Rick had almost completely fallen back into the illusion of peaceful fatherhood when he heard shouting from one of the adjacent rooms. Rick jumped to his feet, shielding the little girl - she had lost her semi-relaxed, mostly easy demeanor the second the noise sounded, and was now wrapping shaking arms around him from behind - as the marines quickly passed through the infirmary, suited soldiers that hurried past without bothering to address the civilians in the room. Rick tried to catch the attention of some of them, but came up with uniform failure: Merle ran past with a snort, Morgan stared forward with distant determination and without even looking at Rick… all of them were distracted. Within minutes, the room was empty.

Except it wasn't because, all at once, Rick registered a presence just behind him, felt the arms around him detach themselves. A spike of panic seared through him, and his chest felt tight with worry as he spun around, every instinct on alert. In the split second of time it took him to whirl, a dozen scenarios flitted through his head: she was gone, she was taken, she was dead, she…

She wasn't gone. She wasn't taken. She definitely wasn't dead. Instead, she was clinging to Dixon as he hefted her onto his hip, talking softly to her under his breath as he did so. Rick couldn't even move, the flares of distress flickering and dying out, but not quite gone yet, so he stayed still, watching. He couldn't hear more than a low murmur, but it had as calming an effect on him as it had on Judith, who had relaxed enough to lay her head on Dixon's shoulder.

The sight twists something in Rick's chest, and his mind is teleported back a year (except it's not one year, it's fifty-eight years) to one of the father-son days he'd had with Carl before setting out on the Atlanta. They had walked past a series of farms, golden fields marked off by black farm fences, cows visible just inside. Rick had let Carl wear his sheriff's hat - a hat too much like the one Judith wore, in fact, though with a badge displayed proudly at the top - and lifted him into his arms, not wanting to let him go. He'd still been so small, then, so young.

Carl had hugged him tightly, both feeling the coiling dread in their stomachs as the time for Rick's departure grew nearer. They were so close, that Rick had heard Carl whisper, "I don't want you to go." His voice was quiet, but Rick heard it anyway.

He'd turned to Carl, then, and promised him that he'd return, had sworn that he'd be back by Carl's twelfth birthday. But he'd broken that promise, hadn't he? He hadn't been back home. He'd been drifting in space, lost and dreaming - except you don't dream in cryotubes, so he wasn't even able to do that - for fifty-seven years. Fifty-seven years. Fifty-seven...

"Hey." It was Dixon that eventually shook Rick out of the past. The soldier looked worried, his hand waving in front of their faces in an effort to attract attention. "Grimes, ya with me?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah." The motion sent something warm and wet sliding down his cheek, and he realized that his eyes were full of tears. He looked down, blinking them away before looking up again. "Yeah, I'm good." Business. He needed to focus on business. He couldn't dwell on the past; it was gone. He needed to focus on Judith, on LV-426, on the death that might just await him here. "Where'd the others go?"

Dixon still looked concerned, blue eyes flickering over Rick's face with an all-too-knowing gaze. Unlike Shane, however, there was no judgement, no skepticism in Dixon's eyes; Rick didn't feel like he was being appraised and failing to measure up, but that what he was feeling mattered. Still, Rick didn't spend time thinking on that (or on the need he felt to compare the two men, either). Instead, he watched until Dixon gave a short nod.

"Merle found the colonists. All of 'em 're clustered in the processin' center. We're headin' to check it out." Some of Rick's rejection of the idea must have showed on his face, because Dixon immediately raised his free hand in a placating gesture. "Ya don't hafta come. Just thought ya should know."

Rick nodded. "Thanks." He felt like he ought to say more, but he didn't, allowing the room to fill with silence.

Dixon moved to set Judith down, but she wouldn't let him, clenching her thin arms tighter the closer she got to the ground. He huffed out a laugh and straightened again, blowing some of her hair away from where it had gotten stuck to his face. "Whatsa matter, asskicker?" She didn't answer, holding tighter instead.

Rick watched from a distance, noted the attachment between the two, the way Judith refused to let go of the soldier. He could see the way she relaxed more when he was near, the temporary death of the fear perpetually in her eyes. He was speaking before he even processed the words. "We'll come." She looked over, eyes wide and watery, something akin to hope visible there. "If we can, we'll come."

Dixon looked a little surprised, but he nodded. "Ya can. Gregory had insisted, but I figured you wouldn't wanna."

Now, it was Rick's turn to look surprised. "T- thanks."

Dixon shrugged. "'T was Deanna who did it. Thank her." Something about his posture seemed off, suddenly - too stiff, too withdrawn - and Rick eventually placed it; he was uncomfortable about something. Rick's contemplation of the other man ended abruptly as Dixon swiftly looked down at Judith, still perched on his hip. "Hey, c'mon… We're all gonna go on a little trip, a'ight?" She nodded, the motion small. "I'm gonna give ya ta him, now." He moved as he spoke, gently depositing her into Rick's arms. "There ya go." Then, he stepped back, gesturing for Rick to follow him down the hallway.

