Sequel to Not Too Far Gone Yet - Adaptation of the second part of Season 5 and the first part of Season 6
Enjoy
Deanna Monroe's day started with a headache that split her head in two. She opened her eyes in her gloomy master bedroom, her hand moving over to her temples to massage her soft, wrinkling skin. Her eyes prickled as if small needles were poking them as the veins in her head pounded with each breath she took.
Deanna hadn't slept well last night. Her sleep had been interrupted in an unexpected way, but the fifty-eight-year-old woman knew sleep deprivation wasn't the only reason for her headache. No. Not even close. After what happened last night, Deanna would've been more surprised if the day started with anything less than a nuisance. Her days had been starting with nuisances for a long time, and it was just another reason why she was having this killer headache now.
Moving her head on the pillow, she looked at Reg. Her husband was still sleeping, an ability that sometimes Deanna envied. Careful not to rouse her husband, Deanna silently slipped off the bed and walked to the bathroom. She needed a hot bath to release the tension in her muscles. And think. Get ready. Today was going to be a long day, that much Deanna had gathered as soon as she'd seen the new arrivals at the gate when Spencer had woken them up after midnight. One look, and it'd been enough.
She slowly walked over the cool tiles in the bathroom, feeling the chill under her feet. The cold bit into her skin and dissolved any cobwebs from her mind as she adjusted the water. Hot water. Baths. Adjusting the temperature. Briefly she wondered what the newcomers would think of them, but she forced the thoughts away. It wasn't the time for those questions yet. She slid off her black dressing , took off her chemise, and stepped into the tub.
The Empire style bathroom decorated with modern touches reminded her of home like the house itself always did, but forcefully, Deanna corrected the thought. This was her home. She couldn't tolerate any other way of thinking anymore, especially today. She didn't know exactly how long she stayed in the tub, but when she left it, the water had already started getting cold, and when she walked out of the bathroom, the bed was empty.
Deanna went to her vanity table and started getting ready. She wore her trustworthy classic ankle cut beige pants with a sturdy white shirt. Over the shirt, she put on her faded pink and beige Chanel tweed jacket and slipped on the same brand nude flats. The weather was getting too cold for flats, but Deanna was rather fond of her shoes. They were comfortable, one of the pairs she'd brought from home when the military had directed them to this town instead of Ohio. She was sure her luggage had also a pair of her ankle boots, but she still wanted to save the days as much as she could. Taking her pearl necklace from her vanity's drawer, she fastened it around her neck before she slipped the matching earrings in her earlobes. She put on her watch last and started doing her make-up.
Deanna had stopped wearing make-up daily, but today was a special occasion. She wanted to be on her best game, and those purple bags under her eyes wouldn't do it for her. She quickly applied the concealer under her eyes first, then took the silk-foundation and massaged the creamy product on her face after moisturizing her skin. Next, she dabbed a few touches of peach blush on her cheekbones, faintly applied mascara to frame her eyelashes, and looked into the mirror to check her handiwork.
There. The woman in the reflection didn't seem like someone who had only slept three or so hours last night. She looked collected, level headed, and reassuring, even though her head still throbbed. She needed a coffee. She managed a smile in front of the mirror, remembering the way she used to rehearse her speeches for Congress to get herself prepared, but she forced that thought away as well.
Tossing a last look to the mirror, Deanna left the master bedroom and headed downstairs. The living area was on the first floor, safely tucked away from the long hall and on the opposite side of the kitchen. Beside it, there was a small parlor where sometimes she took her coffee.
The living room, though, was turned into a sort of…reception room. The modern touches of classic style were there like the rest of the house, although the furniture in the spacious room had a more classic effect than other parts of the house, from the long dining table, buffet, and hangings on the walls. The room was a narrow rectangle, with two facades looking east and west. The dining table was placed in front of the southern wall, and in front of it to the left was placed a very comfortable lounging couch in black leather, with a custom made soft red blanket and pillows laid over it. The rugs covering the hardwood floor was custom made, too, handmade in the same color of the blanket. The room's left wall was covered with shelves of books for the full length, facing the couch. On the other side, there was an Empire Style comfortable armchair in clear sight of the camera that stood on the tripod at the back of the leather couch.
It was the place Deanna held her first interviews.
She passed the couch and the armchair quickly and went to the white floor length window at the corner. Pivoting her body, she angled her sight and looked outside.
There they were—the two houses she'd placed their new…guests in last night. If she could keep her torso aligned a bit towards the left side, she could also get a peek at the porch at the house on the left side… And she moved—then her gaze caught it.
And there he was, too.
With that bushy beard and attitude as he stood still holding the porch's white railings, it was impossible for Deanna not to recognize the man. She'd seen him in the middle of night in the dark, but even from the distance between their houses, the sight of him was unmistakable.
Silently, Deanna let out a breath.
Their new sheriff.
Well, Deanna had asked for this.
The man had company, another man she was remembering from last night, but the names were still fuzzy. The man was wearing a leather vest over a dark shirt and supporting an even rougher look than Rick Grimes. They seemed to be having a talk as they surveyed the town.
From where she was, Deanna couldn't see clearly, but she was sure the deputy had a pinch across his brows as he did, like last night when they met. It was a brief moment, the clear but cutting blue eyes gazing at her openly, sternly—eyes glinting with a sharp edge. Deanna had always been a good poker player, had always been a quick study.
After another assessing look, Deanna had smiled at the man, holding out her hand for a handshake, and welcomed them to Alexandria. She got Spencer to quickly arrange the two buildings at the right side of the compound, since was a clear view of those houses from her own living area. She'd left them with a good night, assuring them that they were among friends, and they would talk tomorrow.
Now tomorrow had arrived.
Nineteen people.
What—what the hell Aaron was thinking?
She barely held herself from shaking the recruiter while asking that question… Nineteen people! People looking like that!
