AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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Milton's entrance into the house was evidence that either he didn't know about the day's events or he wasn't being overly thoughtful about how they might have affected Andrea and Michonne. The latter proved to be the case.

He came into the front odor quickly and with enough force—reminiscent of the earlier entrance of the guards—that both Andrea and Michonne jumped with the subconscious expectation of another attack.

Milton offered no apology for his entrance and he offered no official greeting. He locked the door behind him, came straight to the chair that he seemed to have claimed as his own, sat down, and rifled through the contents of the bag that he'd carried over his shoulder.

"You're going to have to answer my questions so I can write up this report tonight," he said. "Is the fetus still viable?"

Andrea looked at Michonne and Michonne could do little more than return the look.

"Andrea," Milton said. "Is the fetus still viable?"

"What?" Andrea finally asked.

"Alive," Milton said. "Is it still alive? Does it still carry the same chances for survival outside the womb? At an appropriate time, of course."

"I know what viable means," Andrea said. "I just can't believe you're asking me this."

"Alice reported that it was still viable," Milton said. "But she indicated a desire to keep a check on its condition. Has there been any change since this morning?"

"No," Michonne said, interjecting. "The baby is fine. Andrea's going to be fine. I'm fine. The only thing that we want to be assured of right now is that that woman isn't going to be coming back."

"Unfortunately, I can't assure you of that," Milton said. "Margaret Greene is a government employee. She's been assigned a job to do and that job is to assess the mental condition of the inmates here."

"Don't you have the power to get her released from that job?" Michonne asked. "To get someone else assigned?"

"I have the power to petition for reassignment," Milton responded, flipping through the pages that he'd produced from his bag and setting himself up with the legal pad and pen that he kept close by at all times to scratch notes on. "And if I'm going to do that, I'm going to have to file this report. Which means I need you to answer my questions so I can think about how I'm going to present all of this. Six other reports have been filed already and I have to prepare mine."

"Six reports?" Andrea asked. "About what?"

"The two guards and Margaret Greene filed incident reports about the happenings this morning," Milton responded, not looking up from the pages that he was studying. "Alice Walker filed a medical report about the two occurrences and she filed a statement on behalf of the residents of the other house that was visited before Margaret Greene left the premises. Samirah Lafram filed a report about the security breach. The Governor will be expecting my reports at our morning meeting to make decisions on what should be done and how things should be handled. Can you cooperate?"

"The Governor?" Michonne asked. "I thought you were the governor, or whatever, of Woodbury?"

"The one true power," Milton responded nonchalantly. "He governs everything. They call him the Governor and it's a title that he's accepted. The report?"

"He's the government?" Michonne asked. "Like a King or an—Emperor?"

Milton didn't respond to her. He guarded silence long enough to let it be known that he didn't intend to answer any more questions—at least not until his questions were answered. Michonne glanced at Andrea, but Andrea didn't return her glance. She just shifted enough to change her position on the couch a little.

"The baby is fine," Andrea said. "Still viable or whatever you want to call it. He's alive."

"What about your injuries?" Milton asked. He looked at her and then returned his attention to a folder that he'd produced from the same bag. "The pictures that Alice submitted—they don't look accurate to your injuries."

"If those are the pictures that she took this morning," Michonne offered, "then you need to take new ones. Better ones. The bruising wasn't showing then like it's showing now. I think—the Governor needs to see the new bruising. He needs to see what those officers really did. Andrea's back looks horrible."

"I'll call Alice to come and take new pictures," Milton said. "I need to know what happened. In your words."

"Mine or hers?" Michonne asked.

"Either or both," Milton said. "I have to file a report about your experiences. I have to file another about the breach in security to go with my personal complaint."

"Breach in security?" Andrea asked.

Milton sighed.

"Wave Thirty Three is a secure project," Milton said. "But there are a number of levels within Wave Thirty Three. This residence is a secure residence. Nobody enters this residence without clearance from me. The only exception to that rule is Alice Walker—and anyone affiliated with her through the clinic. She has permission to enter the residence to treat you without prior clearance. She has to file a report afterward, but she doesn't have to request permission prior to gaining entrance. Everyone else—everyone—has to obtain permission to enter the residence and to have contact with you. It's important to the project. Margaret Greene didn't have permission to come here today. She had clearance to visit the other residences in Woodbury, but she didn't have permission to come here. She certainly didn't have permission to interact with you or to allow her guards to touch you. It was a breach in security, even if she's claiming it as an accident."

"Is that enough to get her fired?" Michonne asked.

"It's all enough to get the guards fired," Milton said. "Replacement of her guards is likely the best outcome that we can expect from this. I need to know what happened this morning in detail."

"I'll tell you," Michonne offered. Milton picked up his pen and she assumed it was safe for her to start her story. "Andrea got sick and I came in here and made your coffee. I accepted the breakfast delivery and set out breakfast. You came down and we ate together. When I put Andrea's plate out and poured her a glass of juice, I told you that we were out of it. You ordered the three bottles for immediate delivery. They came while you were upstairs getting ready and I accepted the delivery. I put all three bottles in the fridge. After you left, Andrea was feeling better. She ate her breakfast and I told her about the juice. She got up, took her plate into the kitchen, and left the glass in here. She was bringing the whole bottle of juice in here when—when someone knocked on the door. We assumed it was Alice because we had an appointment with her to see the baby in a sonogram. The guards opened the door, declared Andrea had a weapon, and then they attacked both of us. And—that's about it."

"Three of the reports read that you had a weapon," Milton said, directing his question toward Andrea. "Did you have a weapon?"

"I didn't have anything but the juice," Andrea said.

