"Michonne made me promise this would be my last run," Spencer said, looking over at Rick, trying to gauge the older man's reaction.

Rick turned his head, momentarily taking his eyes off the road, to glance at the younger man in the passenger seat. He caught a surprising spark of amusement in Spencer's eyes. While Scott and Tobin rested in the van's cargo hold, Rick and Spencer had opted to take the first driving shift of their run to the construction site. They chatted to kill time, both knowing to keep the conversation light and easy.

After more than a few runs and missions together, they had grown accustomed to each other's proclivities. And over the past several months, had surprisingly slipped into a more relaxed rapport. Theirs would never be a deep friendship, but, what they did have was good enough to withstand confinement in the van's front seats. In truth, if it ensured the happiness of the woman they both loved, they were committed to sustaining some pretense of an alliance.

He was intrigued by Spencer's comment, but didn't feel like engaging him. Spencer smiled broadly, ostensibly recollecting the exact words of his conversation with Michonne. Unclear as to what exactly had pleased the man so, but knowing it was likely some inside joke between he and Michonne, Rick assumed it was something that wouldn't exactly delight himself. So, he opted to let Spencer's response dissipate into the dank air swirling around them as they sat, each other's captive audience, in the cab of the van.

Even though he hasn't responded to Spencer's quip, Rick internally agreed with Michonne's sentiments. Runs like this were quickly becoming less and less common. It had been nearly a year since they ended Negan's reign and took back control of Alexandria. In that time, the walls had been expanded significantly, adding farming areas and livestock, as well as additional housing.

More housing allowed them to recruit at a faster clip. Rick thought about the people Daryl and Aaron had brought back and how many of the new ones had made Alexandria even more formidable. Back at the barn, Aaron had been right. It was all about having people. Begrudgingly, he had to admit this included the man to his right, who had evolved from the brash hothead he had first encountered, to someone he knew would sacrifice just as much as he himself would for their community.

The rest of the trip to the construction site was uneventful, allowing them to get to work almost immediately. They easily located and loaded the thin, square metal sheets needed to patch the walls. After spending a majority of the day sifting through equipment and other useful odds and ends, they loaded the van, planning to spend the next day assessing the site for other potential finds that could be retrieved at a later date.

As the sunlight of the first day waned, they built out a perimeter made of posts found at the site, strung cans across them, and erected tents from the tarps and blankets packed for the run. Not exactly luxurious, but good enough for a two-night stay.

The sun had yet to make its appearance, when static from the walkie-talkie near his head woke Spencer up. Discombobulated and sore from a night spent in an awkward sleeping position, Spencer flipped on his flashlight and checked his watch. 5:30. Resetting the dial on the walkie-talkie, a muffled voice crackled through, disrupting the pre-dawn peace, and waking the other three men.

"Ran into trouble. We need ya guys here. Hurry!"

"What the hell's going on?" Scott asked.

"Not sure, but that was Daryl," Spencer replied. "Something's wrong. Let's pack up and go. I'll drive."

The outpost was a little over an hour away, but if Daryl and team were under attacked, they all worried it would be too late to reach them in time. On the way, they repeatedly tried contacting Daryl and the rest, but to no avail. Dread began to set in as they neared the outpost. When they were a few minutes away, the walkie-talkie suddenly came back to life.

"'We're cornered in a back room," Daryl croaked. "Straight shot from the front and towards the left. Got hit the minute we walked in. Three of 'em. Fuckin' bastards. Still yellin' 'I'm Negan' or some bullshit. Got all of 'em, but they set up a tr– y'all need to wa–"

The transmitter went quiet. There was no way to know for certain what they were walking into, but they had no choice. They would have to walk in blind.


"Sit tight, I'll be back!" Daryl rasped, plucking Rick from his daydream.

Giving him a quick nod, Daryl used his right hand to push himself off the back bumper of the van, slamming the door closed behind him, and sealing Rick and Spencer in the safety of the van's interior. Spinning around to the passenger side, he rushed over to help Tara and Heath dispatch the last of the walkers blocking the outpost's exit.