Yet, they'd opened their gates.
Reg walked in the room at that moment, holding a cup of her morning coffee. The warm steam was still rising from the porcelain cup, and gladly Deanna took the hot beverage from her husband. They exchanged a quick morning kiss as she did, and Deanna smiled at him. "Morning."
"Morning—" Reg said, moving to the opposite side of the window's frame. "Checking out the newcomers?"
Deanna nodded. "Thought it might be good looking at them from a distance." Reg nodded. Her husband had gotten accustomed to politics quite a lot during their almost thirty yearlong marriage. They'd met when they'd been both at Harvard, Deanna in Law, Reg in Architecture, and had been together since then. She couldn't even imagine a life without him now, and it was basically the reason why she wanted those men on that porch across them. "Spencer called in Aaron and Denise?"
"Just like you instructed last night," Reg replied. "They should be here in a minute."
Deanna nodded, her eyes turning towards the porch again. She needed to have a full brief with Aaron before they started having interviews. They also couldn't do it last night, not after Deanna had seen Eric's state—but it was morning now. As she sipped from her cup, really grateful for the itchy feeling across her throat, a woman came out to the porch too and stood beside the deputy. Deanna recognized her, too, it was the woman who held the baby tucked against her chest last night.
The baby.
These people also had a baby. A little baby girl—over six months… Even thinking of a childbirth in their condition made Deanna feel bad for the woman and the baby, even though she wasn't sure if the woman was the mama. She had soft brown hair, put up in a half ponytail, wearing dark combat pants with a white shirt and leather jacket. She composed herself with an air of training. The sheriff's deputy and the sergeant half dressed in BDUs had that air, too. Last night, Aaron had mentioned they had another police officer and a medic among their numbers—but Deanna wasn't sure. It was one of the reasons why she had to talk to Aaron. She had to know.
They were all on the porch now, talking, but something happened, even Deanna saw it happening from where she stood. They got tense, their postures turning rigid. She couldn't see it clearly, but the woman seemed to be glaring at the deputy, then she swiftly spun on her heel and stalked back into the house. The look the deputy had given her must be a glare, and then the man bowed his head before she disappeared. Before she did, two women–one a grey haired, the other dark curly haired- came outside to join the men. They met at the porch's screen door before the woman quickly walked in as the other women came out. The deputy greeted them with a jerk of his head, a terse gesture, before he started going inside after the woman.
Deanna narrowed her eyes at the scene.
Aaron. She needed to talk with Aaron. Now. But before the recruiter came, she heard the front door open and a few seconds later, Aiden appeared at the threshold of the room. Deanna had stationed him and his team outside the houses to watch out last night. They had taken a risk to let them in and putting them in the houses. Deanna hadn't seen any better option, though. Aaron had brought them in. Deanna had given him a job, and the recruiter did it. She couldn't undo that, not without undoing her own authority before the procedures started, and they made the final decision.
Her firstborn swaggered inside. "This is really not good, Mother—" he said as a way of greeting. "They're too crowded." he started talking like a breeze, taking up from where he'd left last night after Deanna had sent him away for watch. "Nineteen people—" he exclaimed, disbelief dripping from his tone, and despite what she'd done, Deanna would hardly fault her son for that.
"Nineteen people!" he almost shouted, repeating the count as if she could ever forget while he crossed the room. "Mother—you've given him too much of a free hand," he continued berating her. "I told you he was gonna end up with something like this." He shook his head agitatedly. "I told you."
"Aiden—" Deanna cooled her voice into her best politician mode. "You know what we need," she spoke calmly. "Aaron even mentioned they have a sergeant, a police officer, and a medic among them."
It was such a brief talk they had before they were separated. 3 AM by the look of them wasn't a good time to start a conversation. Deanna had only managed to pull that much out of him before Aaron started dragging his husband towards their house.
They were in bad shape. Eric was limping with a knee injury, and the others—God, the others… Deanna had never seen people looking that much like savages. They were dirty, smelly, and covered with things she didn't even want to imagine. She spied blood stains on their clothes, which were caked with dirt. The women's hair was tangled with leaves and hay, Deanna suspected, and men had scruffy, unkempt beards. The deputy's was even spreading under his chin towards his neck.
Deanna debated with herself for a second if she should give them time to make themselves…presentable again. But usually to gauge their guests better, they held the interviews before they cleaned themselves up. Denise had mentioned interviewing them in the ways they came to them would give them a better insight into their mindset, and Deanna had agreed.
No. She wanted to see them in the ways they were.
"We're managing just fine, Mother—" Aiden bit off, and almost startled, Deanna turned to her firstborn. Were they? Deanna wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to tell that to her son.
Aiden was trying, as best he could. He wasn't raised for this. None of them were. But he was in ROTC, and he'd been trying, going out there even though each time he set a foot outside, a part of her wanted to lock him inside the house—never let him out ever again. But that was the desire of a mother for her child, not of a leader, so Deanna kept it where it belonged: deep inside her chest.
"We discussed it before, Aiden," she remarked, putting a distinctive dismissal in her tone that wouldn't go unnoticed by his son. She couldn't take this right now. "You know my views on the subject."
She took another sip from the cup to give herself some time as Aiden opened his mouth for a comeback, but his retort was cut off as the door opened the second time. A few seconds later, Spencer let Aaron and Denise inside. A chorus of good mornings echoed at the same time as they walked in.
Sipping her coffee, Deanne nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Denise. "Have they filled you in?" she questioned the psychologist. Last night, it'd been only her, Aaron, and Spencer before Spencer called his brother and his team to stand guard after she'd dismissed their guests into the houses. Deanna didn't see any reason to wake the psychologist up when she realized there was nothing else to do in the middle of the night beyond placing the arrivals indoors and dealing with it in the morning.
