AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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When Andrew had been born, Michonne had been terrified. He had been born out there. In the wild. He'd been born in some of the most dangerous conditions that Michonne could imagine. He'd been born in a place that was unsanitary and he'd been born with the building surrounded by creatures that were hell-bent on tearing them all to shreds.

Maybe Andrew had been born somewhere around the time when Michonne and Andrea had become what the people in charge of them were calling "wild." Michonne didn't really know if there was a moment when wild happened, or if it was simply a state of being. She didn't know if it was a marked and perceptible change, or if the moment the change took place was simply ignored by them because they were wild. It hadn't really been explained to any of them—or maybe they were simply too wild to understand it.

When she did know was that when Andrew was born, one of the greatest challenges for Andrea was to remain as quiet as absolutely possible.

Michonne and given birth twice before, but that was before the world went crazy. That was before the Dead had started to roam around instead of staying still and quiet. Michonne had given birth in a hospital with the support of her family and a kind doctor who and treated her, successful lawyer that she was, as a prized patient. Both her daughters had been born plump and healthy and angry to leave their warm beds and come into to the cold world.

Michonne could still remember the happiness she felt the moment that she held her daughters for the first time. Each one of those days had been the best day of her life. She couldn't possibly choose between them. On the other hand, of course, it was simple to say that the worst day of her life had been the day that she'd lost both of her daughters—within a matter of moments of each other and both in the most brutal way that she could imagine. She could still feel the grip of absolute anguish when she remembered the last time she'd held her daughters, delicately placing their bodies in the grave she'd dug for them to share.

She'd left them as a shell of herself. She'd buried who she used to be with them. She'd become someone else. And, for a while, she'd been someone that she couldn't recognize at all.

Then she'd met Andrea.

In the darkest of places, Andrea had brought some light back into Michonne's life. The world would never be entirely right again—how could it be when Michonne's two little angels were gone? Still, Andrea had made it all seem bearable.

And though the details surrounding his conception had been tragic, Michonne remembered the moment of pure happiness that had flooded her chest when she'd held a healthy Andrew in her arms for the first time and introduced him to his mother on a filthy floor.

Michonne remembered what it was like to bring a child into the world, and she'd worried that Andrea wouldn't be able to deliver Andrew into the world quietly. Too much noise would bring the Dead pushing hard against the walls. It would bring too many of them. They'd be overrun. Too much noise meant that they would die—and Andrew would die too. But Andrea had been able to do what seemed like the impossible. She'd been able to bring their son into the world without hardly making a noise. She'd been able to deliver him calmly and collectedly, knowing that her survival, Michonne's survival, and ultimately the survival of Andrew, depended on keeping herself under control. And then she'd more than happily shared that healthy baby boy with Michonne.

Andrea had been able to keep herself under control and she'd had faith that she and Michonne would survive. She'd had faith that the child they would raise between them would survive. As dangerous as life had been in the wild, it still seemed, somehow, less cruel and more predictable than their imprisonment.

It was easy to believe that whatever god was controlling the universe was benevolent, but it was difficult to believe that their captors were benevolent.

This child would be born in a hospital instead of on a dirty floor, but the experience wasn't at all like the experience that Michonne had when her daughters were born. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Andrea's chains had been removed the only long enough for her to get into the bed. They had removed her clothes entirely. It was easier that way and the gown wouldn't bunch and bind—at least that's what Michonne had told her because she wanted to calm her. She wanted to make it all seem better than it was—more natural. Michonne had also stressed to Andrea the importance of remembering that the chains which held her to the bed were long enough to allow her to hold her baby in her arms, and that would be all that mattered in the end.

Of course, Michonne had no doubt that all of this was for the convenience of those attending Andrea. They cared very little about her. The chains meant they needn't fear her. The lack of clothing meant it was easier to do with her body what they wished. The chains that Michonne wore on her wrists meant that they could subdue her easily if the need arose.

They were little more than animals.

