AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I should let you all know that in a week, I'll be starting a class for work that will occupy almost every waking moment of my time for two weeks. Please pass it on if anyone should wonder where I've gone during that time. I won't have run away; I'll simply be working.

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

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"There's no use slinking around," Carol said. "You're either helping or you're underfoot and in the way."

She laughed to herself at the genuinely shocked expression that briefly flashed across the woman's features. She was good at hiding her expressions, and she usually kept a rather rock-solid expression of distaste on her face, but Carol wasn't fooled.

There was a great deal more to Michonne than the bitterness with which she usually covered herself.

"You're hardly ever alone," Michonne said, stepping completely into view where she'd been hiding somewhat behind the wall of the building. Carol had only stopped near her to rest a moment and put down the laundry basket. If she hadn't stopped, she might have missed that she had the attention of one of the quieter inhabitants of the prison.

The table meeting had already dissolved. Carol had been present for it, as had pretty much everyone else who had any interest at all in what was going on and didn't prefer to simply be told that things were going to go a certain way. There were still some conversations taking place, but they were more personal and informal. Most of the visitors from Woodbury were being seen out of the gates, and most of the continuing conversations were taking place down near the fences. Slowly, everyone was starting to get back to their daily routines.

Carol was only just bringing out the laundry to start washing. She'd sent Andrea ahead, already, with two buckets so that she could do the muscle-straining work of turning the manual pump to pump the water, fill the buckets, and haul the water up the hill to be warmed.

It appeared that Michonne had nothing to do, or else she hadn't quite gotten around to starting whatever it was she needed to accomplish.

"I'm hardly ever alone," Carol echoed. She laughed to herself and raised her eyebrows in the direction of the woman who slowly approached her almost like she was some kind of wild animal that might lash out at her at any given moment. "I prefer it that way. When I'm alone, it usually means that I'm up to my neck in work and I'm handling it all by myself."

"Andrea's usually with you," Michonne said.

"Andrea's been a blessing to me," Carol said. "She's getting the water, though. I'm using her muscles."

"The others—don't help?"

"See for yourself," Carol said. "Beth helps sometimes, but I usually prefer her to be around to help with Sophia and Judith whenever anyone needs their hands free from the girls. Lori—well, she finds things to do, I'm sure. Andrea and I could stand the help, though, if you're offering."

Michonne stared at the basket and back at Carol.

"Andrea and I…"

"Need to make up," Carol said. "And I might be able to facilitate that if you'll just tell me what it is that you're fighting over, exactly."

Michonne glanced down toward the pump. It was near the fences. Carol didn't have to ask her what she was looking for. It wasn't necessary. She was looking at Andrea. She was, more than likely, trying to gauge where Andrea was in the completion of her chore.

"She'll be a while," Carol said. "She'll have to get the pump flowing. It takes a while. Turning that crank is exhausting. It sticks. If she has to clear the line, that'll take a while, too. She'll need to rest before she tries to carry two buckets up the hill after that. I'll have time to get the fire going good before she gets back. You can tell me whatever you need to say."

Michonne furrowed her brow at Carol. Her only response, though, was to step forward and pick up the heavy basket that Carol had put down for a few moments—the move from inside the prison being enough to make her need a quick rest before she hauled it to where they would do the laundry in the big metal tub.

Carol thanked Michonne and gestured with her head toward the laundry area. Michonne started in that direction with the basket.

"We were out there—it seemed like forever," Michonne said.

"Andrea said you saved her," Carol said. "Without you, she wouldn't be alive."

"Maybe we both offered each other something," Michonne said.

"You care for Andrea," Carol said. "You don't even have to say it. I can hear it in your voice. So—why the feud? Was it really all Merle?"

Michonne stopped walking long enough to scowl at Carol and Carol swallowed down her laughter.

"Andrea was sick," Michonne said. "Dying, honestly. I couldn't save her."

"But Merle did," Carol said.

"Merle found us," Michonne said. "The doctor saved her. The medicine that I couldn't find because Woodbury cleaned everything out."

