affection, trust and everything else, and Rick smiled back at her faintly, touching at her cheek lightly and swore to himself he was going to give her everything she ever wanted, everything she needed.

Peace.

He was going to give her peace.

Then he was going to take her back home. Where she belonged.

His hand lightly touched at her stomach—trying to find the faint fluttering under her skin—barely there—he couldn't even feel it—but Amanda had—and Rick had felt it through her.

They were still alive, so there was still hope.

# # #

But hope was a fickle thing to keep up in these days, Rick once again remembered when he came back home.

Alexandria. Their home.

A death scene.

Rick looked at the dead corpses laying around the town, the gate broken down.

Michonne was covered with blood as she explained to him, her words echoing in him. Everything else in chaos too, between them. He saw Abraham and Sasha running to the houses. Natania and Cyndie, the leaders of Oceanside were looking at the scene with widened eyes, as if they'd seen this happen before, and they had.

They had seen it happen before.

"They came back yesterday after the sunset," Michonne told them, "blew up the gate with the rocket. We're okay, mostly. First, they looked around for Amanda and Beth. They asked you, too, but we told them you went out for a supply run. When they found, nothing they left. Then at night, this happened."

"Wanted to give us an ultimatum, in case that we keep Amanda hidden," Tara beside Michonne spoke, too, "Walkers came. We dealt with them, but lost Ben and Olivia. Ben was at the gate when it was hit, and Olivia got bitten. I'm sorry."

"Carl and Judith—?" he asked in a whisper.

"They're safe," Michonne said back, as Rick let out a breath of relief, "She's with Carol now. Carl's helping to gather the corpses."

Corpses.

"Peace. That was the peace—laying over there at their broken gates.

"We need to close the gate—" he said, looking at the cars they'd parked over the entrance to block the way. They'd passed over them to enter in.

"We're on it—" Rosita said, "Tobin and Spencer got it. They're welding a new one in the warehouse."

Rick nodded. They—they had gotten out of worse. It was just another fight they'd lost—not the war. They still needed to fight the war.

Then they heard it—the approaching grunts of car and jeeps, and in these days, it meant one day. They—they were back.

The blood drained back in his veins. He turned aside and pointed at Oceanside's leaders, "Go inside. It's better if he doesn't see you here."

"He can't remember us—" Cyndie objected, "It's almost two years now."

Rick shook his head, "I'm not taking any chances," he said back, "Go inside."

Natania nodded, "He's right."

They went inside as Simon and his pack, armed with automatic machine guns, a force of almost fifty fighter came out of the trucks and the jeep at the front of the cortege from which the new bastard of the town jumped out of. Upon seeing them at the gate gathered, Simon stopped at the other side of the cars, and his eyes stopped him, too. "Oh, look, the man of the hour returned—" he exclaimed, his hands tugging at his belt, he bounced on his heels, "Found anything for us?"

Rick shook his head, "No luck—" he said, and asked him, "We had an agreement," Rick told him, playing dumb, and pointed at the gate, "Why?"

"Now—you tell me you don't know your wifey escaped two nights ago?" the bastard asked, "The same night you left for a supply run—and came back with empty hands?" his tongue clinked, then pointed at the cars, too, "C'mon, clear the way. So, we can talk."

Rick pointed at Tara and Rosita, and they pulled away the cars. Simon and his group walked in. "You know why Negan left you your gun, Rick," the man told her almost conversationally, throwing an arm over his shoulder, making them walk—Rick shot at him glance, "So you can find us goods—stuff, goodies! If you don't do it—there's no point of keeping you alive, you see? And I'm already in my half mind to kill all of you sorry shits and be done with it!"

Rick gave him another look, but stayed in silence, wondering where it was going. "Now—your wife—" the man paused, dropping his arm in front of the first house in the town when they were alone, "What was her name?" he asked, "Negan simply used to call her doll."

Rick glared at the man, "Amanda."

"Right—" The man pointed at him a finger, "Amanda."

"So Amanda killed Negan, and I'm your Negan now. You know—the King is dead, long live the King." He barked out a loud laugh, "Nah…this shit never gets old… So my point is—I really want to kill y'all—but at the other hand—people are looking at me—to lead them…and I gotta be…more reasonable now. Your wife—I—hell, I might even send her a fruit basket." Another bark of laugh, this time a bit less loud, and he leaned down to whisper at him, "Between you and me—she—man, she saved me from trouble. You see…me and Negan—?" He made out a loud huff, bouncing on his heels again, "That story wasn't gonna have a happy ending—" He pulled back, as Rick gave him another glare, "But I'm the King now—the leader of the Savior, and she killed the old King. If I let that go, what my people would think of me?"