The dirty blonde haired woman nodded, trying to hold back from fidgeting. Deanna tried not to scowl, seeing the woman, telling herself she was only an apprentice in clinical psychology. The truth was the woman would have never ever been in her staff if things were different, and that fact had reminded her again of her own people, her team, the usual ease she had used to have working with them… She stopped her thoughts. These people were what she had, and she had to work with what she had.
Her team—her staff—Deanna had lost them. If Michelle were here, she would've already had a detailed report on her desk on the newcomers, a full analysis, and if Root were here—her personal detail, the head of her security, Deanna wouldn't have needed these people in the first place! But if wishes were horses…As Deanna had known since the military who had cut their way to her hometown, driving her away from the rest of her staff. Denise was what she had now.
"Just the basics—" Denise said. "Aaron said we have newcomers."
Deanna nodded. "Nineteen of them," she elaborated. "Aaron found a sheriff's deputy. They came after midnight. We start interviewing them ASAP, but I want to know what you know first, Aaron." Her eyes turned to the former NGO dealer. "How did you find them? How did you open contact? How did they react?" she rapid fired the questions that had been turning inside her head since she'd gone back to bed last night, sleep eluding her. "And what happened to Eric?"
"Eric—I decided to make first contact alone—so I left Eric in a warehouse five or so miles away. But we ran into problems. A small herd. They attacked us when I was with them, then I saw Eric's flare, realized he was in trouble." He paused. "They—they came with me to find him."
Deanne arched an eyebrow as Aiden huffed. "They came with you?" he repeated. "To rescue someone that they don't even know?"
There was skepticism in her son's voice once more, and Deanna shared it. But if these people were the kind of people who would do that, perhaps they still had a chance… But Aaron cleared his throat. "Well, there was some…urging."
Deanna gave her recruiter a plain look and ordered. "Start from the beginning. How did you find him?"
Then Aaron started talking. He recounted them his tale, the way he'd found them, spied on them and then half got caught, half walked in himself. How the sheriff's deputy, Rick, punched him in the face after a few exchanges, the way they bound him. Deanna was fully scowling after that. The man had been opposed to coming here but got cornered because of his people… Then the dead attacked—and how they went to retrieve Eric—
Aaron took a breath there. "He—Rick said it's not a favor. He said if we're going to live together, he didn't want it starting with something like this. But he said if he deemed it not safe, he wouldn't take the risk—"
Aiden made a noise. "Such heroics."
Aaron turned to him. "There's no heroics anymore, Aiden. He accepts that much." The recruiter paused again before he continued. "But he…tries. Tries to be a good man. I couldn't get Eric out if he didn't try."
Deanna nodded. "The others," she asked. "You said there was a sergeant, another police officer and a medic."
"And a nurse—" Aaron added. "She tended Eric's wound later. She stayed behind when we left to look for Eric, but she's better than the medic." Deanna nodded again. It made sense. Medical personnel were one of the most valuable assets. They wouldn't endanger her with something like that.
The reality that she might have another medical person on her hands, someone for Pete to train…well, that was unexpected. Her lips almost broke out in a smile. She waved a hand at Aaron to continue. "There's a cop from the Atlanta Police Department. She was the one who was holding the baby."
Deanna nodded again. "She's the mother?"
Aaron shook his head. "No. I don't know for sure, but I don't think so." the man paused again. "The baby. She's the deputy's," he stated after a second. "He's got another child, a teenage boy. She isn't the mother—but well—"
Deanna gave a look at the man. "Well?" he prompted.
"They might be in a sort of relationship, but I'm not sure of its true nature," he replied openly. "Though, they're close."
"How close?"
"Like—she-uh—yelled at his face and got away with it. She wanted to come here, but Rick was dragging his feet." Aiden snickered. "They don't mind getting into each other's personal space…you know…closeness." He cleared his throat. "But they're not married. It's not a certain indication but they don't have rings."
Deanna gave another half nod, almost absently this time, but it was Spencer who had said it out loud. "So he's shagging her?"
"Spencer!" Reg raised his voice as Deanna took another sip from her cup. She never liked vulgarity, but she didn't mind right now. "It's not our business how anyone prefers to spend their spare time with."
Putting down her cup on the stand beside the window, Deanna slanted another look at the now quasi deserted porch. There was only the man with the leather vest, as the rest of them had moved back inside. "Actually, it is. We need to know who's with who, and who's at odds with who." Her gaze turned to Denise. "Right, Denise?"
"The small but close-knit groups didn't have intricate relations," the psychologist supplied quickly. "Most of the time knowing the levels of their affiliations means solving their modus operandi."
"Exactly—" Deanna remarked, nodding. "Knowledge is power." She turned to Aaron again. "Are there others who are in…close relations than others?"
"The medic is with someone, I believe. I saw them kissing before we left," Aaron answered directly. "I saw sergeant has a girlfriend. Rosita. I saw them, too."
"All right," Deanna concluded. "Is there anything else I need to know before we start interviewing?" She made another pause. "I think it's time we host our new sheriff."
Aaron gave her an incredulous look. "You're starting interviews right now?" he asked. "They—they couldn't freshen up themselves yet."
"I already gave them a night. We need to start now," she retorted with a finality in her tone as she started moving away from the window. She wanted to see them in their own element. Her eyes flicked over to the recruiter again. "Is there anything else?"
That made Aaron hesitate as the man looked at her. Deanna stopped. "The sergeant—" Aaron started after a few seconds as Deanna looked at him in silence. "He—wants to talk to you. He—he's agreed to come to find Eric because of it…" Aaron cleared his throat again. "A scientist is with him. He—he believes he could cure the virus."
There was a silence in the room after that declaration, each staring at the man, until Deanna broke it. "A cure—a cure to stop it?"