"One guard reports that you attacked him and that he sustained injury during the incident," Milton said. "Did you attack a guard?"

"I fought back," Andrea said.

"Did you injure him?" Milton asked.

"If I did, it was an accident," Andrea said. "I dropped the juice as soon as he yelled at me. The bottle broke on the floor. Glass went everywhere. I was barefoot and he dragged me across the floor and into the kitchen. I cut my foot in the process. He tackled me—to the ground. He slammed my head into the floor and he dropped down on me. He twisted my arms behind my back and put his knee in my back. I fought him. It was instinct."

"That's what he's saying too," Milton said. "Animal instinct."

"Survival instinct," Andrea said.

"And mother's instinct," Michonne said. "Like it or not, Andrea's going to fight for that baby. Any mother would—Wild or non-Wild. Physically attacking her is assaulting the baby indirectly. Protecting herself and her baby is mother's instinct."

Milton wrote something down. Clearly he thought that something he heard was information he could use—it was something he wanted to be sure not to forget.

"You had no other weapon?" Milton asked.

"She didn't have a weapon at all," Michonne said. "Neither of us did. We didn't even need silverware for breakfast this morning. The only piece of silverware in the house before they came to clean was the spoon that they leave for your coffee every night. She had a bottle of juice. Fruit juice. No weapons."

"Prior to his attack on you," Milton said, "did you threaten the officer in any way? Verbally or physically?"

"No," Andrea said. "I thought it was Alice, so I was standing close to the door. I had the bottle in my hand. I backed up for her to open the door and the officer threw the door open and immediately yelled that I was armed."

Milton squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He jotted something else down on his pad and then he gathered everything up and returned it to his bag with a sigh.

"It's obvious what happened," Milton said. "The Governor has to see it that way and dismiss the officers. Margaret Greene can still do her job, but she'll have to do it with officers that we supply. Officers that pass our screening. And she'll have to do it while following the rules in place. I can't have a loose cannon around here. Not with the importance of this project. Not with how delicate it is."

Michonne wasn't sure that she could exactly say that Milton was angry, but he was certainly bothered by everything that was going on. His features showed it clearly, and that wasn't something that could always be said for the man. She decided to take a chance.

"Andrea's been keeping a picture of the sonogram warm over there," Michonne said. "So I know it's close by. Would you—like to see the baby?"

Milton looked at her and then glanced at Andrea, but he ended by shaking his head.

"I'll learn everything I need to know from Alice," he said.

"It's not about learning," Michonne said. "It's about—just seeing the baby. Seeing—his first picture."

Andrea shifted around then and sat up, hissing a little at the ache in her back. The officer who had pinned her had done so with enough force that there was decent bruising on her back and it was, as Michonne knew well, uncomfortable.

"Milton, I want to ask you something now," Andrea said. "Something personal. Not—not related to Wave Thirty Three or what happened today." Milton grunted at her. It was clear that he didn't want to answer whatever Andrea might have to ask him. "Do you care about this baby at all? Beyond the project?" When he didn't respond, Andrea pushed further. "Because—this baby is a baby that you and I made. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but we did it with a little help. Biologically, you're the father. So—I guess—what I want to know is do you want to be the father?" Milton still didn't offer her any kind of response. His silence, maybe, could have been an answer in itself, but Andrea wasn't going to be satisfied until she had a clear answer. She wanted something direct. And they knew, even if they knew little else about Milton Mamet, that he could be direct. "If you don't want to know anything about it, Milton, that's fine. If you don't care about me or the baby beyond this project? That's fine. I just want to know. You're already a father. You were a father the same moment I became a mother again. I just want to know—do you want to actively be a father?"

Milton didn't look at her. He didn't look at Michonne. If he was looking at anything, it was the choice he'd made—no doubt—for the wallpaper behind Michonne's head.

"I don't think I'd be very good at being a traditional father," Milton said. "I'd never be the quintessential father that—I just don't think I could be that. I never planned to be."

"It's a good thing we're not going to be a very traditional family," Michonne offered quietly. "If that's what we become."

"You don't have to be that," Andrea said. "Because—the greatest thing about the baby is that the baby doesn't have any expectations. Not about me or about you or—even about Michonne. The baby accepts—just what he gets. I just want to know—what do you want? Do you want—it all just to be about the project? Or do you want to know more?"

Milton looked at Andrea then.

"I would imagine there's hardly anything recognizable in the sonogram," Milton said.

Andrea smiled at him and reached behind her, plucking the picture from where she'd been holding it on the back of the couch. She patted the cushion next to her and Milton hesitated a moment before he changed his location to sit on the cushion next to Andrea. She offered him the picture and, leaning over him, she pointed things out to him.

"That's the head," she said. "And there's—his little body. And..."

"The sex is identifiable?" Milton asked.

"We made it up," Michonne said. "We'll find out for sure later. Right now—he is as good as she."

"We can call it a she if you want," Andrea offered. Milton didn't respond either way. Michonne was sure that he probably didn't care about the sex of the child. He was still trying to learn to care at all—beyond the scientific aspect of it—about the existence of the child. "Those are the little arms and the little legs."

"I wouldn't think it would be so well-developed," Milton said. "Though I haven't studied fetal development extensively."

"Those are the arms and legs in formation," Michonne offered. "They're forming now, but we know that they're forming. And they'll keep forming as long as—we can keep Margaret Greene from breaking in our house and causing harm."

Milton glanced at Michonne and then returned his focus back to trying to make something out of the fuzzy picture that Andrea was so proudly trying to show him.

"Margaret Greene will, more than likely, be back," Milton said. "But—she won't cause harm. I'll meet with the Governor in the morning and I'll address today's events first thing."