AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

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

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The CDC was as close to a fort as any modern day building probably could be.

They'd reached it just as the light was starting to fail and the colors of sunset were bleeding quickly into the sky. They wouldn't make it out of Atlanta before dark, even if they left now. Their choices were either to stay in the cars and hope that they provided all the necessary protection for a night in Atlanta's Walker flooded streets, or run for the building and hope that they could somehow get inside.

They'd all made the decision without speaking to each other and, each of them taking a small bag they'd prepared for a situation where they had to run for it, and all the weapons they could carry, they ran toward the building. They could come for the rest of their items once they were settled—if the place was even still running—but they didn't want to be too weighed down.

After trying to find a way in for a while and beating on the doors, requesting entrance, they'd almost given up. They'd been ready to turn back, return to the vehicles to hunker down, and hope that they all made it through the night. The movement of a security camera had held them there a bit longer, though—first, arguing over whether or not the camera's movement meant anything at all, and then begging entrance if there was anyone behind the movement.

Someone had been behind the movement and, eventually, the heavy doors had been opened to them.

When the doors opened, Rick was one of the first inside since he'd been closest to the door and was able to pull it open first. Daryl had quickly herded Carol, Sophia, and Andrea inside with the others. Immediately, he noticed the place smelled sterile, but he assumed that they could expect very little else at the CDC.

The man that met them was wearing a lab coat. He stared at them; his brow furrowed like he was angry with their intrusion.

His expression softened as his gaze tripped over all of them and took in their appearances. They must have all looked somewhat pitiful to cause the change in the man's countenance.

"I'm Dr. Edwin Jenner," he said. "Everyone—used to call me Jenner."

"Rick Grimes," Rick offered, first, since he was closest to the man. "Rick."

Daryl didn't offer to introduce himself because nobody else did either. He didn't get the feeling that Jenner was interested in introductions at that precise moment. Instead, Daryl stood with a hand on Carol's shoulder, and one on Andrea's. Carol hugged Sophia tight in front of her.

Jenner let his gaze dance over them all again, his eyes pausing a second on each of them.

"They used to call you that?" Andrea asked, softly, barely breaking the awkward silence that settled over them. He hummed and let his eyes fall hard on her. "You said—they used to call you Jenner. They don't anymore?"

The man smiled. Laughed to himself—barely. He gave off something of an uneasy feeling. It was one that Daryl couldn't quite put his finger on. He couldn't quite explain. As soon as Jenner spoke again, though, Daryl thought he might understand it.

"I'm the only one left," he said. "There's—nobody else. I've been alone—a while."

The man, perhaps, was faring no better than the rest of them with the end of the world. Jenner looked over Andrea and back toward the door. Then he let his eyes ghost one last time over their band of travelers.

"You can stay or you can leave," he said. "The choice is yours."

"We hoped you might have a cure," Rick said.

"I was working on one," Jenner said, letting his words trail off.

"Do you have food? Supplies?" Shane asked.

"More than enough for—forever," Jenner said.

Daryl's stomach twisted gently, and he considered the man's words and the hint of a smile on his lips. There were dark circles under his eyes. He appeared exhausted. Maybe it was solitude and a loss of hope.

"Is it safe here?" Rick asked.

"Nothing can get in," Jenner said. "But I'm telling you now that—whatever you want? Whatever you brought with you? You better get it now. We've got most everything you'll probably need, though, if it isn't personal or sentimental. And if you're going to stay? You'll all have to submit to a blood test."

"Fine," Rick said, answering for all of them. Daryl decided they might have to get used to him at least attempting to do that. Still, for the moment, Daryl didn't disagree with him.

"I mean it about getting what you want," Jenner said. "Now. When that door closes, it doesn't open again."

He would lock the doors, and he would lock the place down again like it had been when they'd arrived. The place was safe, but the only thing that kept it safer than anything else in Atlanta was the extra layer of security. That wouldn't be effective if he left it open.

There was a silent question tossed around about if anyone needed anything from the vehicles. There was very little that any of them had anymore, though, and they'd packed their most precious possessions in the bags that they carried—one small bag for each person to carry on their backs.

"You got clothes?" Daryl asked. "Supplies?"

"Everything you'll need," Jenner said.

