A/N: Attn! Updating three chapters at once. Be advised.

Enjoy.

XXVI.

Amanda broke over his grip and ran to the dead girl. She sat down at the floor beside the girl, pulling her head—one side of it where the bullet entered and came out a bloody mess over her lap, her own head bowing, and she started crying.

Why—why she never ever managed to do something correct? She almost got Beth dead—now she got Lizzie dead.

Why?

She—she only wanted to help. Lizzie deserved a chance like each of them.

"Amanda—" she heard his voice, now small, so small, but she shook her head, and lifting it, she glared at him—

She—hated—no…no she had to find another word to convey what she felt for Rick Grimes right now… Hate simply didn't sound enough for the job.

He crouched at Lizzie's other side, and his hand reached over her head. In answer, Amanda pulled the girl closer to her chest, and sneered at him with venom, "Don't touch her!"

He closed his eyes, one eye still half swollen, and let out a sigh. She heard the tiredness in it, too, but she didn't fucking care anymore—didn't care of his weariness, his sadness, or the way he had put himself over her in front of a loaded gun—

She—just didn't care. She just wanted to hate him! Everything about him— his every word, his every look—his every—everything! "You did this!" she spat at him and heard Mika's sobs beside her as she dropped on her knees too over her sister.

She was fucking tired—and tears were running over her cheeks—and—and…

Then she heard it—snarls and growls—hitting at the door—pushing—creating more noise. The gunshot…

All their shouting match, yelling—first her and Rick—then Lizzie—and the gunshot. So stupid…so stupid… Rick pushed back at his feet and limped away to the window. He peeked over the window, Amanda still could see under her bowed head, then he turned to her, "We gotta go. They're almost a dozen, and more are coming up."

Go?

Leaving the girl for rotters—as fresh food.

She shook her head. They—they should at least bury her, make a funeral, make a memorial… she—she might say a word herself too—would say…she'd been trying—like each of them… What kind of a cruelty was this they couldn't even say goodbye to their deaths? Mourn them…

His hand grabbed her upper arm, and he started pulling her upward— "Leave me alone!" she yelled at him back, "I'm not leaving her!"

His grip tightened over her bicep, "Amanda—don't be ridiculous," he hissed, "Yell at me later if you want, but we're leaving now."

She didn't. She didn't even want to yell at him anymore.

"Go away—take Mika—go find your kids—" she told him then in a whisper, "I'm not coming."

"Yeah, like it's gonna happen—" he muttered, yanking her up again as she trashed his hand off in response. She gave him a push with her other hand—bloodied hand—she was covered with blood once again… "Let go off me!"

"Amanda!" he hissed at her sternly, "Stop it, dammit! She's dead!"

Her eyes finding his, craning her neck up, she glared at him, "You're some cold-hearted sonofabitch, Rick Grimes."

"I'm not a drama queen—" he snapped at her back, "Instead of herself she would've killed you!" She still kept glaring at him, even though despite of her anguish, she knew what he'd said was true, that gun—that gun would've pointed at her, too, she knew…she damn knew… "She was a ticking time bomb, Amanda—" he remarked this time a bit softer, releasing his grip.

And she knew—god burn her soul, but she knew… Still it didn't hurt any less, didn't make it better, either.

"Don't you want to see Beth again?" then Rick asked with the same deep but softer voice, as the snarls and growls grew louder and louder. Hearing them, Rick snapped his head at the window, and she knew she'd lost the battle.

Amanda slowly let go off the girl and started standing up as Rick limped to a closet beside the door, "Amanda—get her here. Quick—" he told her, and she understood. They at least were going to hide her. A sort of a grave. She took the girl's dead body with difficulty, and carried her to the closet, put her inside. Rick closed the lid and nodded at her. She didn't say anything.

"Back door—" Rick stated then, walking back to Lizzie's gun still at the ground, and taking it, he gestured at Mika, "Mika, take bags—" he pointed at the food they'd brought, "—and come over here. Stay between us."

Amanda looked at the crying ten years old girl as she came between them, holding the bags. Rick drew out his knife, tucking the gun at his back, and took the point. She tried to get her head clear. She was hating him to her guts right now, but he'd still gotten shot and stabbed yesterday. It wouldn't do it. She walked them by and took the position from him.

"Take our six," she told him with a flat voice, walking ahead of him, but he cut her off, blocking her way, rising his arm.