The attending nurse or orderly, whatever he was, had originally attempted to tie Andrea's legs down as well, but Alice had been brought into the room in time to step in and say that such an act was not only unnecessary, but it would also make the delivery process more difficult. Andrea had been allowed to keep her legs free.

Michonne's job was to keep Andrea calm. It was to keep her quiet. It was to make her understand that they weren't going to get any answers no matter how many times Andrea asked for them. Alice either had no answers or was not allowed to share them under penalty of death, because all she offered either of them was encouragement. She acted as though she suddenly became unable to hear anytime that Andrea asked her a question. Milton, for his part, had not even passed through the room. Michonne knew that he had to know that the child was being born, because he had apparently been the one that had made the order to take them to the hospital, but he hadn't come to see the child born.

Michonne couldn't let Andrea focus on that, though. She couldn't let her focus on any of the negative things surrounding her. She couldn't let her focus on her worry and concern. She had to keep her focused only on the job of bringing their daughter into the world to begin her life.

Without a clock in the almost bare hospital room, Michonne had no way of knowing how long they had been there. It was almost the same when Andrew was born. Michonne had known then, though, that they had been there at least through one night because she had seen the sun go down and she had seen it rise again. Here, in the hospital room, there were no windows. She had no way of knowing what time it was. Was it morning? Was it night? She felt like Andrea had been laboring for days, struggling both with the birth and with the worry about the future of the child. Meanwhile, Michonne was busy worrying about Andrea, the baby, and what the future would hold for all of them.

Michonne assumed that Alice, though she didn't say anything, might also be worried. She wore a nearly permanent expression of concern etched into her features each time she left the room and returned. She worked for the government, though, and Michonne imagined that her worries might be quite different than the ones that Andrea and Michonne shared.

Finally it was nearing time for the child to be born. After what seemed like days, Andrea was finally ready to push. She was finally ready to deliver the baby into the world. It was then that the unexpected happened.

Michonne had expected that she would be with Andrea when the child was born. She expected that Alice would be the one to deliver the child into the world. After all, that was what they had been told would happen. But it was difficult to believe their captors, and the main reason for that was the fact that they'd been taught that so much that was said ended up being a lie.

Michonne knew better than to fight when the guard came to get her. Instead of fighting for her own freedom, she loudly reiterated to Andrea that she needed to remain calm. She needed to remain focused. She needed to remain centered. They would get through this. They had gotten through everything before. The last thing she told her, as they were pulling her from the room, was that she loved her and she would be back, even if she wasn't sure when.

The same guards that had escorted Michonne out of the room also escorted Alice out of the room. They didn't bind Alice's hands like Michonne's were bound, but they made it clear that they would if that was necessary to get her to cooperate. Alice walked calmly with them, keeping step with Michonne. She glanced at Michonne. Her expression was both apologetic and communicated that she had no idea what was going on or, if she had some idea, it was only a guess and not some definite knowledge.

They were taken to a room and they were led inside. It was clear that the two of them were going to be allowed to stay together, so at least Michonne was able to remain calm about the fact that she wasn't being taken back to Region Thirty-Three. She wasn't about to be killed—not unless they were executing Alice as well.

The small room that they were taken into was only slightly larger than a broom closet. Inside of the broom closet, Milton stood beside Melodye. Milton stood with his hands behind his back, and Melodye stood with hers clasped in front of her.

It didn't take long to see what they were staring at. There had been a mirror in the hospital room. Michonne had noticed it, but she really hadn't focused on it. It had been the least of her concerns. Now that she'd walked the labyrinth of hallways, she realized that they had turned that particular room into an observation room of sorts.

Michonne would see Andrea bring their child into the world, as would Milton, but Andrea would be unaware of what was taking place.

"The birth is being filmed," Melodye said, "but we aren't being recorded."