Aaron shrugged. "I—I don't know. He said he wants to talk to you. They—they were trying to go to the Pentagon to find a lab before I found them. Trying to get to D.C."
Aiden shook his head before he exclaimed. "Are they—are they mad?" he cried out. "D.C. is a graveyard!"
"We don't know that for sure—" Aaron started, but Spencer cut him off.
"No, we do," he said. "We came from there."
"That was two years ago."
Deanna cut off the bickering. "It's not the time for this—" she stated firmly. "Aaron, go bring the deputy. I want to talk to him." She waved her hand to her sons. "You—both out. Denise, you're with me."
"Yes, Deanna," the plump blonde woman replied as she went and took her place at the dining table where she usually sat for the interviews.
Deanna watched as her sons left the house with Aaron and Reg went upstairs to his own study. Aiden had brought some books from his last run, and her husband had been trying to sort them out to see if there would be some source of knowledge among them that would help them in their conditions.
Basically, Alexandria was a self-sufficient community with its separate eco-based infrastructure systems, cisterns, and solar panels, but the durability of them had been keeping Deanna awake nights for a long time. Once a solar panel had gotten broken, and they couldn't get it back online no matter how long they tried. Their pantry was full and well-stocked by the military, but the same question still plagued Deanna…how long? She'd been sitting with Reg at nights, planning, drawing, thinking, but each time Deanna came to the same conclusion.
She couldn't do this alone. She needed someone, someone to delegate some of her…concerns relating to the security at least, so she could start planning on building their future. A leader couldn't fight on all fronts all by herself.
Their town needed a sheriff. Deanna didn't have time to police their people. She should govern. She had to.
She allowed herself a brief sigh before muttering to Denise, "I'm going upstairs to my study. Let me know when he's come."
Upstairs, instead of her study, she headed to the master bedroom and checked her appearance. The woman who looked at her back seemed old, too old. Her skin was wrinkled, spotted with dots that had come with age. The crow's feet around her eyes were etched on her skin permanently. Even with the concealer and foundation, her skin looked tired, and the bags under her eyes visible. They were the traces of times no make-up trick would erase, but Deanna still tried. Deanna couldn't let her emotions faze her. She walked to her vanity table purposely and took out concealer and foundation. She applied them again carefully, then rechecked her appearance. She shifted the pearl necklace around her neck, dusted off her tweed jacket, and gave herself a little smile in the mirror. She looked collected, levelled, reassuring—
She heard the door opening downstairs. Footsteps came up before she heard Denise's voice, "Deanna, he's come."
Deanna gave a nod at her reflection. "Okay. Let's do it."
She walked out and started heading down the steps, Denise at her heels. She strode down the hall, her pace still purposeful, and stopped at the threshold of the living room.
He was beside the floor length window she'd been standing at this morning—at the same angle, checking. Even from his profile, under that long, dense, bushy beard, Deanna could see a scowl as he stared ahead towards the houses. His expression was still stern. Deanna realized at that moment he'd figured out that she'd set them up in those houses on purpose.
His eyes darted toward her quickly as he stood still beside the full glass window, one hand propped against his hip. They'd taken their weapons before they were dispatched to the houses last night, but he was still carrying that long machete blade at his right hip. His hands, Deanna realized, his hands were still covered with pale blood stains. Deanna wondered if he even slept a second last night.
Probably not. "Hello, Rick—" Deanna greeted him, pulling her lips into a smile as she walked inside the room. "I hope you found the accommodations to your liking."
He gave a scoff as his head twisted toward her for a second before he turned again to the window. Deanna stopped beside the camera as Denise took her post behind the dining table. "This is Denise. She's our psychologist." She made the introduction. Another look wad slanted at Denise as she sat down. "She supervises the interviews."
The deputy gave an indifferent nod, another terse, curt gesture. "Yeah, Aaron mentioned."
"Do you mind if I film it?" That made him face her fully, finally. "For transparency, we also record the interviews—" she explained. It wasn't only for transparency, as Deanna also preferred to watch them again as a less involved observer afterward, trying to assess the interviews after a break.
She half expected the savage man to oppose it. He must have known what she was really aiming for, but he only waved an idle hand as his eyes returned to the outside. "Go ahead."
Deanna held back the urge to go stand beside him and look at what was there—if something was there beyond the houses—to get him this—interested…something…or someone?
Firmly staying where she was, she turned on the camera. She strode around behind the couch, making it a bigger sweep on purpose and managed a peek outside. Some of his people were out on the porch. Deanna saw his teenage boy together with a teenage girl with shoulder length blonde hair. The grey-haired woman was with a little girl and the officer, again with the baby girl. They were all out on the porch, looking out at the town as the deputy looked at them down from her window.
Deanna settled herself on the couch. She pivoted to the man and gave him another small smile, collected, level headed, and reassuring. It was a smile she'd worked on in front of a mirror a million times before she asked, "Shall we begin?"
Giving the outside a last look, Rick Grimes turned aside and started walking to the armchair in front of the couch.
# # #
As the sun started rising, Rick watched the town in the better light. He was standing on one of the porches of the houses that they'd settled them into last night, his hands holding the railings tightly to keep himself from drumming his fingers against his machete. Like he'd expected, his gun was taken upon entrance.
That much the townspeople at least hadn't forgotten, but the rest… Rick wasn't satisfied. As he kept his body immobile, his eyes skidded to his left and backward and checked the three men who were supposed to keep watch on them. Two of them had already slept on duty, and the other was—Rick didn't want to bet, but the other looked like he couldn't even hold a fight against Carl.
There were two more in front of the houses, but one of them had already slipped away. The last one, a curly dark-haired man around in his early thirties, looked a bit more like he knew what he was doing ,but nevertheless, it didn't change his conclusion.
These people had welcomed them with open arms in the middle of the night, nineteen of them, then settled them in houses, leaving poor security to protect themselves. If Rick and the rest of his family weren't the people who they were, these people would've been in deep shit.