There was another exchange of shrugs and head shakes.

"I think we've got all we really have," Shane said. "We didn't have much left."

"Let's go then," Jenner said. "Follow me."

"Stay together," Daryl offered quietly to his small family as he moved his hands from shoulders to allow them all to follow the man into a staircase just after he gave a command to someone or something that must have been listening—because the doors outside began to seal.

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Immediately he recognized he light beyond his eyelids. The pounding in his head like someone was using it for a drum. The dryness of his throat and the way that he seemed to have very little to swallow down to quench it.

He heard the sound of walking in the space around him. Strained his ears to hear it better beyond the interminable pounding.

"Andrea," he said, choking on her name.

His heart seized in his chest as something deep inside him realized that she wouldn't be there, but he needed her to be there—wherever there was.

"Alice told me you were starting to come around. I almost didn't believe her. Thought she was finally cracking under so many hours spent shut up in here working on you. Come on, now. Open your eyes."

Merle didn't know or recognize the man's voice. When he opened his eyes, he didn't recognize the man's face, either. He didn't know the clean room or the hospital bed where he was laying—the kind they used in emergency rooms. He didn't know the clothes he was wearing—a clean shirt and shorts that appeared to be something akin to basketball shorts—under the blanket draped over him.

What he did know—what he learned from taking quick inventory of his body and his surroundings—was that he'd been there long enough to be hooked up to a piss bag that was, indirectly, being filled by an IV that was dripping into his veins. The IV delivered something to help with the unbearable thirst, perhaps, and maybe even something to help with…with everything else the world seemed to have dealt him.

It was not giving him anything, though, to help with the harsh taste of sobriety at a moment when he didn't particularly know if he wanted it.

"Andrea?"

The man staring at Merle laughed to himself. He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

"You are fond of her, aren't you?"

"Where is she?" Merle asked.

"I wish I knew," the man said. "I really do. When we found you in Atlanta, you were alone. Just about bled out from that." He gestured toward Merle's arm. Merle followed his gesture with his eyes. For a moment, he'd forgotten it all. It had all seeped out of him. Slowly, it came dripping back into him almost like the liquid into his veins from the IV bag.

"Asshole…" Merle muttered to himself.

"I beg your pardon," the man said with mock offense in his tone.

"Not you," Merle said, but he already knew that the man knew that. "Asshole that handcuffed me to a roof. I had to cut it off with a fuckin' saw."

"Is that what happened? Who was it?"

"Didn't know him," Merle said. "Police officer. Fuckin' Officer Friendly of Mayberry, I guess. Handcuffed my ass to a roof. Left me for dead with them Walkers all around. Didn't know him. And I don't know you."

The man smiled to himself.

"The Governor of Woodbury," the man offered. "Everyone just calls me the Governor. We haven't been properly introduced. All you've said since we found you was…well…Andrea."

Merle relaxed into the bed. Whether it was whatever he was receiving from the IV or just his instinct, he didn't feel that there was anything to fear at the moment. The man was obviously clean. His clothes were clean. He was well-fed. Healthy. The man's stance was relaxed. Not threatening. His hands were empty. He wasn't carrying a weapon. He didn't give off the smell of cat piss that most people did when they were being dishonest and waiting to see if they would be detected.

"Merle," Merle said. "Dixon."

"It's nice to formally meet you, Mr. Dixon."

"Merle."

"Merle. As I was explaining, when we found you in Atlanta, you were nearly bled out. We only found you because we heard you—followed the Walkers. They'll find the living; you can be sure of that. You were so close to death that one of my men considered putting you out of your misery. But I thought there was something in you that wanted to live. I guess I was right."

The man stared at Merle like he expected him to contribute to this story in some way, but Merle had nothing to contribute.

"You got a cigarette?" Merle asked.

"I kept these, since you had them in your pocket," the Governor offered, bringing Merle a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that he recognized. He put an empty glass on a small table next to Merle. Merle glanced around, but there was no oxygen in the space, so he lit a cigarette. "Everything else you had is here, too. We kept it all in case you woke up. Do you need anything else for the moment?"

"Water?" Merle asked. From the same counter where he'd gotten the cigarettes, the man quickly retrieved a bottle of water. Merle thanked him, not wanting to seem entirely ungrateful. "You brought me here—then what?"