"And she's alive," Carol said. "Doing well. I would think you'd be happy."

"I knew about the Governor almost immediately. I knew things weren't right. I knew he wasn't right. I wanted to leave. I wanted her to go with me."

"And she wanted to stay," Carol offered. "With Merle."

"She should have trusted me," Michonne said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"She obviously did trust you," Carol said. "She does trust you. She's done nothing but speak your praises when you're not around." Michonne's expression gave her away a bit more than she probably would have liked. She put the basket she'd been carrying down and straightened up, clearly stretching her back. She cast a glance back down toward the pumps, but Andrea was still diligently working at her task. She'd gained a helper, now, in the form of Sophia, and that meant it would take her longer to accomplish almost anything that she tried to do. "She does. Michonne—Andrea still cares for you. You're clearly someone she considers a friend. I think your distance hurts her."

"And her betrayal?" Michonne asked.

"How did she betray you?" Carol asked.

"She chose him," Michonne said. "And he tried to kill me."

"I won't defend the fact that the Governor wanted you killed," Carol said. "And I'm uncomfortable defending Merle for trying to kill you, but he was doing his job. And this world—it's made everyone do things they didn't think they were capable of. Merle—hasn't always had an easy life. He's made some bad decisions, maybe."

"Andrea wanted to be with him."

"She did," Carol said. "And I won't fault her for that. He offered her safety. The things she needed to live. She was just getting over the illness."

"I kept her safe," Michonne said. "I would have kept her alive when we left."

"When you got here, it was Daryl that kept you alive," Carol said. "You would've died in the woods if Daryl hadn't been there."

"Only because Merle shot me," Michonne said.

"Maybe that's what Andrea was afraid of," Carol said. "But Merle offered Andrea something else. Maybe it was—a memory. A reminder of who she used to be. Where she came from. I think—Merle was the closest thing to home that Andrea had left."

Michonne frowned. This frown wasn't a frown of disapproval, though. It ran far deeper than that. Just the sight of it tugging on the woman's features pulled at something in Carol's chest.

"She loves Merle," Carol said. "Even if—she's not sure how he feels about her, she loves him. Even if—she doesn't feel really able to defend that, she loves him. But she can love more than one person. If you'll let her." Carol watched Michonne's face. Maybe there was a hint of a tremble in her chin. Maybe her eyes looked just a little pink where they'd been white before and maybe there was some dampness playing at the soft hair of her lower lashes. She had created a persona of someone who was hard and untouchable. She'd created a persona of someone who was nearly feral. She had created a persona to protect herself, and Carol refused to tear that down because she understood that scabs and calluses were always there to protect what was tender from further damage. Still, she wanted to let Michonne know that she saw her, and she was safe. "We've all lost a great deal since this began. Families and friends—we've lost everyone we knew that isn't here now. The best thing we can do now is—take what we can find. Love those who are willing to give love. The world's too cruel now to throw away a friend that's standing right in front of us." She shook her head at Michonne, even though the woman didn't say anything with her mouth, she said plenty with her eyes. "Contrary to what we might believe sometimes, it doesn't hurt less to lose them by pushing them away before something takes them."

"She asked you to talk to me?" Michonne asked.

"No," Carol said. "I'm talking to you as much for your benefit as I am for Andrea's. If we're lucky, we're building a life here. It's worth sharing it with friends and family. But if you're not able to forgive her for—for finding love and comfort with someone from her life before you…"

"Have you lost anyone?" Michonne asked.

"The thing about me is—I lost almost everyone before this happened," Carol said. "My husband—my ex-husband—took everyone and everything away from me that I cared about. Or he took me away from them, however you want to look at it. I suppose they're all really gone now, but I lost them a long time ago. I know I've been one of the lucky ones. I've gained a lot since this started. Friends. Family. Hope." She touched her stomach where there was still relatively little evidence of the future Dixon that would join their ranks. "I hope I've still got so much more to gain…"

"Some of us—lost more than we gained," Michonne said.

"I know that," Carol said. "And—although I don't know your personal losses, I'm sorry for them. We can't bring them back, but we can offer you family. If you want it. But you have to be the one to open up and accept it."