The people they were—
The thought brought Carl's earlier question before they had gone to Terminus; What would we tell them, dad? What happened to us—what we did to survive—
Rick found out his answer hadn't changed yet. He would tell them who they were—they were people who lived with a simple code: they kill the dead and don't hurt the living unless they try to hurt them or the others.
Amanda's code was still the best answer, but now would it be enough?
He watched the people who were spying on them. Their lack of protection would cause them to pay a high price again. They would not—they were not going to pay it again because of the others' carelessness or stupidity. Maggie's loss still cut too deeply, etched too far into his bones to make him ever forget that.
His attention turning back to the town, Rick surveyed it more closely. Even in the pitch dark, Rick had noticed it, but now in this eerie time before dawn, it seemed even more palpable. The quiet. The stillness. The town was too quiet—no sound at all. It irked him a great deal, and Rick scowled.
A life of sustainability.
Alexandria's Dream.
The town—the town really looked like an oasis in a desert.
His eyes moved towards the flower beds in front of the house, bright colorful rows of them in front of the porch. He thought for a second he would make a bouquet for Amanda, before he wondered why these people had flowers instead of planting vegetables like they'd done at the prison.
As far as he could see from his vantage point, Rick couldn't see any single plant in the town other than flowers and trees. It was nice—it was beautiful, and it was stupid. Food was essential to their survival, while flowers were a luxury.
His eyes roamed around one more time, moving first to the angle of the solar panels. They were stashed at the back towards the gate, well-hidden from the front, set not to muddle the ambience that the town tried to ooze. His eyes turned to the white picket fences, two-story houses, all a part of the carefully designed amenities…all arranged and designed to create that atmosphere. He could see the highest part of a bell tower on the east side and a big white house across from them to the east behind the sun that Aaron had mentioned was the community center. If he squinted, leaning out over the railings, he could even catch a glimpse of the pond in front of it.
They still hadn't taken the whole welcome tour, but the roads around them were wide and well-kept, having a tartan track for single person use at the side. Rick could see the red tartan circle the town all around. Amanda would love that, he thought as he heard soft footsteps behind him.
A couple of seconds later, Daryl came to his side. He'd taken the watch outside in back, while Rick had taken the front last night, and Glenn and Amanda kept watch inside.
He checked his wrist—if his watch was correct, they'd been here for less than five hours. Aaron had mentioned last night before they separated that their leader would want to start the interviews in the morning. Rick expected a bit more time before it started. Perhaps he would go inside, leave the watch to Abraham, and take Amanda in a secluded corner and have an one eye open sleep for an hour or so at least before it truly started. Rick was sure Amanda hadn't blinked even once during the whole night, too. It didn't seem like a good idea to deal with these people with a sleep deprived mind. But Daryl had come to his side and the men in cover at the front had started moving, too—
"The idiots left—" Daryl roughed out, propping his back at the angle of the beams in the corner beside him, facing him. "'tis ridiculous, man," his hunter friend, his brother, rattled, pissed off, shaking his head.
Rick shared the sentiment. "Yeah—"
Daryl gave a look around, too, surveying things—still shaking his head. "Can't ever imagine myself living in them houses before—" he muttered as Rick looked at the house across from them—another two story—the upper level an attic.
Rick shook his head, his gaze making another sweep of the idyllic town... and before he knew it, the words poured out… "Lori—" he said. "She used to dream about us living in one of them one day."
As soon as the words were uttered, the screen door of the porch opened and revealed Amanda, who stood still at the threshold, hearing his words. Rick wanted to kick something, toss his head back, and scream…
Just the thing, just the thing he needed right now.
Her expression was cool, but the rigid way she squared her shoulders told Rick openly. She had started at least mentioning Lori's name, but she still didn't like hearing it.
I didn't like it—he remembered her confession from the funeral home, which now seemed ages ago. He gave her a look as she still stood at the door, Daryl looking everywhere but at them. The next second, she schooled her features into indifference and stepped out, coming to their side.
She'd brushed off something she didn't like once again. Rick didn't know. He didn't know even why he opened his damn mouth and made that comment! It—it just had come out, perhaps this whole ambience reminded him his old life.
His old life… His eyes skipped to her again, and for a second, the urge to take her in his arms rose strongly. This was the life he had, the life he wanted. He wanted her. He needed her. He needed her like he hadn't needed anyone before, had never wanted before—
Amanda stopped beside him and supported her hip against the railings. "All is good?" Rick asked in a rough voice. For a moment, it was hard to speak.
She nodded. "Yeah, they're still sleeping. Came to check on you—" she said, as if there was still a need to explain herself for seeking him out. "When do you think they will start those interviews?" she asked quickly in the brief silence following her statement.
Rick shook his head. "I don't know—" he answered. "Aaron said in the morning. The lookouts just left—" He tilted his head to motion around. "I guess he will come soon."
Looking around, too, Amanda narrowed her eyes, a pinch settling over her brows. "It's too early. We need time. Settle down. Clean ourselves up a bit…" she remarked as her eyes turned to him—towards his beard. "We look like cutthroats."
Rick let out a low scoff. There they were. "I don't care. I'm not going to be caught up in shower or in my boxers."
Her expression soured even further. "Why, Rick, you still look like shit!"
"Let's hope Deanna ain't in the league of Dawn then—" he muttered.
Rick couldn't care less how he looked like right now. He wasn't here to pitch himself as a presentable, profitable…acquisition. He didn't need to play by their rules. These people needed them, too. They weren't only here for gratitude. They had their own angles, all people did now.
Though, he wasn't sure if theirs were going to align with his people. Only time would tell now.