"I'm fine—" he said in return, and she opened her mouth, but he cut her off again, growls coming closer and more in clamor, and he wandered his eyes around again— "C'mon—hurry—" he turned and started walking—limping away, taking the lead, and this time Amanda let him. She was just too tired fighting with him. She didn't care anymore.

There were already three rotters outside at the back door—trying to get inside, and Rick killed two of them, opening the door as Amanda took care of the last one, keeping Mika at the her sight, and he ushered them out to the road from the house's backyard.

They started running away from the house, and fifteen or so minutes later, Rick moved them away from the main road as well, and they dived in the woods.

She didn't know how long they ran in the woods before all of them stopped, leaning against the different trees, catching their breaths. Mika was still beside her at her tree, and Rick holding his hand against the other's tree's trunk, looked at them, and asked, "Ya okay?"

Mika nodded meekly, Amanda just gave a half nod, and turned to the little girl, "Mika—there has to be a protein bar inside. Take it out. Half of it is yours, the other's for Rick," she instructed.

She needed to keep her mind on something—rations were good. They needed to eat. She'd thrown a bit when they'd cleared out the house. She hadn't eaten anything since the day before at dinner, her stomach was still quasi empty, but she didn't want to eat anything now.

Rick looked at the protein bar, and took a little bite, almost as if it were a medicine. They ate in silence, no one making any sound, aside Mika's small, subtle sobs. Then Rick turned to her, "Funeral home—" he questioned, "Can you find it through the woods?"

She shrugged in a way that would mean both. Honestly, she'd never been a good tracker in the woods, a city cop and all, but she knew where the house was. From the main road from Grady, that was it. The woods were another matter, but they would see. She gave him a clear set of directions about its whereabouts, like she'd done to Daryl, then concluded, "You take Mika and go. I'm going to the tracks first. I'll come at tomorrow morning."

In silence, he stared at her first—long, playing with the package of the bar in his hand, then threw it off, shaking his head, "No."

"I—"

Shaking his head, he cut her off, "I'm tired—really tired of this, Amanda."

"I'm not asking your permission! I'm not asking you to come with me, either—" she said in return as cold as she could manage, "I'm sorry but I fail to see the problem."

Another long look found her, then he simply said, "You're a city cop. You can't find your way in the woods. You couldn't even find the damn creak when we met—" he remarked just what she had thought, his voice sounding only matter-of-fact, and for a second, she really hated him again—for being always right, "If you go for the trails, you can't find your way back. You'll get lost."

"I will manage."

"Amanda—" he told her again, limping at her closer, but this time there was a lit in his tone, "Listen to me, I'm sorry for what happened, I am truly. I wish things would've been different, but we both know it's a naught wish," he said with the same tiredness he always had, and paused before he started again, "I want to find them, too, Amanda. Glenn…Maggie, they're a part of my family. Without Glenn, I couldn't even find Lori and Carl, I told you." He paused again, giving her another look, "How long would it take to get to the funeral home?" and suddenly questioned, his eyes turning to Mika, who just kept herself three steps away from them like Amanda had taught them during their conversation.

A little frown knitted her brows, "Four or so, I guess—" she answered, and darted her eyes at his leg, "With your leg—even more…"

He nodded, craning his neck to check the sun, "It's getting late in the morning, but we can make it there around after noon. Then Daryl can go out and look for others. He's a better tracker than anyone of us. He knows these woods like his own. He—"

Understanding where he was going with it, she cut him off, "No—" she opposed, shaking her head, "There won't be enough sunlight left by the time he comes back and starts checking the trails. They wouldn't make that long, Rick." She shook her head, "I want to find Beth, too. I really do, but Beth got Daryl now. Others don't. Joan…Noah… They're not prepared for it. Maggie and Glenn might survive, but others won't hold long without our help. You know it."

No. Time was essence, she couldn't risk it. He nodded then, "Okay."

She nodded too, swallowing—somehow…surprised that he'd finally accepted.

Well, she wasn't asking his permission—he wasn't her CO, as he'd told himself before, but he…he always had found a way to stop her before. He'd told her before if she'd wanted to go, she would have, that he wasn't going to stop her, but somehow always managed to do it, managed to stop her. She guessed that was it now then. She felt—she truly didn't know.

She was still mad at him, still wanted to smash his head at some wall for what had happened—but—but—breaking up their ways—perhaps never see each other again—staying alone—and Mika…? What they were going to do with Mika? The little girl who had no one left in this fucking, cruel, shitty world filled with dead and misery.