"So—really, I need to take her back… she needs to be punished…" His blood boiled in his veins as Rick remembered her words, remembered her scarred skin… Never. Never again. No one was going to touch her ever again. "Then I promise I'd send her back to you." A sickening, big smile split his face in two, his mustache widening, "Deal?"

In silence, Rick glared at her. Simon made another big puff. "I never expected her to find her here, you know," he told Rick again like they were in real conversation, "She's not stupid. She must know that this place is the first one we'd look for her. I know she's out there somewhere, hiding. Somewhere she thought safe…"

His eyes snapped at the man, as the bastard looked at him in expectation, but Rick kept his silence. "No—you say?"

"All righty—then we do it in my way—" He pulled back outside the porch where he had been leaning and his hand went to his back—Rick tensed in the motion, his own angling toward his own gun—they were too much. Even though he killed the bastard before he could do anything, with only pistol he couldn't take out the machine guns.

They were too much for them. Outnumbered.

But it wasn't his gun the bastard pulled back. It was a little white envelope, fitting in his palm— "You should be missing her—thought you might want to see her again—" Simon told him, handing him the envelope, and another sick smile lifting his face in two, "We looked at it this morning—man, we all looked at it…"

His brows clenched, Rick took it before the bastard turned on his heels and starting walking back. "All right, guys, we're done here. Let's move—" he shouted, "Don't forget, Rick. If you just hand her over to me, it's gonna be much better than alternative," he yelled, jumping back in the jeep, and hit at the door from the open window, "Arrivederci, suckers."

Bowing his head, Rick looked at the close envelope. "Don't open it, Rick," Father Gabriel told him suddenly walking out from the porch, "Whatever it's there, you won't like it," he continued, and Rick already knew… "He only gave it to you to hurt you, you know it."

But he had to—he just couldn't let it go. Without a word, he ripped it off. Inside, there was a photo—a Polaroid… Recalling the last time he saw a photo like this were taken, he shuddered, and he started taking it out slowly—and his heart stopped, his blood drained out of him and he looked it, the world slipping away from it… her words from last night echoing in a void…

I—asked him—begged him—begged him to do it, Rick!

The photo, her photo, slipped off his fingers as Rick dropped on his knees.

# # #

On the ground on his knees, one hand supporting his weight, Rick was crying loudly—the photo laying just over his eyes—I just lay over his lap and let him—let him play with my hair…

She was on her knees and hands on the floor in front of the bastard, laying over one knee, his hand over her almost naked bottom—over her lacerated skin that her dress had left open as the bastard's other hand was stroking her hair between his fingers…

Another sob erupted out of him, and he screamed with cries.

Her eyes—as she twisted back at the camera—the shame over her face—the black eyeliner making black stains over her cheeks, her eyes red and smudged black—and the pain in there—the shame…

Another scream…

She—she shouldn't have lived through this!

Never!

His wife—his beautiful, pregnant wife—never!

He knew—he knew it had been bad—known it—known it from Amanda's half broken words, and the fury and shame she had felt—but not like this.

This—this couldn't have happened to them… Not to his Amanda—not the woman he loved—please, not!

But it had happened.

He—he'd seen so many times women had been abused before as sheriff's deputy—countless photos of bruises, scars, and wounds—but this—this couldn't be happening to them. Not to his wife, not to the woman he loved…

He—he should've—he should've protected her.

He should have.

He saw boots in front of his eyes, "Man—get up—" He recognized the heavy drawl. Daryl. Grabbing him under his armpits, Daryl pulled him up, "Get up."

"What happened, happened—" the hunter told him then, lifting his head, "They're back. They're safe now."

Rick looked at him. She was—she was safe, yes, she was back—but she was still hurting—she had confessed. She was still hurting because Rick couldn't have saved her. There were other hands, too, "I told you he only wanted to hurt you, Rick—" and Rick recognized the pastor's voice, too.

And it hurt. It hurt so much.

Leaving him to the pastor, Daryl took the photo from the ground, bending down. Everyone else was keeping their distance now, Rick realized vaguely, as if they wanted to give them privacy—as if they knew…

Slowly, he dropped himself on the porch's steps, and lifted his hand—the photo—no… No one else could see it—even Daryl. "Gimme that!" he snapped.

Quickly his friend gave it back, as the pastor left them too, and without looking at it, Rick pushed the damned thing into his pocket.