But Amanda was still looking at him with that sour, pissed look. "Why don't you go and take a shower?" he offered the olive breach, taking a step closer to her. It was the first thing she'd done when they'd found the church. Cleaned herself, washed her face, trimmed her hair—
Rick wandered his eyes over her face and his gaze fell on the half-up ponytail. She shook her head. "No, it's fine—" she bristled before she turned and started walking inside.
Rick watched her back, a scowl knitting his brows as well, as Carol and Joan came out of the house. They exchanged brief hellos at the screen door. Amanda passed them by quickly and disappeared inside. Both women darted a look at him, sensing Amanda's mood. Rick ignored them, instead moving from his post and following Amanda inside.
The living area was like a big parlor, and the bedrooms were upstairs. Both houses had three bedrooms upstairs, a small parlor-den on the first floor, a small attic at the top, and a garage in the back. Perhaps the other houses were bigger, but they'd been settled in these.
Arranging the accommodations was going to be…interesting, but that was a problem for later. Rick had made everyone sit tight in the living room of the first house, leaving the second one empty as they stood guard. He wasn't going to let anyone go astray, let their guards down with the…offerings before he made sure they were completely safe here. Both outside and inside.
How quickly they'd opened their gates and settled them in still made his stomach coil, but that was having to wait, too. Right now, he just—he just wanted to do one thing.
Take Amanda in his arms, go into that small parlor- den thing, and catch a few minutes of peace, her in his arms… He—he needed it. He needed it as strongly as he needed to see his children safe, needed to hear them breathing in sleep.
Rick crossed the living room, making sure to toss a glance at Judith and Carl where they slept in the corner beside Beth and Mika. The kitchen was tucked at the back of the living-dining area, separated by a full wall and door, and he found her inside. The kitchen was the most modern part of the house, which had a strange mix of classic and modern embroidered together. Stainless steel, chromicized and sleek, made the kitchen lean more to trendy. It had a cold, distinctive air, too, not warm as a kitchen was supposed to be. But perhaps it was because no one was living in the house prior to their arrival. With no one cooking, the house lacked the warmth of…a home.
His mother always used to tell him a nice smelling kitchen was what made a house a home, Rick recalled as he surveyed the chilly place.
At the counter, Amanda was checking the sink. She moved the faucet with the side of her forefinger and shook her head as water ran strong and fast. She passed her finger under the waterfall, pivoting her body to look at him. "They got hot water, too, you know?" she asked in a whisper. "Saw it this morning."
Rick nodded. "Yeah, solar panels."
Amanda turned off the tap. "Yeah—" she muttered, shrugging.
Rick walked to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. For a moment, his dream flashed in his mind, but the reality felt like a cold, distant echo of that dream. Rick closed his eyes and tried to smell pancakes.
There was only cold now, the chill of a late October morning.
Tightening his arms, Rick brought her closer to his chest like they'd been doing for weeks before dawn each night—under a tree—she came to him after midnight, slipped into his arms and then escaped before dawn.
Rick wanted to stop now, at least for a while. The implications of their fight from last night were still in his mind, but Rick was tired. And she was so warm…so alive… her pulse under his lips. He was going to face yet another game, a game he didn't even know the rules to yet. He—he just needed her now. Needed the woman he loved in his arms.
"Let's go to that small den," he whispered to her. His lips trailed softly over her neck, as he felt her pulse beating under his touch as he took off his machete with his right hand. "Sleep a bit. I—I need to take a break before it begins."
She twisted her neck before she roughed out his name. "Rick—"
His lips finding hers, Rick cut her off, leaving the blade on the counter beside the sink as he made her twirl in his embrace fully. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to have her in his arms, wanted to kiss her... Turning around, he started moving them. The den was just across from the kitchen, tucked in the corner under the staircase beside the pantry of the house. Crossing the hall quickly, still kissing her, Rick reached around her to open the small room and made them walk inside.
The room was tiny, spartanly furnished. It only had a couch and a tiny folding table and chairs beside the tall floor-length window that faced the backyard with more colorful flowers. Rick couldn't care less. Catching the nape of her neck to deepen the kiss, he moved them towards the couch blindly and only realized he arrived when the backs of his knees hit the furniture.
He fell backward then, tightening his other arm around her waist to bring her down together with him as his back hit the couch a second later.
He—he just wanted to sleep, rest his eyes for a second, have her in his arms, feel her savory breath, feel her warmth. It was so cold. He was so cold. He needed her warmth. He needed her close—closer. Before he knew it, he twisted them around, and climbed on her…
"Rick—" she whispered, moving her head away from his lips as his left hand went to her belt, and he started unbuckling her pants.
"Rick—" Her hands caught his hand at her belt and tightened her fingers.
Rick snapped his head up. "Rick—" she breathed out his name again. "We—Aaron can come in any minute," she muttered in a heated whisper. "Carl is just outside—and the others. Judith."
Rick gazed at her. It'd been weeks. More than three weeks since their last time. Each time he'd tried, Amanda had stopped him. The questions were turning in his mind, he knew she needed time. He knew they both needed time but—but he'd missed her. Missed her warmth, missed being with her, missing being inside her…
The rejection hurt, too, even though he told himself it shouldn't. It was hard. For both of them. She was still having muscle pain even though she acted like she didn't. She'd gradually stopped crying in his arms, but her muscles were still feeling the strain. They suffered a lot, lost their home, lost their people. Maggie…
"It's 'kay," he told her, rolling himself off her, but tugging her to his chest. She came willingly like she always did, draping herself across his body, her head on his chest. Rick bowed his head and kissed the top of hers. "Let's sleep a bit," he murmured, closing his eyes.
He wanted to rest…just a bit. That was what he'd wanted in the first place. Sex wasn't on his mind. He just wanted to sleep with her a bit. Amanda scooted up closer to him, looping a leg through his, fidgeting on her side to nestle herself in the best comfortable position. Rick smiled faintly, his eyes still closed. Sometimes she reminded him of cats…coming and going as they pleased. His fingers started making lazy patterns across her back.