The reverberation of the door banging shut, caused the van to shake violently, pitching from side to side, as its antiquated axles groaned in complaint. A rattled Rick, crouched below the porthole cut into the van's partition, lost his bearings in the commotion, and came down hard on his knees. As pain shot through his right knee and up into the broad bone of his thigh, he cried out in pain. Pinpricks of light flashed across his line of vision as he sucked in a deep, strained breath, the remnants of his battle with Negan, once again, flaring up.

Shaking off the searing ache forcing its way through his entire leg and into his spine, Rick looked downward, returning his attention to a shivering, semi-conscious Spencer. A lump formed in Rick's throat as he watched Spencer writhe in pain, panting and sweating profusely. He knew anything he could do would be inadequate, but he reached out to provide what little quiet comfort he could. His hand landed on Spencer's shoulder, rubbing it slowly, as he sought to bring some relief to the fallen man.

The crew was my responsibility and I didn't keep 'im safe, Rick thought. What'll I tell her?

As soon as he had realized how bad Spencer's injury was, even before they had all made it out of the outpost's entrance, he had shouted for Scott, Tobin, and Jacob to take the other van back to Alexandria, wanting to make sure they were prepared in the off chance they could help Spencer.

His panic boiled over at the thought of having to tell Michonne what had happened, causing his stomach to spasm and attempt to reject its contents. Hopelessness permeated his very being as his mind raced back and forth, trying to come up with something… anything… to save him.

As Spencer moaned incoherently, Rick continued doing all he could to ease his torment, but the futility of such an exercise was evident. Rick, stooped over in the fetid heat of the van, tears dusting his cheeks, thoughts only of Michonne, and her inevitable sorrow.

Bringing this to her doorstep shattered him. It seemed incomprehensible that the run had turned so disastrous. Sitting there, contemplating their return home, Rick's mind traveled back to when he had last seen her, at the gate, before their departure.


Rick hadn't meant to watch them. He rarely could tolerate doing so, as the ache in his chest became ever more pronounced whenever he did. But, it was in these lonely moments, by himself in the driver's seat of the run van, waiting for the others to finish packing up, that he found he couldn't help it. His mind brazenly wouldn't allow his eyes to leave her.

And so, he sat there, watching Michonne and Spencer's goodbyes through the rear-view mirror. After all this time, he had assumed it would get easier, but it hadn't. Even so, Rick found himself curiously soothed by the gnawing pang that seeing Michonne with Spencer caused him. It felt like a just punishment, even if he was the only one who knew it.

Watching Spencer smile at her, stroke her arm, lean in to kiss her, was... torture. His heart clinched, making the pain a physical one. But, she was happy. Of that, he was sure. She was where she wanted to be. As difficult of an insight this was for Rick, as wistful as he was, he truly was happy that she was happy.

But, knowing and feeling were two disparate things. The awareness that, though they were once again close, there would always be a barrier. She would never be his. At least, not in the way his heart desired.

Rick fought mightily to keep the emotions from bubbling to the surface. With his sight still trained on them, he swallowed the bile erupting from the depths of his belly, acknowledging he had no right to feel this way, but knowing it couldn't be helped. As much joy as her happiness brought him, he wished things were different. But, he pushed down those thoughts, as he watched Spencer walk towards the van, ready to leave for their run.


His mind was transported back to the van's interior, Rick, gazing at a lethargic Spencer, noted how everything seemed ringed in silence. Aside from Spencer's strained breathing, all was still. Trying to shake the eerie, uneasy feeling, Rick was jolted by the van's back door suddenly bursting open.

Daryl, bloody and mired in filth, holding his left arm against his torso, barreled into the van, howling in agony, as he tumbled forward. Reaching his right arm behind him, he grabbed the door handle, and roughly slammed it shut. The movement disturbed Spencer, causing Rick to give Spencer's shoulder a reassuring pat, calming the agitated man.

"Easy Daryl," Rick grumbled. "Christ."

Ignoring Rick's comment, Daryl bent down towards Spencer, their heads nearly touching, hurriedly asking, "Hey man, how's it?'

