AN: Here we go, just another small piece more.

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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"Hey Andrea? Are you in here?" Dr. Walker asked, peeking her head in the door. Not knowing how the woman might react, Michonne moved over in the bed and put a little distance between herself and Andrea, whom she'd been holding for most of the morning. Dr. Walker smiled at her and waved a hand in the air. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm not—I don't care. I just want to check on things. How are our patients? Mama and baby doing OK?"

She brought her bag into the room, inviting herself in as everyone did, and walked over to put a hand on Andrea's forehead.

"Better," Andrea admitted. "But not—great."

"Who is doing great around here?" Dr. Walker asked. "Can you roll on your back for me? Can I just—feel around for a bit? You tell me if there's any pain?"

Andrea gave over to the woman's prodding and Michonne watched her. She trusted them, and she knew that the project had to be important, but she had spent half the night awake and handling Andrea's fear that she'd practically evaporate the moment she closed her eyes. There'd almost been a meltdown the one time that Michonne had dared to go to the bathroom alone. It was wearing on her as much as it was Andrea.

Andrea made something of a grunt at some of the doctor's probing and she stopped pressing immediately.

"Hurt?" She asked.

"I have to pee again," Andrea said. Dr. Walker seemed to find that funny.

"Good," she said. "At least I know that there's liquid making its way through your body. I'm keeping you on that IV until I'm sure that things are back to normal. Did you want to go now?"

"Are you done pressing on my bladder?" Andrea asked. "Because if you are? I can wait."

"Cramping?" Dr. Walker asked.

"A little," Andrea said.

"Cramping from baby or the fact you still haven't eaten?" Michonne asked quickly, intersecting the doctor's line of questioning. Andrea looked at her and frowned because she hadn't mentioned the cramping before. She was already fearing a discussion about things when the doctor left.

"I can't tell," Andrea admitted. "I just don't—feel good. And I'm still gagging but now next to nothing is coming up."

"You have to put it in if you want it to come back out," Dr. Walker said. "I heard you sent back your breakfast. Now—you said you weren't going to do that. You said you were going to eat as long as Michonne got to stay here with you and I took her off work duty for a few days to even give you extra time. And you—let me down. You sent back your breakfast."

"It wasn't her fault," Michonne said. Dr. Walker looked at her then. "It wasn't. They didn't send anything she wanted. They didn't send anything she thought she could eat. I got her to eat about six crackers. She drank some juice and a little of the milk. It made her sick. But they sent oatmeal and sausage to eat. It made her gag just coming in the door. I had to eat in the living room with Milton."

Dr. Walker sighed and took Andrea's hand affectionately. Andrea watched her movements, but she allowed her the touch.

"If you could have absolutely anything you wanted," Dr. Walker said, "just to try? What would you have?"

Andrea looked at Michonne like a child asking if she might have permission to speak. She didn't trust them—not at all. She was too afraid. Or maybe she was just too hurt by what had already been done. Michonne nodded her head at her.

"Buttered toast," Andrea said. "Buttered toast and—chicken noodle soup. But not together. And—crackers. Salty crackers with more of the ginger ale I had yesterday."

Dr. Walker laughed to herself and looked at Michonne.

"So the appetite is there?" Dr. Walker asked. Michonne shrugged and looked at Andrea, trying to demonstrate to the doctor that her best bet in everything was winning Andrea back over by addressing her. Dr. Walker seemed to pick up on her meaning because she stroked Andrea's hand that she was still holding. "So you are hungry? You really just didn't want oatmeal and fried sausage."

Andrea winced at the mere mention of the food and Dr. Walker nodded.

"I won't mention it again," she assured her. "And I'll make sure that your order gets put in. Buttered toast, chicken noodle soup, crackers, and ginger ale. All separate for you to arrange as you'd like. And—I'll set it up so that all you have to do? Any time you get even the smallest feeling that you might want something to eat? Is pick up that phone. Tell them it's Mr. Mamet's companion because they won't know you as Andrea. Tell them what you want. They'll bring it to you immediately. OK? But I need you to eat. And I need you to take those vitamins. Even if you throw it up? Some of it's going to stay down and something is better than nothing."

Andrea nodded, relaxing visibly as she sunk into her pillow.

"I don't think Milton cares about this baby," Andrea said. She shook her head. "He doesn't care about me."