Her eyes skipped at the little girl beside her, and then Rick took her arm, "C'mon—let's go—"

And Amanda stared at him. He made a gesture with his head at her, "We shouldn't waste the sunlight," he said, sounding almost…agitated, "I still want to go to the funeral home before the dark."

"What?"

"We're checking for others first, then we'll go to the funeral home," he stated.

"Rick—"

His voice raised again a hitch, "Amanda, enough!" He took a step closer to her, but released her arm, "What do you want?" he asked, leaning over her, "Do you want us to look for others or do you want to come with me to the funeral home?"

"But—"

He shook his head, "No buts. Either you come with me or I go with you, but we're not splitting up."

"Rick—it's—I can't. Carl—Judith…" She couldn't. If something…something happened to his kids while Amanda made him look for others…or worse something happened to him and the kids lost their father, his baby girl lost her father… No, a lot of children had become orphans since yesterday. She could've never lived with herself if something like that happened—and—and Rick…She paused for a second, frowning… And Rick—the bastard!

He knew it! Of course, he did! He could see right through her. Why your hair is still loose, Amanda? The fucking bastard! The fucking manipulative cold-hearted sonofabitch!

She glared at him, leaning closer, "Are—a-are you trying to play at my damn conscience, Grimes?" she spat, words sputtering, "You know I can't risk it like this—" Her voice faltered, losing her hiss, and she confessed, "I—I can't risk you and your kids like that—"

God, how easily she'd been played!

But in return, he just gave her a look, and bowing his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, "Amanda, I just walked over in front of a gun for you—" he told her simply, "I can't risk you, either."

Wrong! Everything was so wrong! They—she let out a breath… "Why?" and the question came out of her even though she knew she shouldn't, "Why did you do it?"

"I don't know—" he answered, lifting his head, and Amanda knew he wasn't lying, too, "I just acted."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she decided to inform him— "I'm still really angry at you for what happened today, Rick."

He nodded in simple acceptance, "I know."

"I reached to her—" she insisted, but her eyes flickering toward Mika, she stopped, shaking her head, "I did. We should've handled this better."

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't get shot again—" he told her back with a sigh, "We're gonna talk about it later. Now—what do we do?" He fixed at her a look, "What do you want?"

"Fine. Lead the way!" she told him with a glare, "You already know it anyway."

# # #

With all of her sharp quills, claws, and bites, Amanda Shepherd, as Rick had already noticed, had a very, very soft heart beneath her hard shell, especially for kids, a fact that had amazed Rick the first time he'd seen it.

He'd gambled on her conscience not letting her keep him away from Carl and Judith, and even though she'd been enough smart to see through his act, at the end her decision was just what he'd been expecting.

He—he just couldn't have let her go out in the woods and get herself killed.

But he also had to find his children. He trusted Daryl, but that was a lot only for a man, too, two teenagers, and a baby. Rick had to be there, with them, he belonged with his children. He had already failed a way too much, he didn't want to tempt the fate again, especially not when those sonofabitches might come to their safe house. No. He wasn't taking any risk anymore.

He remembered the little girl holding the gun at her head, pulling the trigger. He—felt…honestly, he didn't even know what he was feeling anymore. He hadn't lied. He really wished things would've been different, but—he'd so many things he wished would've been different.

Amanda had been right on that. He hadn't wanted to lose the prison, and here they were again… But the girl had been too much of a risk, a ticking time bomb, and Rick was going to leave her behind, he'd had to—a part of him even felt relieved knowing that she—she had gone without pain—without misery, and he knew it was sick and cruel, he knew he was sick and cruel—he just—

He didn't know. His children. He had to find his children, everything else came after that—but apparently, he also needed to keep Amanda beside him in the meanwhile. Then they would find Maggie and Glenn, too, the rest of his family and others if they could. That was the only things he knew, and he was going to have to make with them for the time being.

The rest—he just didn't know. There were no right choices in their lives anymore. They only got priorities.

Everything happened so crazily, so fast now. He could still remember Lizzie raising the gun and the way he'd stepped in front of Amanda. He'd just acted. He hadn't lied to her. What he'd done—it hadn't been a carefully thought decision—he'd just reacted—almost a reflex to stop her get shot again.

Things between them were getting even… more complicated, and he didn't know what to think—aside the reality of his action—stepping in front of a loaded gun…to protect her.

His eyes skipped at her as she walked slowly, lowering her usual strong pace to his limping one—holding Mika's hand as the girl walked between them now, none of them still making any noise. Mika had stopped her sobbing too, but Rick could still see fresh tears over her cheeks.