It was an announcement, perhaps, to Alice, but it was news to Michonne as well. Still, Michonne knew better than to say or do anything. The space was small, so he'd waited outside, but the armed guard outside the door wouldn't hesitate to take Michonne's life if she tried anything. She was sure of that. Even if he hadn't been there, though, she wasn't sure, at this point, what she would do.

"I was supposed to deliver the baby," Alice said. Her voice shook slightly. "Or was that just a lie too?"

"We needed the raw emotion," Milton said. "We needed data that we could use. You're familiar. You're welcome. She would act differently with you than she'll act with somebody that she doesn't know."

"What you mean to say is that you need the fear," Alice said.

"Fear is part of the experiment. A big part of the experiment," Milton said.

"It's torture," Alice responded.

"Fear is not fatal," Milton said. "Surely you know that. Extermination, however, is."

"What about the baby?" Michonne asked, growing a little more comfortable by the fact that she knew everyone in her surroundings.

"The medical team will do everything they can to assure that Andrea delivers a healthy child and that she survives the delivery. The baby will be fine," Milton said. "Assuming that there is no medical problem over which we have no control, of course."

"This isn't about harming Andrea," Melodye offered, her voice soft and soothing in contrast to Milton's more matter-of-fact delivery of his words. "And it isn't about harming the baby. This is only about the data that's needed to complete the next stage of the project. Research has to be done in order to disprove Kreegan's experiment. As part of that research, we need to observe Andrea and the other mothers. We need to observe Andrea's reactions, in particular, in certain situations."

"Her reactions will be bad," Michonne said. "If you do anything to that baby? I don't have to observe anything to tell you that she'll react badly. And then what? She'll be killed? She'll lose the baby? What happens when Andrea acts like most every mother would? Like they all will when you do the same thing to them? Milton?" Michonne kept her eyes on him. She'd grown to care about him. Though their relationship was strictly non-romantic, she'd grown to think of him as some kind of fixture in her family.

Michonne didn't want to admit that fear for Andrea—and for herself and for every other individual in Woodbury—was making her stomach twist and tangle into knots. She didn't want to admit that, at that moment, Milton disgusted her as he watched what was taking place in the room. He watched what Michonne wasn't sure she could bear to watch—though at the moment it was simply a confused and slightly panicked Andrea being coaxed to push and deliver her child.

At that moment, Milton felt like the symbol of everything that they'd suffered since the world had turned into something dark and horrible and unwelcoming.

But Milton's features softened a little. He didn't look at Michonne—because he seldom actually looked at her directly, especially when he had something difficult to say—but he addressed her. She was almost certain she could detect a softness in his voice that was uncustomary.

"If she acts like every other mother would act—and like every mother does act," Milton said, "then she's done exactly what I need her to do. And if she does that, she'll save—perhaps—a great deal of other mothers."

"What do you mean?" Michonne asked.

"I don't have time to explain it right now," Milton said. "And if I did, it would compromise the project. I'm not prepared to do that. And I don't think that's what you want, either. Suffice it to say that we have certain expectations for how she will act. We have certain expectations for how all the mothers in the project will act. And if enough of them act according to those expectations, then it will simply prove the point that we are trying to make. It will save countless wilds from extinction."

"And at what cost?" Michonne asked. "At what cost to them? What do they lose? What do we all lose to give you the data that you want? Lives? Children? What's the cost, Milton?"

"You might as well tell her," Alice said. "She won't see Andrea until after the baby's born. She'll deliver soon anyway. Michonne won't be able to tell her what's going on. Besides—having seen this much, Michonne's experience in the project is compromised. Her data won't be useful in your research. Except for biological data she might offer, Michonne is useless to your project. She knows too much to participate in the repopulation."

Milton hummed at Alice's words. When he spoke, it was clear that he was addressing Alice and Michonne, even though he didn't look at either of them.

"From the time we allowed Michonne to move into the house, I knew that she would offer us nothing more than biological data," Milton said. "She offers a different set of psychological data, but it's only loosely relevant. Just watch. You'll see what you need to know for now."