"Milton cares very much," Dr. Walker said. "He just has his own way of showing it. Not everything that happens here is pleasant to Milton, either. Or any of us, for that matter. We're all doing what we have to do to save you. To save lives."

"Milton came by this morning," Michonne said. "He didn't ask how she was. He didn't ask if he could get her anything. He just asked her some questions. The same ones that he keeps asking."

"And do you answer them?" Dr. Walker asked.

"I'm tired of answering them," Andrea said. "I don't know what I'm answering them for. If you'd tell me anything, I'd play along. Night and day I'd answer any damn questions you have. I'll let you poke at me and press on me—I'll try to eat everything that you want me to eat. But I need to know something."

Dr. Walker sat there a moment and gnawed at her lip while she stared at the wall. Michonne noticed that Andrea, now, was stroking the woman's hand as it rested in her own. She was the one offering the comfort—or trying to convince her to say what she was struggling with keeping secret.

"I can't tell you everything because I don't know everything. He knows a lot more than I do—things he hasn't confided in me yet. He needs you to answer the questions because he has to record the differences in your responses," Dr. Walker said. "I know that much. I don't know everything. What I do know? And what you both need to know? Is that you answer him. Honestly. You answer me. Honestly. No matter what you tell us? You won't get hurt because of it."

She pulled her hand free and stood up. She wiped her hands on her pants, scrubbing them almost, and then she paced a few steps before she came back to the bed. She didn't sit down. Instead she stood there, somewhat looming over Andrea and Michonne both.

"You answer us both honestly," Dr. Walker continued. "If you tell me that you were thinking about killing yourself? That you stood in the kitchen with a knife to your wrist and the only thing that—stopped you from pulling it across? Was that you thought you felt your baby kick or that you—thought you heard something? I won't hold it against you. And it will not come back to get you. I will help you. However I can. Whatever you tell Milton? It won't hurt you or anyone else. Nothing either of us do is intentionally to hurt you. But...and if you repeat this, I will swear that you didn't hear it from me and you're just as crazy as some of them think you are...do not answer any of those questions honestly when someone else asks them. No one. Just me or Milton. I don't care if we're with them. I don't care if we tell you to be honest. You do not answer them honestly. You answer them nicely. You answer them positively. You have never been anything but a ray of sunshine and you've never thought anything but happy thoughts since you got here. Understand? Both of you?"

Michonne swallowed. She could hear the urgency in the woman's voice and she could see that she was unsettled by her own thoughts. She nodded and when she'd swallowed enough to find her voice, she spoke.

"We understand," was all she had to offer. The doctor's demeanor changed again.

"Good," she said with a sigh. "Cramps you said you had, but I want to know how you feel after you eat. You'll call the office. Just pick up the phone and ask to be transferred to medical. Tell me or my secretary, Carol. She'll get the message to me if I'm not there."

Michonne didn't say anything, but she wondered if the secretary could be Carol—their friend Carol. If Andrea wondered it, too, she didn't let on.

"OK," Andrea offered quietly.

"Bleeding or spotting of any kind?" Dr. Walker asked.

"No," Andrea said.

"Any other pain?" Dr. Walker asked.

"No," Andrea said. "My head...but...that's probably from the not eating. And it's fine, really."

"Any other thoughts? Like—you had in the bathroom? Before you decided to put all this into motion?" Dr. Walker asked. "You can be honest with me. You need to be honest with me. And Milton," she added.

"No," Andrea said. "Not if Michonne really gets to stay."

"She really has to go back to work eventually," Dr. Walker said. "But she's not abandoning you. She's not leaving you. And she'll be back. She's just going to work. That part's over. I talked to Mr. Mamet and that's over. She's staying with you."

"I'm not going to do anything," Andrea said. "I'm not going to kill myself and I'm not going to hurt anyone. Especially not the baby. Not on purpose. I want him to be OK."

"Good," Dr. Walker said. "I'm going to order your food. And I meant what I said. You can call them any time you think you might want something. I don't care what you're eating right now as long as you're eating. Can you get to the bathroom OK?"

"I have been all morning," Andrea said.

"She's weak," Michonne said, forcing her voice to come out a little more upbeat than she felt it would naturally sound. She wanted to be positive for Andrea's benefit. "But it's hard to keep Andrea down."