Rick stayed in his upright position, watching their exchange. He couldn't hear Spencer's murmured responses, but did catch Daryl nodding, as if in agreement. He watched as Daryl reached for Spencer's hand, marveling at the 'odd couple' relationship between the 'redneck' and the 'frat boy'.

Leaning closer to the two of them, Rick heard Spencer whisper to Daryl, "Can you tell Michonne tha– that I loved her without knowing how?" Smiling briefly, he added, "she'll know what it means."

Daryl mumbled a response that didn't quite reach Rick, still straining to comprehend the men's conversation.

"… a brother in all of this?" Spencer said, raising his eyebrows in wonder.

Rick caught Daryl's eyes, observing that his tears teetered at the precipice.

"I promise to getcha back to 'er," Daryl declared.

"I know," Spencer wheezed, the magnitude of his suffering evident in each labored word.

Rick could only look on as Spencer, chest heaving, drifted out of consciousness. Noticing the change, Daryl pounded on the van's partition, shouting to Tara in the driver's seat,

"C'mon. Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Shifting his gaze from Spencer, Rick's eyes reconnected with Daryl's. Both quietly acknowledged their dire situation, and prayed they would be able to get Spencer back home to Michonne in time.

Once they had gotten far enough away from the outpost and the gaggle of walkers still pacing its grounds, Tara stopped the van on the side of the road, allowing them to regroup and plot out the fastest route back to Alexandria. They knew if they took the same route home, they likely wouldn't make it in time.

Rick stayed in the back of the van with Spencer, while Daryl left to discuss options with Tara and Heath. Where they were parked was deserted, so Rick could hear the conversation as Daryl leaned into the open driver's side window to talk to Tara.

According to their map, there was a detour that would save time, but hadn't yet been cleared. It was hilly, and would likely burn gas and tax the aging van, but could save them several hours of travel. They opined that Tobin
would have likely opted for this shorter route; it made sense to follow the same path.

Satisfied they had come to the right conclusion, Rick redirected his attention to Spencer, lying next to him, mostly mute. As he watched over him, Rick noticed his spurts of lucidity, where he would suddenly start talking clearly, seemed to have subsided. As he prepared to call out to Tara to get on the road, Spencer once again crawled out of his stupor and opened his eyes, locking into Rick's and startling the older man.

"How much time?" Spencer asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

"Just breathe," Rick said. "You need to stay calm, conserve energy. We'll make it."

Spencer's piercing gaze held Rick in place, an undercurrent of angst holding both in its grip.

"Yeah," Spencer said, nodding as he continued to study Rick. "I'm not sure I ever had her whole heart, but… I had enough."

Rick was stupefied, not wanting to join the path he now suspected Spencer was on.

"You had all of it," Rick replied. "Michonne doesn't do anythin' halfway. If she's with you, she's with you. And Spencer, she's with you."

"She loves you too," Spencer said, holding Rick captive. "I've known it from the beginning. Used to break my heart, if I'm being honest. I know she loved me too. Felt it every day, in every way. I know what you guys had was… different.
I didn't like it, but I accepted it. I accepted it because, if that was the price of loving her, I was willing to pay it."

Rick stared at him, floored.

"I know a little about what happened between you two. Michonne didn't like to talk about it much and I never wanted to pry."

Rick averted his eyes.

"If this is the end for me, I need to know you'll take care of her. She'll fight you on it, because of your... I just need you to do this for her."

Rick was shamed by Spencer's words.

"With the baby coming, she'll need help, even though she'll refuse to ask for it."

Rick's eyes shot to Spencer's.

"You didn't know?" Spencer asked, chuckling softly. "She tells you everything, I just assumed… Anyway, that's what she meant by 'restarting civilization.' She wanted me to take fewer risks, for the baby, and for her."

Locking eyes with Rick, he made his final plea.

"Don't let her mourn too long. This life can be brutally short. I don't want her to endure pain longer than she needs to. Longer than she'll want to."

Rick felt the tears leeching down his cheeks, catching in the scruff of his chin.

"You'll take care of her? The baby?"

"'Course I will," Rick replied, resolute. "Spencer, she loves you so much."