Whatever happened, would happen, he told himself. Amanda was right on that. He could loosen up a bit—
A low tap at the door interrupted the thought. Alert, his head craned up as Amanda twisted hers backward, his hand already at his right hip, looking for the gun that wasn't there. Rick only had his hunting knife and pocketknife now, with the machete left in the kitchen. For some unfathomable reason, they'd let them carry their blades. Amanda's hand was at her holster's normal spot, too, checking her own.
"Hey, Rick—" they heard Daryl's rough drawl before the next chapter came from the other side. "Aaron came. He says this Deanna woman wants to see ya."
Rick stilled. Now?
"It isn't even eight yet!" Amanda cried out, half drawing up from his embrace. "Couldn't it wait?"
"I dunno—" Rick imagined Daryl's shrug. "Aaron said now."
Rick snickered. "Yeah." He started standing up, moving Amanda upward in the meanwhile. "Of course."
Amanda turned to him. "You don't have to go now," she hissed, standing up. "Tell him to come in a more decent time—after—after we start looking like human beings."
Rick shrugged, standing as well. "Why bother? Let's get it over with."
She shook her head. "She's doing it on purpose," she insisted, blocking his way to the door. "I don't know what game she plays, but she's doing this on purpose."
"I know—" Rick admitted with a shrug. "Let's go find out."
She didn't move, looking unconvinced as she eyed him critically. "You said you wanted to sleep a bit."
Something snapped in him. "Well, Amanda, I wanted something else, too—" He passed by her, moving to the door. "Want doesn't always get."
Briskly, he opened the door and left the room. It took Daryl only a second to understand he wasn't in the mood, so wordlessly, his hunter friend started walking in the hall. Rick grabbed his machete on the way and looped it onto his duty belt as they stepped out onto the porch. Aaron was waiting with Joan. Rick nodded at him. "She wants to see me now?"
"If you don't mind—" Aaron answered.
Rick gave him a terse look. "Well, never make a lady wait—" he roughed out as he stepped down from the porch. Aaron followed him.
The house Aaron led him to was at the other end of town, closer to the pond and the community building. As they walked, Rick slowly saw the hints of the life resurfacing as the town slowly started waking up. A blonde girl in her mid-twenties appeared, suddenly jumping in front of them—one of the most beautiful girls Rick had never seen with his own eyes.
She was wearing yoga pants with sneakers with an oversize loose top that draped down over her left shoulder, leaving it bare. In her ears, there were two enclosed C shaped earrings, and her hair was up in a ponytail secured with a hair band. She was tall and slim with an attitude that looked more like it belonged to more of a cozy weekend than the end of the world.
In a way, she reminded Rick of Amanda, a younger, much carefree version of her as Amanda used to run at the prison in a similar fashion before their morning patrols… The thought irked him, a pang of…failure aching in his chest. Amanda—Amanda should look like this, too! It was his job. "Oh!" the young woman gasped, making little jumps, keeping herself warm to jog around the track of the town. "Mornin', Aaron."
Letting out a small, barely audible sigh, Aaron greeted her. "Hello, Beatrice. Are you alone today?"
She continued her small jumps in front of them. "Yeah, you know, Clarice—" she replied with a scoff, shaking her head exaggeratedly. "Lazyass. I keep telling her she has to work out more, but she never listens to me!" She paused and turned to him abruptly. "Newcomers?"
Aaron nodded. "Yes. I brought them last night."
She gave him a big smile. "How nice! There's so few of us! It gets boring." She laughed and turned to Rick again. "Hello, glad to have you here—" she paused for a second.
"Rick Grimes—" Rick supplied, remembering his manners.
"Nice to meet you, Rick—" she chirped with another smile, jumping back away from them. "See ya around—" she bellowed out before she turned around— "Bye, Aaron. Say hi to Deanna for me!" Then she started running down the track.
Rick turned to Aaron. The recruiter sighed deeply. "She—she's never left the walls," the man explained as they started walking again. "She and her sister were originally from the capital. But her parents used to have a house here. The sisters were here when it started. Their parents didn't make it."
Rick nodded. But the way she behaved; it still didn't make sense. "You said she's never left the walls," he repeated, before asking openly. "You mean you got people here who have never seen how it is outside?"
Aaron cleared his throat lightly. "Um. Some of us doesn't need to—like Beatrice and Clarice—"
Rick narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"They—uh—they, well, Alexandria sort of belongs to them." Rick faltered in his steps. "Her father's construction company—" Aaron went on. "The Reese Construction. They built Alexandria. They presold all the houses before the project finished, but the ownership was still with the company. Technically—uh—she's more like our host. Deanna gives the sisters a bit of slack for that."
Rick shook his head. "It doesn't work like that anymore," he bit off. The girl—the girl was going to end up as walker food if she kept behaving like that. "This isn't the old world anymore. Alexandria—it doesn't belong to them anymore."
Nothing truly belonged to anyone anymore. Rick remembered the katana sword that Carl carried now. Michonne had found it lying around, then Carl had it. But nothing truly belonged to them anymore. It was a world of supply runs now, of finder keepers, of who claimed first—
Rick stopped the line of thought as soon as it appeared in his mind. Aaron's expression tightened, but he gave Rick a nod. "Perhaps—" the man admitted.
Rick nodded. "You said some of us don't need to—" he remarked instead as they started walking again. "The others?"
"Uh—some of us aren't…preferred to unless it's urgent."
Twisting his head, Rick gave the recruiter another look. "Aren't preferred?"
"Deanna doesn't like to take risks, either." Aaron said. "For example, you have a baby girl and a teenage son, that makes you entered on the priority list by default."
"Priority list?" Rick echoed the words through clenched lips.