The other marines were already waiting for them, so Rick hurried to get Judith situated and then secure himself. It was all he could do to stay calm as the car started to move, and that feeling only worsened as he heard Judith begin whispering under her breath, clutching her hat closer to her. Rick unbuckled himself and moved over to stand behind Gregory, watching as they drove into a grey metal building much like the one they'd just left and rolled to a gentle stop within.

Rick counted his lucky stars that no one - not even Gregory - made a motion to force him into the building. Instead, the marines once more disembarked from the car, spilling out onto the concrete floor. He understood a little of the military jargon barked out - enough to get a vague sense of positions… Rosita and Abraham led the way out of the car, but Merle would take point and man the tracker, while Dixon would watch the rear but tuned most of it out as the gibberish it was.

Deanna took over instructions for some of it, voice quiet as she walked the fine line between being too loud (dangerous, given her position outside of the car) and too quiet (dangerous, not communicating well), reminding her marines to, "Take it easy… watch the corners."

Rick looked over across the monitors, gaze lingering on Dixon's as a patch of static passed across the screen. For a second, the image flickered away, disappearing completely into an impermeable black, and Rick felt his heart stop in his chest. If they lost the transmission, the soldiers would be on their own, and Rick and Judith would be alone except for Gregory… so, essentially, they'd be alone, too.

Luckily, the video returned, revealing once more the marines marching down one of the many stairwells. Still, Rick looked over at Gregory, hoping against hope that the man had some sense and would either call off the mission or, at least, warn the men. For once, Gregory showed some sense and picked up the handset. Now, he'd be able to warn them and-

"Your transmission is showing a lot of break-up."

Well, so much for a good, healthy degree of caution; Gregory sounded bored and disinterested. The disparity between Rick's paranoia - what if the video cuts off and the marines need the visual support or the communication? - and Gregory's nonchalance was almost as nerve wracking as the technology issues themselves.

The marines, however, seemed to share a similar disinterest in the issue, as the next voice on the line was Merle's dismissive tone. "Eh, probably interference from the structure. Don't getcha panties in a bunch."

Still, Rick couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong… Some minor mention of something dangerous that he should remember and just… couldn't. He turned, looking over at the flashing dots that represented the missing colonists, eyeing the triangles representing the marines, watching the already-small distance between them continue to shrink. The blueprint did little to clear up what exactly was bothering Rick, but he kept staring at it - interspersed with glances at Judith, who was watching the monitors (not just Dixon's, though primarily his) with a wary fixation that was painful to see - hoping it would eventually become clear.

His focus was broken by Gregory, who was watching Rosita's camera, as he asked, "I can't quite see that… what is it?" Rick could see what he meant: thick veins of something were stretched across the walls and ceiling, too-familiar dripping water sliding down the surface.

Merle was the one who answered, shrugging. "Dunno. I just work here." Still, he slowly panned his camera around the walls, letting them get as good a look as was possible given the grainy camera.

Gregory turned to Rick, eyes panicked. "What is that?" He paused, but not long enough for Rick to formulate an answer before saying, "Rich? What is that?"

Rick shook his head, eyes fixed on the alien - he didn't intend to make the pun, and it wasn't the circumstance for jokes, but no other word truly belonged - substance coating the walls. "I don't know."

Gregory's eyes narrowed further, eyes beadier even than normal. "Damn it, Rick, you said you could handle this. I thought you told us everything. We had a deal." The car fell silent, and Rick didn't quite know what to say. If nothing else, at least Gregory finally got his name right. The older man shook his head and turned back to the computers, frowning as he said, "Go inside."

The marines started moving again, and that nagging sense of you're-missing-something returned. Rick split his attention between the feeds and the blueprints, completely ignoring the chatter around him. The triangles were close to the circles now, and it was only then - with mere moments before the marines reached their rather dangerous destination - that the something made itself known.

"Gregory… What do those pulse rifles fire?" He was dreading the answer, but he couldn't very well not ask. Besides, the worry in his gut wouldn't be satisfied if he didn't.

"Uh… 10mm, explosive tip, caseless, standard, light armor-piercing rounds. Why?" The description of the weapons was slow and halted, and Gregory actually closed his eyes while answering, almost as though reciting something learned by rote.

Rick shook his head in combined disbelief and annoyance as he gestured at the screen. "Look where the team is… they're…" He broke off in an incredulous huff - it could almost be a laugh, but it held no mirth - before continuing. "They're right under the primary heat exchange."

Gregory didn't get it, clueless as he shrugged his shoulders. "So?"

"So?" Rick sighed again, raising his voice and making his tone as earnest as possible to impress his point upon the - frankly, rather clueless - lieutenant. "If our people fire their weapons, they'll rupture the cooling systems."

Shane sucked in a sharp breath, passing his hand vigorously over his hair. "He's right, Gregory."

For his part, the lieutenant still looked befuddled as he repeated himself. "So?"

Rick looked over at Shane as his old partner kept speaking, trying to explain. "This whole place is basically a fusion reactor, man." Some inkling of understanding entered Gregory's eyes, but Shane kept talking. "He's talking about a thermonuclear explosion."