A/N Warning: Just letting you know that this chapter gets a little intense (it is after all the world of the Walking Dead, where life is far from rainbows and rapture), but trust me that it will all be okay in the end (for our favorite couple anyway). Just hold on tight and Rick will get us through this…

Chapter 38

"Touch that weapon and she's dead."

Rick had instinctively reached for his gun, cursing himself for not keeping it in his hand until they were safely back in the car. But when Erin had stumbled to the ground, his common sense went right along with her. He'd holstered his weapon, helped her to her feet, and then helplessly watched her get swept away by a swift, menacing current. Shit!

His hand hovers just inches from the holster now as he quickly calculates the space between his gun, his hand and his enemy, and the time it would take to draw and fire his weapon into his enemy's face. Even if he could claim the fastest hand in the world, he knows that physics and Albert Einstein's theory of relativity are against him. The distance to his target is far greater than the distance between the Governor's bullet and Erin's skull. In this case, E equals the end of Erin. Fuck!

Rick spreads his hands in surrender as his lover is held securely in this stranger's grasp. With one arm wrapped across her upper chest and his hand tenderly caressing her shoulder, it is a somewhat intimate display - if not for the other hand holding a .38 Special to her ear.

"Get in here." The man steps backward, never taking his eyes from Rick's as he pulls Erin further into a wide hallway.

"Alright." Rick swallows in an effort to get some moisture into his suddenly desert-dry mouth. "Don't hurt her." Fighting the urge to glance up the street, he quietly prays that Glenn had heard something and will come to their rescue. But he doubts it since he himself hadn't heard the whine of any moody door hinges; there just seemed to appear a void in a wall that was solid one moment and not the next. So it's going to be up to him alone to save them.

He steps into the building.

The Governor slowly backpedals toward an opened doorway on the right. "I see you're a fast healer," he says sarcastically. "Now shut that door," he orders. "Quietly now. No need to involve your friends in this."

Rick closes the rear exit to the building, shutting out the diminishing image of Glenn's back as he continues to follow Daryl and the others toward freedom. He is at once very sorry that he'd told Glenn to keep going when Erin had fallen, and very happy that his friends are getting away from this place.

With a heavy sheet of plywood bolted over the long rectangular window that fills the center of the door, the hall falls into a shadowy wasteland until Rick's eyes adjust to the gloom. The only light is a soft glow bleeding into the space from the door on the right, further up the corridor.

"That's it. Come join us." The words are spoken cordially, like an invitation to a dinner party, but his eyes can't disguise the malice behind the gesture as Erin is pulled into that doorway.

With hands clenched and heart pounding, Rick follows. He steps into a very spacious office, big enough to hold a staff meeting around a large conference table centered amid many chairs if necessary. But here, several small lamps reveal only one over-sized mahogany executive desk lining the left wall while two merlot-colored upholstered armchairs sit opposite it against the right wall. A beige love seat rests along the far wall leaving the center of the room wide open for wheeling and dealing business across the hardwood floor. Twin bookcases fill the right-hand corners of the room as a four-drawer file cabinet lies within rolling distance of the desk chair in the far left corner. A healthy potted plant drapes its elongated leaves over the edge of the cabinet just enough to soften the masculine space.

Watching the Governor where he stands by the back wall holding Erin as a shield before him, in his peripheral view Rick also notices that on the arm of the loveseat lies a brown jacket whose leather closely matches the long sword case leaning into the file cabinet a few feet away. The curved metal of a crossbow also catches his eye from where it rests against the leather tubing that encases the sword.

He blinks quickly, surreptitiously feigning innocence as he holds the Governor's gaze while the townsfolk continue to battle the raging fire outside, their shouts of distress a fitting soundtrack to the drama unfolding inside this room.

Even the attractive three-piece framed print set above the loveseat seems like a small white lie in this man's office. In any other room, the beautiful arch of oak trees flanking the pretty Savannah avenue would welcome you into the peaceful comfort that its creator had intended. Here, the deciduous tunnel feels more disconcerting than decorative as if it is leading you into a trap. The familiar sword and crossbow tucked into this stranger's personal space adds the thickest layer to the ominous ambiance of the room.

"She's a pretty one, isn't she?"