He was going to kill him—he was going to kill all of them—

We looked at it this morning—man, we all looked at it…

Simon, his lieutenants, his friends, all those of bastards had looked at her photo—and—and—and—

From black, everything was turning to red, a fury he'd never felt before—even after Lori's death, washing over him. A part of him wanted to go and blow the whole place to smithereens. He could—he could find a way. He always did. They—they deserved it.

"The pastor was right," Daryl said then, standing up above him, his head bowed to look at him in the eye, "He was right. He did it to hurt you, man."

And he was going to regret it, Rick was going to make sure of it. "When Beth was taken—I—left to find her because I couldn't take it, man—" Daryl stated talking suddenly, "I—I started having dreams—nightmares—" the hunter corrected, as Rick lifted his head up, too, remembering his own dreams—looking for desperately calling out at Amanda—terrified he'd lost her too—but he hadn't lost her… No.

He had found her—even separated, they had been always together, and they had found each other back. Something in him stirred, and he felt it—he'd found her. Maybe, he couldn't have saved her, but he'd found her. "I—I had to leave because I couldn't take it," Daryl repeated, "I had to find her…And I did. I found her almost dead, spent a night holding her pulse, so I'd know she hadn't passed away. It was the worst night all in my life, Rick—and I only wanted her to live—whatever else happened, I didn't give no shit, man."

"This—" Rick shook his head, "This's different." Beth hadn't lived the same humiliation because Daryl couldn't have rescued her.

"It is," but Daryl argued, insisting, "It's. They're back. Nothing else ain't matter." He gave her a look, "You told it, too, man."

Rick recalled his own words—You're back. Nothing's more important than that. "I know—" and he did, but seeing it— "I know it—but seeing—"

Daryl cut him off with a stern look, "Burn it—" he ordered her, "When we go back, find her and burn it together. Beth—when we were out in the wall after the prison, we found this ramshackle cabin in the woods. I—I told her about my childhood—how I passed it like a cabin that one. She…she made us burn it, man, told me I should bury it before it kills me—" he stopped, pointing his heart a little, "kills me here. You should burn it, too. You can't let it ruin ya."

Understanding the words and knowing that Daryl had never let this much out if he hadn't thought it was important, Rick nodded. "Thank ya," he told his brother, his hand reaching out to hold his hand, and holding each other's wrist, they shared a handshake in gratitude, "Thank ya, brother."

Daryl was right. He shouldn't have let this ruin them. They—they were together. All of them were still together. Their babies were stirring in her, and Carl and Judith were waiting them to turn back. Nothing was important than that.

But Rick had realized another thing, too. He'd realized Amanda was right. This—this wasn't about a person. No. Killing wasn't enough. They—they to do something. Change it. Peace. He'd promised her peace.

But only killing wasn't enough. She'd killed Negan and that didn't even stop it. Negan, Simon, Governor, Gareth—all those countless sonofbitches were just spikes on a wheel—turning on its own one upon another, crushing that lay beneath, exploiting weakness and fear, using it as a weapon, drawing people in like lambs to slaughter. It had to stop.

Breaking the spikes weren't stopping the wheel. Killing Negan hadn't stopped any damn thing. The King is dead, long live the King. He saw it now. And Amanda always being much better at politics than him had already seen it, had already seen killing Negan wasn't the solution.

No. They—they had to stop the wheel. They had to break it.

Then they would have the peace. In a better world, where people like Negan, people like Simon, people like Governor, people like Gareth would never exploit the others.

Staring ahead at the future, Rick pulled back to his feet.


Yeah, the photo... I hope you didn't think that would've stayed hidden somehow. :)

I wanted to play with the idea even knowing something bad happened is different than seeing it. Seeing Amanda like this, like they showed Daryl Glenn's photo in the show to torture him, and Daryl broke. Such an evil, sad thing.

Having Amanda experience such a thing, though, feeling her babies inside her stir was something I wanted to do for a long time, and I'm glad that she finally experienced it coherently. The next step is a kick :)

So the end section... my plan was always getting Rick to be enough motivated to build a new world order, but he needs a trigger for that, in the canon it was Carl's death but since Carl is very much alive here, something else was needed. Though, I have to remind you that the last person I saw on TV who tried to break the wheel was Daenerys Targaryen and if you watched Game of Thrones, you must know how that turned out, lol. That's gonna be interesting.

And, I was really waiting for that talk between Rick and Daryl, too. Glad that they managed it at least. I really can't wait to make Amanda and Rick burn the photo, either. One of my favorite parts in Adaptation is when Daryl made Beth burn the elevator shaft. As that was also supposed to be the end of the story, he he. My plans...

Okay, I'm going now...sorry for the rambling. Stay safe, and be at home. Love you bunches.