"How do you know?" Spencer asked, the trepidation clear in his voice.

"Because, I know her, and so do you," Rick replied. "You know she's honest and loyal, and never says what she doesn't mean. She loves you. I know it, you should too."

Spencer flinched, the pain rippling through his shoulder. He beheld Rick, clear-eyed and assured. He believed him. Nodding his head, Spencer closed his eyes once more, just as Daryl returned to the back of the van.

Figuring it would be easier if he sat up front, just in case they ran into trouble, Rick left Daryl to care for Spencer in the back, and joined Tara and Heath in the front seats. Plans in place, they began the final leg of their race back to Alexandria. The race to return Spencer to Michonne.


Michonne peered down at Rick from her perch in the chair, still clinging to the book of poetry in her hand; her other hand encircled by both of Rick's. She leaned back in the chair, causing Rick's hands to slack a bit, but he rejected the notion of relinquishing his hold. She tipped her head back, all cried out, steeped in the solemnity of Spencer's words to Rick.

The revelation didn't come as a surprise to Michonne. Honesty about her bond with the Grimes had been an immovable cornerstone of her relationship with Spencer. An aspect that, while she knew Spencer didn't relish, he gave to her willingly. One of the reasons she found it so easy to fall for him.

She couldn't help but also be a little saddened by Spencer's revelations. His fits of jealousy had been infrequent, but tough. He knew she stayed true to her commitment to him, but watching her interact with Rick couldn't have been easy, despite all her reassurances.

The thought of Spencer questioning if she had truly loved him as much as she had shown, tugged at Michonne's heart, pulling her towards the trap of wanting to bury her feelings. It had once been her default emotional response, but was now a lever she purposely avoided.

Stoicism had served her well when she was alone. But this time, she wasn't alone. She had people. Family. She didn't need to hide. She had nothing that needed to be entombed. Instead of bundling her grief and putting it on the shelf, her sorrow-filled eyes turned to Rick, silently asking for help.

He gave it easily and willingly. In that moment, the cries she had vanquished returned, as a waterfall of tears floated down her cheek. He rose to his knees and tried using the pads of his thumbs to whisk away the tears from her cheek, but the flow proved too fast for him to catch it all. And so, he let her cry. Let the toxicity of her grief drain away, giving light to her wounds, and allowing them the chance to heal.

"He always doubted himself," she quietly said, shaking her head in wonder. "He felt he wasn't good enough. But, he was. He'd ask me why I loved him. I wished so much that he understood that I truly loved him. Somehow, I don't know if he believed it. Believed me. He was a good man who gave me back something I thought I'd never have again. Especially not in this world."

Rick's eyes never left her face, waiting patiently as she worked through her feelings on the terrible trajectory of this day. He loved her, so he sat and listened carefully, hunting for bits and pieces of comfort he could send her way. Any serenity he could bring to her torment. It wasn't easy hearing her speak like this about another man, but the anguish was written all over her face and stopped his heart cold. He needed to sit there and bear witness.

As he watched her entire body vibrate with sobs, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her, but worried it was not place. His heart aching at the sight of her, he finally chose to throw caution to the wind, reaching up to pulling her from the chair and down to him. As he opened up his arms, she reached out for him. He gently gripped her shoulder and pulled her up so that they were both on their knees. One arm wrapped around her waist as he placed the other behind her head and softly pulled it towards his chest. He could feel her tremble as she cried. She could feel his racing heartbeat against her cheek.

This wasn't their first embrace, but this one held the special value of deep understanding and comfort. She clung to him like a thin reed steeling itself against heavy winds. He held onto her just as closely.

"I'm so sorry" he repeated, the words taking up all the space between. His hand moved from her waist to rub comforting circles between her shoulder blades.

As her tears began to subside, Rick whispered, "I'm here and I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

She gazed at him, finding solace in his words.

She continued, "I knew he wasn't exactly like us, but he tried so, so hard... I tho– I thought I could take care of the rest. Keep us safe. Keep him safe. I couldn't. "

"I hope you know how much he loved you" he said, offering her a weak smile. "I'm not sure what to say about a man that let me stick around after all…" gesturing between the two of them, then dropping his eyes.