"Your daughter—how old is she? Two? Three?" Michonne asked.

Carol glanced down toward the fences. It was clear that Andrea was making some progress, but she was taking her time. She was entertaining Sophia by allowing Sophia to help her. Sophia's help could lengthen the duration of any task, but Carol was thankful for those who took time to make her daughter feel special, loved, and valuable—even if it meant they had a little extra work on their plates.

"I don't know," Carol said. "To be honest. Three, I suppose."

"One of mine was three," Michonne said. "Angie. The oldest. Her sister was two. They were barely ten months apart."

The impact of what Michonne said hit Carol in the gut hard enough that she could barely catch her breath for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out, already knowing that the words were worthless.

Michonne shook her head.

"It happened—in the very beginning," Michonne said. "I left work as soon as the outbreak hit the news. There were already Walkers in the streets. Everyone was…trying to get somewhere. I didn't make it to them in time."

"God—I'm so…sorry," Carol said. "I don't—I can't even…I don't know what to say."

Michonne quickly swiped away the stray tear that rolled down her cheek.

"You don't have to say anything," Michonne said. "There's nothing to say. Nothing that matters."

"Andrea never said…"

"She doesn't know," Michonne interrupted.

"Why would you tell me?" Carol asked.

Michonne shrugged her shoulders.

"Because you're a mother?" She said it as though she wasn't sure herself. Carol understood that. There were truths about her life that she talked about more freely now than she had in the past. When she'd shared those truths, especially in the past, the circumstances surrounding that sharing always surprised her. Sometimes it varied from moment to moment how comfortable she was sharing. Sometimes it was something in the way somebody spoke or carried themselves that made her take the chance to share. Whatever it was, she wasn't always sure of what drove her to give a piece of herself to someone else.

What she did know, though, was that it was important to value that piece of someone's soul when they chose to share it.

Carol held her arms out in welcome to Michonne and the woman hesitated before she came to Carol and tentatively accepted the embrace that she was offered. She lingered longer than Carol thought she might, and Carol wondered how truly starved she was for comfort and affection. She'd likely found that with Andrea, and the fear of losing that—the thought that Andrea might not offer her that comfort anymore in the face of a new relationship with Merle—might have been a bit unbearable under the circumstances.

Carol released Michonne only when Michonne pulled away from her. She offered her the best smile she could, though her throat ached with the sympathy she felt for the woman's experiences.

"I don't know what you're going through," Carol offered.

"I hope you never do," Michonne said blankly.

"But—I meant what I said. We'll offer you home. A family. Friends. My daughter—if you give her a chance? It won't be the same. It never could be. But—she does love to love, and she's hardly ever met anyone she didn't want to at least try to love."

Michonne nodded her head. She breathed out a thanks. She swiped at the stray droplets on her face and she furrowed her brow at the laundry basket like glaring at the inanimate object might help her rebuild the walls that had accidentally crumbled a little at the corners.

"I'm not very good at it," Michonne said. "But I could help with the laundry."

"I accept all skill levels," Carol said. "But—I think you should talk to Andrea."

"There could be time while we're—doing the laundry," Michonne offered. "And—I might need help."

"There will be plenty of time," Carol said. "And—maybe I can help."

The smile she got was tightlipped, but it was a smile. Carol would take it from the woman who had shown relatively little emotion, since her arrival, that hadn't been negative.

"Come on, let's get some wood," Carol said. "We'll get the fire for the water started." She pressed a hand affectionately to Michonne's back and pointed her in the direction of the wood that Daryl cut and stacked for her. Michonne nodded and walked with her.

Carol thought she might be imagining things, but she was almost certain the woman's shoulders were straighter and her steps were lighter. Carol glanced back over her shoulder. She could see Andrea coming slowly, a heavy bucket in each hand, with Sophia trotting at her side. Andrea saw her, too. She was certain she did.

And she saw the smile, too, that spread across the blonde's features to see that Carol—on a day that, so far, had hinged on forming relationships and building bridges—had found a friend.