"Alice did what she could to fix the carnage that was your arm," the Governor said. "Fought off infection. And a bit of a withdrawal issue you seemed to have."

The water was cool on Merle's throat and the nicotine made his head feel better.

"I never shoulda took that shit," Merle muttered to himself as much as he did to the man in front of him. "I told her I wouldn't. Swore I wouldn't. Again. I was done with it. All this shit goin' on there weren't room for it. We were finally gonna do it all, you know? Carpe the fuckin' damn diem. Build a real life and put our middle fingers up to the fact that it's all goin' to hell. I don't know why the fuck I even took it. You know? Found it in my fuckin' pocket. Prob'ly been there since the last time I wore them pants. Never knew it was there. Didn't even want the shit—just killin' time waitin' to lead 'em all back to the fuckin' camp."

"Andrea?"

"What?" Merle asked, her name making his stomach twist when it was on someone else's tongue.

"You told Andrea you wouldn't take…whatever you took?"

Merle nodded.

"We looked around for a woman," the Governor said. "There wasn't another person alive out there. I'm sorry."

"She weren't with me," Merle said. "She didn't come on the trip. She was at the camp. She's—at the camp. Where am I?"

"Woodbury," the Governor offered.

"The town?" Merle asked, feeling like the man had already told him that, but he'd lost the information in the pounding in his head and the overload of thoughts and information.

"I'm the Governor," the Governor repeated. "Of Woodbury."

"It's still standing," Merle said, not even sure, himself, if he meant it as a marveling of the fact or a question.

"Not in its whole and original form, exactly," the Governor said, "but we're doing well. There hasn't been an attack or a death since two weeks after all this started. I'll show you around when Alice says you're free to leave the room and can manage to stay on your feet for a while."

Merle shook his head.

"I can't stay," he said. "I've gotta go back. To the camp."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Governor said.

"The camp," Merle said. "The camp where we were. I've gotta go back. My family's there. My—Andrea's going to be worried sick."

"There are no living people left around," the Governor said. "Not outside these walls. Herds have been on the move. Atlanta's a wasteland. It's good for picking for supplies, but there aren't people there."

"This weren't Atlanta," Merle said. He started to get up and remembered the IV and the catheter. "Get your doctor to get this shit outta me or—somethin'. I gotta go. How long I been here? It don't matter—I gotta go to the camp. I gotta go back to my family."

"They left you, didn't they?"

"Wasn't them," Merle said. "Was Officer Friendly. If he's done anything to them…"

The Governor held his hand up in Merle's direction.

"You might still be hallucinating," he said. "Let me get Alice. You've been going through hallucinations for days."

"I gotta find fuckin' Andrea!" Merle growled at him. "My brother! My family's out there!"

"Easy," the Governor said. "Calm down. Nobody's trying to tell you that you can't—look for them. But—do you even know where your camp is?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"I been to that camp on and off my whole damn life," Merle said. "I could find it with my head cut off."

The Governor nodded. Then he smiled.

"Then let me get you some help—a clean bill of health. And we'll go together. You can show me your camp. We'll find Andrea, shall we? We can invite your family back here. Where it's safe. Where they'll be safe."

"Why would you do that? Do all of this, for me?"

"I'm a nice person. And this is a nice town, Mr. Dixon. But we need people—good people—to keep it that way. You seem like a strong person to pull through all of this. And you've got a family. We need families—right? We want families. We're building something here. For the future. Finish your water. I'll be right back with our doctor. We'll go get Andrea and anyone else you think might contribute to a positive atmosphere here in Woodbury."

Merle took a deep breath and took another drag off the cigarette. He washed it down with the cool water. He relaxed a little.

Andrea would be pissed, and he wouldn't blame her for that, but she'd forgive him. If this place was all it appeared to be from in here? She'd forgive him because he'd bring her here—a place for families.

Daryl would forgive him, too. He'd bring that little woman of his and their daughter—Daryl's adopted daughter. They'd all forgive him when he told them he'd found them somewhere safe enough to convalesce without worry for days and wake up to medicine, water, and even a few luxuries.

He'd stay clean—for good this time—and they could live here. They could even grow their family, here in a place for families.

The Dixons could thrive here.