For a moment, Rick thinks he is talking about the katana, until the man presses his cheek into Erin's, causing her to close her eyes with a disgusted pout. Rick's jaw clenches painfully hard after his initial relief at realizing that he hadn't been caught eyeing the weapons.

"You can watch while I have a go at her," the man says casually. "Then she'll be the one limping, and nobody will be pretending this time, I promise you."

Rick's blood runs hot and swift, fueled by a murderous rage more vicious than anything he'd ever felt. His hand itches to reach for his gun again, desperate to end this ordeal and get Erin the hell out of there. But he holds his position, arms to the side until the time is right to make his move without jeopardizing her safety.

"See, I don't take kindly to people trying to burn down my town. Now you're going to have to pay for that." A large hand with long sleazy fingers slips down from Erin's shoulder to cup her breast.

Rick swallows hard, nearly gagging on his fury. He focuses on the bastards' eyes to constrain his wrath while he tries to devise a plan that won't make matters worse.

"Now before we get started, I'll need you to put that gun of yours on the floor and slide it toward me. I'll thank you for proceeding with extreme caution here. I wouldn't want your lovely lady's brains dirtying up my office."

As Rick slowly reaches for the Colt, the Governor ducks his head slightly, leaving an extremely small target behind Erin. Moving unbearably slow, Rick takes the gun from his holster. He crouches to the floor, his finger dangling close to the trigger and itching to pull it. He holds the weapon mere inches off the floor but cannot bring himself to let it go.

"You have three seconds until I put a bullet in her ear. One…"

Fuck! He flips the safety on and slides it across the hardwood floor where it lands just to the left of Erin's boot.

"Thank you." The Governor slips one foot around her and kicks it to the side where it clatters against the bookcase. "I pride myself on keeping things orderly. I really don't want to make a mess in here. That's the only reason I haven't killed you yet. That, and it'll be fun to see the pain on your face when your lady and I… get acquainted. Tell me, does she like it rough?" He swivels his hips, driving his groin into her backside. "I hope not. That'll just take the fun right out of it."

Seething inside, Rick bites his tongue and thinks, Keep talking asshole. There's gonna be a big mess in here. You can't hold a gun and your dick at the same time. When you make your move, so will I.

He watches the man lead Erin to the far edge of the desk, keeping her in front of him to shield any attack on Rick's part. He presses his chest into her back, formidably forcing her to lean forward as he reaches around her for a walkie talkie lying in the center of the ink blotter, its calendar kept meticulously current as it displays the month of June.

Keeping her captive with his body, his left hand holds the walkie to his mouth as his right hand keeps the gun trained on her head. His eyes continue to bore into Rick. "Johnson, I need you in my office. Now!"

A touch of static and then a deep voice responds with a brusque, "Yes, sir."

Shit! It's now or never.

Feeling extremely vulnerable where he stands in front of the doorway with his back exposed to the forthcoming henchman, Rick takes a slow step to his left as Erin is pulled back to full height. He meets her eyes. There is an anger there that would wither one of her fiercest highlander brethren, but above that, shining sure and true, is an undeniable fear glowing in her gaze. Christ I'm sorry, baby.

Her wide eyes narrow with purpose.

Oh God, she's gonna do something. His pounding heart dips down to his belly and pops up again as her eyes scream 'Get him!' He gives her a barely perceptible nod telling her that he understands and then lifts his chin slightly. But we have to do this together.

She lifts her chin in return. Together.

"Okay, darling." The Governor reaches around to the snap of her jeans."Be a dear and take your pants off for me."

Alright, Red. Make it count.

The instant Erin throws her head back into a cruelly confident jaw, Rick is lunging forward to level the stunned man. Flying across the desk, he flinches at the deafening sound of a gunshot and senses its bullet whipping past his ear. He hits his target in a ferocious fume as Erin dives to the floor.

They hit the wall hard as Rick drives every ounce of his anger into the man's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and the gun from his hand. He hears it rattle under the desk and reaches to grab it. With his fingers just inches from the grip, a sudden weight on his back pulls him away from the weapon.

As he wrestles with his enemy in a fight for the gun, trading hard blows and cheap shots, he notices Erin darting across the room. Thank God! Get out of here, Red! He delivers a particularly vicious punch to the gut, and then receives a solid head-butt to his chin in return. Recovering quickly, he throws an uppercut into the man's jaw and lunges for the gun once more. And once again, he is pulled roughly away.