Dr. Walker laughed.

"I bet it is. Can I steal Michonne? For just a moment?" Dr. Walker responded. Andrea looked between them and then sat up. She picked up the portable apparatus that they were using to hold the IV bag and stood. Dr. Walker reached a hand out to steady her, but Andrea pushed it away.

"I'm fine," she said. "I'll just go—pee and have a talk with my stomach. I'll be back."

As soon as Andrea closed the bedroom door behind her, Dr. Walker looked at Michonne.

"She's OK?" Dr. Walker asked.

"As fine as she can be," Michonne said. "She'll be fine. I know Andrea."

"I can see you do," Dr. Walker said. "I see how you're looking at me, too. I'm not here to hurt her. I'm here to take care of her. And when you're pregnant? And you need me? I'll be here to take care of you too."

"I won't be pregnant until she's had the baby," Michonne said. "I made that decision. Milton's pushing her to have another like she could get pregnant twice at the same time. And that's fine. She's made her peace with the fact that he's determined to have her pregnant twice. But—I thought I could have a baby in the interval. She'll have to rest. She'll need to heal and I can hold off whoever's worried about it by having a baby then. But—I won't get pregnant while she's pregnant."

Dr. Walker nodded.

"Too many hormones?" She asked, a little teasing in her voice.

"I need to be able to take care of her," Michonne said. "That's all."

"Does Andrea need that much taking care of?" Dr. Walker asked.

"You tell me," Michonne responded. "How much do you intend to torture her? How much does he intend to torture her?"

"I've read her files and I've seen her post-taming," Dr. Walker said. "Andrea's seen torture. This is hardly torture."

Michonne felt, for a moment, like she was playing poker. She wasn't showing all her cards, but neither was the doctor. Michonne licked her lips.

"Psychological torture is torture," Michonne said. "It doesn't leave marks on the body, but some could argue that the damage runs deeper."

Dr. Walker sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

"I know," she admitted. "And I'm sorry for that. But—it's Andrea's role here. And the solitude? It won't be the only thing that she has to go through. I'm sorry. I can't tell you that it's all over. I can tell you that—you can take care of her by reminding her that it's all temporary. That it will all end. And that—eventually? It's all going to work out in her favor."

"Are you going to torture me? Too?" Michonne asked.

Dr. Walker shook her head.

"Not in the same way," Dr. Walker said. "But you love her. And I can see that. So—some of it might hurt you just because it hurts her." She shrugged. "Or maybe she isn't bothered by it anymore. We don't know. Maybe nothing—bothers her anymore now that you're with her. Maybe knowing it's temporary will get her through whatever might come."

"Can you at least tell me why?" Michonne asked. "Why Andrea? Why any of this?"

"Everything here is set up for a reason," Dr. Walker said. "Every single one of you has a role here. Some share their role with others, and some don't, but everyone has a role. Even those that are coming. Wave Thirty Three wasn't thrown together in a day. It was set up, carefully, for a reason. It's set up to get you all freedom. Real freedom. With real families and real—chances to love and to live as people. Real lives."

"If we've all got roles, then why Andrea? Why put her in this role?" Michonne asked.

"Because she's the second Wild A," Dr. Walker said. She shrugged. "She's Wild A. And I helped shuffle her file to the top of the pile."

"Why?" Michonne asked. "Why would you set her up for something like this?"

"Because," Dr. Walker said. "Someone had to be her. They had to meet a certain criteria. And Andrea fit the criteria. And—out of all of those who fit the criteria? All of them that—I'd met before? Andrea was the strongest. There were plenty of people that I might have picked, but they didn't meet the criteria. Three files went to Milton—for him to pick based on resemblance to what he knows about the original Wild A and on his own personal tastes because he would have to procreate with her. And out of them, he picked Andrea. But she had to be in the pile because, out of the ones that might have been in the pile? She has the most spirit. And I was sure that she'd make it through whatever she had to go through. I was sure she had enough of a reason to live to get through whatever it might be. I didn't know what the reason was, but I was sure she had it. She had to. And I was right. And—now I know what her reason is. Or—should I say who? Your role? Is to keep being that who and to keep reminding her of how much she's going to gain out of this. Because—no matter what they do or what they tell her? You'll keep each other, and you'll keep your children. I promise you that."