And his eyes moved to her loose hair, for a split of second—still brushing over her shoulders, and he almost sighed out, her image of pulling it free in his mind as Rick had told them they all could change.

He guessed they needed to sit down and have another talk—a real one, not a fight, not yelling at each other's face with swear words and accusations, but even the thought of it was making his insides twist, his stomach coil. All in honesty, he just wanted to get to that safe house with Amanda, see his children again, and keep all of them safe and alive. He—he just couldn't do anything else.

Her directions for the safe house had come from the main road that led away from the prison, so Rick understood finding it navigating in the woods was going to take a lot of more time, as he'd correctly assumed. If he'd let Amanda go, she would've never found her way back to the house in time. The main road was too dangerous for a lone survivor, either with the dead or with the living, so he told himself again he'd done the best thing forcing her hand the way he had.

He wasn't sure what they were going to do when they arrived at the safe house, but if they would really start a searching party, if they could really wait for a little while there, but he needed to get the air of the scene before he made a decision first.

He really wanted to find whoever he could manage, get his people back together. He knew Maggie and Glenn were out there somewhere—and if they could somehow manage to find her friends from Grady before it was too late—Rick really would feel much better.

His eyes skipped over her again, as she walked quietly, holding Mika's hand. The girl was getting even a worse shape. He craned his neck up to check the sun—it must've been two hours now they'd been walking. It was getting hotter, and from the angle of the sun, Rick knew they were closing to the noon.

He—he missed his watch—and he'd also lost Carol's too—left in the prison, with all their belongings—a few remaining to left them. He then realized Carl had lost their one—one family photo too, from back in the days—them together, now together forever lost. Judith—Judith was never going to have a chance to see her mother, know at least how she looked like.

The thought found him again before he knew it—turning over his mind—

I'm sorry—

But to whom he was saying it, Rick didn't know any longer.

# # #

The sun was hot, almost scalding, as the fourteen years old boy stayed at the porch of the funeral home, waiting—waiting them to come.

He knew his father was going to come. He always came back. He'd come back, found them again before. He could do it again. The boy—he was still mad at his dad, for losing their homes, again, for not fighting—for not keeping it safe, for making them to grow crops, feed the pigs instead, but—but he wanted him back.

If he were dead—if he were dead—he couldn't tell his dad any of it, so…he needed to come back.

"They'll come—" Beth told him beside him at the porch, holding his baby sister in her arms, looking ahead the woods, "They'll come back."

The boy wished it were true, not just words to placate—the death—the death became so much of an ordinary part of their lives now…Yet, he still wanted him back.

Beth gave him a look then, and muttered, "We just have to keep a little bit of faith."

# # #

The eighteen years old girl turned and walked back in the funeral home from porch. She walked downstairs to find their protector, still holding the baby girl in her arms.

He was inside the basement where a dead person was laying at the slab, waiting to be buried, now perhaps forever, the air inside the room stall and sterile with the smell of formaldehyde. Daryl was there looking for supplies. He'd been checking the house since last night, and the eighteen years old girl turned her blue eyes to the dead body, and sighed, her father in her mind— "Do—do you think we should bury him?" she asked.

Their protector lifting his head gave her a look from an open cupboard, "What?" He rolled the question over his tongue with his heavy accent.

The girl pointed with her head, "The dead—he's ready for ceremony," she explained, "Do you think we should bury him?" she asked again.

The man gave her another look, "Why?"

She shrugged, "Well, I don't know—it's appropriate, I guess—" She walked closer to the metal slab, "Someone—someone took all the trouble to prepare it… Someone cared. I guess we should finish it." She stopped, "I—I wish we could bury my dad, as well."

Their protector looked at her in silence again, then nodded, "'Kay. I'll dig a grave later, then we bury him."

The girl perked up her head, turning to him— "Really?" She was—surprised…their protector—well, he was a great man, she knew, but he was hardly sentimental.

He gave off a shrug in response, "Don't got no other shit to do, anyway."

The eighteen years old girl nodded at that, hopping the baby girl in her arms, and told herself they were lucky—told herself there was still hope…like her father always said…they just needed to keep faith, "'Kay."

Then they heard it—from outside—a lone shout—a shout of surprise, joy, and relief all at once…and it echoed in the basement…

"DAD!"

The girl smiled ruefully, her tears breaking free, but she couldn't be sure of sadness or happiness…but it didn't matter.

They were back. And soon they would find each other again. They—they just needed to keep a little bit of faith.