A strong arm curls across his throat as he lies belly-up on top of the Governor. Fighting the force that is trying to suffocate him, he looks up to see Erin standing over them with the Colt Python in her wavering grip, aimed directly at his exposed chest. Jesus! He digs his heels in and throws his weight to the side in an effort to switch positions and give her a clear shot. They both end up lying on their sides, spooning in a macabre embrace.

"Let him go!" Erin's voice sounds strong enough, but Rick knows her well and hears the fearful tremble beneath her bravado.

The bastard tightens his grip on his windpipe.

She fires one shot into the wall above them, putting a small hole between the frames of the oaken tunnel. The governor startles but maintains his chokehold.

"Let him go or the next one will be in your leg, I promise you," she says, mocking his earlier speech.

"You don't have it in you, darling."

Rick feels her hesitation and meets her eyes. You can do it! He throws his boot heel into the man's kneecap and rolls free from his grasp, gasping for air as the echo of another blast reverberates off the furniture.

His ears ring smartly as a painful scream fills the room in the aftermath of the blast. He turns to see the Governor holding his leg as a pool of blood forms on the hardwood floor beneath his thigh.

"You bitch!" Rolling on the floor, he reaches a hand toward Erin in a blind rage.

Rick charges forward and grabs onto the asshole's shoulders, heaving him backward and away from Erin. Clutching onto his back, he gets his left arm around the man's throat as he drives his heel into the man's bloody thigh again and again.

He pulls up hard to cut off his airway, and struggles to keep breathing himself as the weight of the man on his chest allows only small breaths to enter his lungs. His vision blurs in and out of focus on the framed oak trap above them. Feeling a narrow stick against the back of his shoulder, he turns his head to see Daryl's crossbow lying on the floor about two feet away. Several arrows stored in its quiver had spilled out, forming a trail of missiles that point toward the shaft lying beneath him. Maintaining his hold with his left arm, he reaches back with his right to grab the thin wood of one of the bolts. Getting it firmly in his grip, he brings it forward in an angry arc until its arrowhead is buried square in the right eye of Woodbury's malevolent leader.

The man howls in pain and rolls across the floor in agony. Scrambling to his feet, Rick grabs the gun from Erin and silences the Governor's voice forever.

Before he can process all that had transpired and what he'd just done, he hears the unmistakable sound of a rifle cocking and immediately looks toward the hallway. A moment later, a large beefy man in camouflage gear fills the doorframe. Rick doesn't hesitate.

A fifth shot in even fewer minutes echoes off the walls, hurtling the big man back into the corridor and clearing the doorway for their escape.

Fifteen minutes later, Rick adjusts the crossbow on his shoulder as he steps over a log in the dense forest between Harper Road and the central avenue of Woodbury. Walking at a brisk pace behind Erin, he watches her stumble slightly, catch herself with a curse, and then continue on. He glances behind him for the hundredth time in fifteen minutes, and again sees nothing but a haven of green leaves and tall tree trunks standing over a thick carpet of twig-covered dirt. He takes a deep breath and slows his pace. "Hey, let's take a break. I think we're far enough away now."

She stops, leans against a large boulder, releases a long deflated sigh and shrugs her shoulders beneath the weight of the katana on her back.

Catching up to her, he pulls her into his arms. "Come here." He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, her soap, and her distress, and hugs her tightly against his chest. When the adrenaline that had kept her moving forward gives in to her heart's need for solace, he feels her body trembling in a violent battle for self-control.

He leans back to see her face. "Are you okay?" he asks, peering into her eyes for the truth. The anger and fear he had seen in her eyes earlier is replaced with a sadness that cuts him to the bone.

Without uttering a sound, she nods her head yes. The fact that she seems to be at a loss for words tells him that no, she definitely is not okay. When she finally speaks, it is not at all what he had expected. "I'm sorry you had to do that," she tells him sadly.

"What? You're sorry? Jesus Christ." He pulls her back into his arms. "I'm so fucking sorry for letting that happen to you."

"You didn't let anything happen to me, Rick. You kept your promise and never left my side. I'm just sorry I missed my target."

"But you didn't miss. You nailed him in the leg."

"I was aiming for his balls."