"It isn't how it sounds like—" Aaron assured him. "Deanna could explain better, but if something happens to you outside the walls, and she's left with a baby and a teenager…" The man's worlds trailed off. "It happened once with a single dad. We got stranded with a five-years old. The Johnsons, an elderly couple, adopted the kid, but it made Deanna scared of another case."
Aaron cleared his throat as Rick thought about the issue. He figured they had a point.
"Deanna probably will ask you to stay inside as much as possible," the recruiter mused out loud. "She needs you inside anyways—" the man stopped as if understanding he'd already...explained too much. "I'm sure you will discuss it all in time," the younger man said, closing the discussion.
Rick let it go. He couldn't afford to think ahead that much. First things first—one step at a time. He wasn't still sure if this was the place that they would settle in…finally. The town looked good—but Terminus had taught him to beware of the ones that looked good.
They stopped in front of another two story house at the end of the left row, the one had a clear view of the pond. Alexandria's ground had a gentle slope. The house was at the top of the hill, so the view was open and wide as Rick suspected. It also looked bigger than the houses they'd settled them in.
Aaron walked him up the driveway that led directly to the garage, lined with flower beds on each side. They made a little turn to the left and moved towards the wide porch, and Aaron buzzed the doorbell.
A curvy youngish blonde woman opened the door a few seconds later. "Hello, Aaron," she greeted them, her eyes moving towards Rick. But she didn't speak to him.
Aaron made the introduction again. "Hello, Denise." He turned to Rick. "This is Denise. She's Deanna's assistant and a psychologist." Rick remembered Aaron's words in the barn. He gave a terse nod as he scowled. He hated this interview idea more every second.
Aaron didn't move as Denise moved away from the door. Instead the recruiter turned to him. "Well, I'll catch up to you later." He turned to go as Rick stepped onto the porch.
"Hello, Sheriff Grimes—" the psychologist said, but Rick cut her off.
"I was a sheriff's deputy," he corrected.
"Sorry—" she smiled weakly. "Sometimes it gets all fuzzy."
"It's okay."
The woman led him inside another dining-living area similar to theirs, but only bigger, more spacious, and decorated with much more…finesse. "Please, have a seat." She pointed at the armchair in front of the bookshelves at the other side of the room in front of a large, comfy couch. "I'll let Deanna know you're here."
With that, the younger woman left him alone in the room. Rick made a tour, checking around. At the long dining table, there were open books, along with drawings, charts, and maps. Over one of the charts, he spied a handwritten map of Alexandria. On a quick look, Rick understood it was plans for expansion. His eyes caught a script in Latin, but its meaning wasn't something he recognized. He picked up a book on construction, and another for medication. Leaving them on the table, Rick went to check the bookshelves.
The shelving was made of a walnut wood spanning from the floor up to the ceiling, running the length of the wall. Rick suspected a person couldn't even read all the books on the shelves even he tried for a lifetime. The books mostly were hardcovers, some of them were even leather bound. The former owner of the house must be a bibliophile by the look of things. Rick wondered if they would work on it. Knowledge was as important as food, walls, and meds now.
Moving away from the shelves, Rick continued his survey. He padded towards the floor length window and checked outside, and somehow he wasn't surprised to see the houses they'd settled in clear sight when he pivoted himself in the right direction. Scowling, he put his hand on the machete again, almost drumming his fingers as he leaned his weight on his one leg, his hips jutted—his eyes narrowing—
On the porch, Amanda, Carl, and Beth had joined Daryl and Joan. Amanda was holding Judith again as his baby girl had woken up, too. The others were slowly coming out as well after waking up. He saw Sasha and Bob, coming up with one of the boys from Terminus.
On the streets, there were more people as the fashionable blonde girl made laps on the track. Across from Deanna's house, Rick saw an elderly couple coming out to their porch, the white-haired man holding a five-year old girl's hand kindly. The scene disturbed him in way more than he could imagine, remembering Aaron's words—
Shaking it off, Rick searched the surrounding area more. The bell tower he'd glimpsed before inside the perimeters was more in clear sight at this angle. It would make a good lookout spot to check around. He made a mental note to look for it as at his back, he felt a gaze. Standing still, Rick moved his eyes from the tower and shot a look at the door and saw Deanna Monroe.
Unlike last night, the old woman looked more in her element. She was clad in a comfortable, but expensive looking day suit, a classic pants and tweed jacket, wearing reasonable flats, and her whole look was complete with pearls. For a second or so, she reminded Rick of his own mother, the way her mother looked while they went to Sunday's brunches with the family. The Grimes had never been rich, and his mother's tweed jacket wasn't brand name as Rick assumed Deanna's was, but the resemblance was still there.
Rick turned his sight outside again. "Hello, Rick—" she called out to him with a gentle, kind voice as Rick watched the outside. "I hope you found the accommodations to your liking."
He gave out a scoff, giving the woman a look. Walking inside, the old woman stopped beside the camera as the psychologist settled in a chair at the table. "This is Denise. She's our psychologist," Deanna made the introduction again. Neither of them interrupted her to say it was unnecessary. "She supervises the interviews."
Rick decided not to be bothered by it. Whatever would happen, would happen. He was here now. They were here now. His family.
His eyes found the walls as he gave her an indifferent nod. "Yeah, Aaron mentioned."
"Do you mind if I film it?" the woman asked.
This time Rick looked at the woman fully. "For transparency," she said, and Rick didn't buy it. "We also record the interviews—" Rick turned to look outside again, and his gaze found his family.
He waved his hand, his eyes on Carl, Amanda, and Judith… "Go ahead."
The woman made a full arc to walk around the couch. Rick caught her gaze flicking towards the window, before she gave him a small smile and asked, "Shall we begin?"
Giving his family one last look, Rick walked to the armchair in front of her and sat down. Yeah, let's begin.