He knows she is trying to be strong but she continues to tremble in his arms. "I never would have let him rape you. Please know that." He feels a hard ripple shiver up her spine. "I hate that he had his hands on you. That he touched you at all."

"He never touched Me. The me that only you know. He may have touched my body but he never got close to Me."

He can't keep the doubt from his expression as he gazes at her with enormous regret.

"Honestly, honey. I've been groped worse at work in the hospital. Remember that drunken rabbit on Easter? There are a lot of assholes out there and that crap just came with the job. This prick was just more obvious about it."

He hugs her tight again and takes comfort in her arms. "I love you."

Her reply is muffled against his neck and then she pulls back with a new conviction in her eyes. "Alright, let's get back to our family."

Nearing the slope of grass that leads up to the train tracks, Rick's heart jumps when he hears a gunshot resonate over the rise. He races up the hill to the sound of more weapons being discharged and his adrenaline kicks into overdrive once again. He can hear the shouts of battle before he actually sees the war being waged on the other side of the tracks separating the woods from Harper Road.

With the Colt cocked and ready to attack or defend, he crests the hill and crosses the rails that connect the many towns stretching across central Georgia. On the recently quiet street before him, he sees his friends in a frenzied battle against a small army of walkers. "Oh Christ," he breathes. "Stay here!" he tells Erin before racing forward with his weapon aimed at a scraggy male cadaver that is reaching for Glenn, who is focused on a pair of fearsome females advancing upon him. Rick fires the Python and the gaunt man goes down.

He rushes forward to finish off another set as T-Dog and Merle fight to protect the wounded and weary Daryl, who lies heavily against a thick tree trunk ten feet away on the side of the road. Reloading his gun, Rick sees Michonne wielding a long branch as if it were her sword, keeping the walkers at bay until Morgan can deliver the final blows with his knife.

A moment later, Michonne appears at his side with her katana in hand, slicing it into the necks of the walkers to his left. Rick glances over to see Erin standing directly in the shadow of the dark warrior, defenseless but for the sword of her protector before her. Scowling inwardly at the stubborn tenacity of his lover, he shifts to move into position at Michonne's side, forming a fortress around Erin as the war wages on.

When the last of the living dead are falling away and victory is in sight under the clear blue sky, Rick hears a disgruntled curse followed by an angry shout full of frustration and pain; annoyance at an empty gun chamber, and pain inflicted from the walker that had snuck in to bite and claw at his comrade's shoulder.

"Merle!"

Rick turns at the sound of Daryl's anguished call. He sees T-Dog helping Merle to fight off a quartet of walkers as blood drips down the redneck's ratty wife-beater tank top. "Oh shit," Rick breathes and then races toward the melee, taking out a female with long hair that may have been blonde or black in life, but now flows in a knotted mess of dark dirty ash.

"Merle!" Daryl hollers again, his voice breaking with profound heartache.

"You fucker! Ya ain't gettin' him!" Merle rages at the walker that T-Dog had just killed, pounding the tender flesh of his stump into the man's head whose brain is finally dark in death. "Take the rest of it you bastard!"

"Merle!" The one word carries more pain than a whole herd of walkers could have inflicted if tearing into Daryl's body. Tears flow freely down his bruised and battered cheeks as the war is won and his world comes crashing down.

"Get him outta here!" Merle yells, and then falls to the ground in an exhausted heap of emotional and physical misery.

"I won't leave you!" Daryl cries, breaking the hearts of everyone standing in silent vigil on Harper Road.

Merle coughs through a ragged breath. "It's over brother. Put me outta my misery like the good dog that I am."

"No!"

Rick moves to crouch at Daryl's side, believing he can do more for his friend at this point than he can for the elder Dixon.

He was wrong.

"Let's end this, sheriff." Merle groans weakly, breathing heavily and painfully arduous.

Ah, Christ. "I'm so sorry, Daryl." Standing again, Rick takes a few steps forward and, doing his best to ignore the agonizing torment of his friend's open weeping, he aims his gun at Merle's face. He blinks once, twice, and then lowers the gun. He can't do it.

Merle lifts his head, decreasing the distance to the muzzle and simplifying Einstein's theory for Rick; alleviating the burden of deciding Now or never, Him or me, Wrong or right. "Take care of my little brother for me."

"Merle!" Daryl wails as the gunshot echoes off the tracks leading back to the motel in Lincoln Park.