"After all've this… mess I made. Havin' my kids around. I know I couldn't've done it," Rick croaked, the last few words a muddled stuttered. "He was a good man."

He leaned back against the chair, coaxing her to lay her head on his chest. He held her, rocking her slowly, until he felt her hiccupped breathing subside, replaced by more steady inhales and exhales. When he was sure she had fallen asleep, he wrapped her in his arms and carried her to the couch, laying her down gently and pulling the blankets from Judith's playpen to wrap around her deflated body.

He briefly considered going upstairs to sleep in the guest room with his kids, but couldn't imagine leaving her alone. He decided instead to push back the coffee table, settling onto the rug beneath it. Facing Michonne, within arm's reach, Rick leaned back on his side, arm underneath his head. He lifted his hand to intertwine it in hers, she instinctively took it, never stirring from her slumber.

The floor was harsh and unyielding to his back, but he was committed to keeping vigil while she slept. And so, he did, his mind, as it inevitably did these days, jumped back to the day they all slipped through the gates of Alexandria. He now acknowledged how that fateful decision influenced everything that came afterwards, and had been instrumental in bringing them to this point. His mind drifted back to stories Deanna had shared with he and Michonne about her impressions of their group's first days in Alexandria. He closed his eyes, those thoughts floating in his sub-consciousness, and allowed sleep to swiftly overtake him.


From her perch at a window on the second floor of her home, Deanna inspected the people Aaron was presently leading through the gates of the Alexandria Safe-Zone. It was a surprisingly large group, which alarmed her a bit. It had been a long time since they had allowed anyone new to grace their threshold.

The decision to allow Aaron to return to recruiting rested worryingly on her shoulders. She had been wrong before, and wasn't sure if her community could survive another error. But, she did pride herself on being an astute judge of character.

Deanna scanned the crowd, her eyes darting from person to person, taking in the ragtag bunch. Using her keen sense of group interactions, she studied them as they stood, clearly agitated, while Aaron explained the community rules.

Her eyes easily fell on the slim, bow-legged man with the grizzly beard, standing rod-straight in the center of the fray. Though he held a baby cradled in his arms, not exactly a dangerous pose, but she could sense his authority without seeing him clearly or having spoken to him.

Interesting, she thought.

She observed the rest of his group strategically fanning out around him, like a Royal Guard protecting the King. It was fascinating to watch from above, knowing her vantage point gave her a unique perspective on their dynamics.

Her view of the Leader was hijacked by a younger man, perhaps a boy, in a Sheriff's hat. The boy leaned in a take the baby from the man's arms, then stayed standing directly next to him.

Has to be someone very dear to him, she thought.

The young man was then displaced by a very thin, fit, black woman. She pulled the hat off the boy's head, tucking it under her arm as she swung her arm over his shoulders and pulled him and the baby closer to her. With an intimidating sword at her back, Deanna noted how their guards included the woman in the safety circle they had created around the Leader and the boy.

The woman leaned into the Leader to whisper something in his ear, piquing Deanna's interest in the nature of their relationship. Intrigued, Deanna began preparing to make her way downstairs, anticipating Aaron would soon bring the group to her for interviews.

Hearing a loud 'Who's Deanna' bellowed from outside, she took this as her cue. Notebook in hand, and knowing Aaron would bring the Leader to see her first, she descended the stairs, and walked out onto her porch to greet the new group.

Opening her front door, her first glance was towards Aaron, not too worse for the wear, at least in comparison to the shockingly unkempt man he was walking towards her door. She had missed a few details from her distant initial view of him. She locked in on his crystal blue eyes, swimming in a grime-strewn sea. Watching his eyes dart back and forth between her and… everything else, was mesmerizing.

Reaching her hand out to him, she said "Hi, I'm Deanna Monroe. Welcome to the Alexandria Safe-Zone."

"Rick Grimes," he replied, ignoring her outstretched hand.

Pausing a few seconds, she realized he had no intention of shaking her hand, nor being any more forthcoming, so, she dropped her hand and gave him a small smile.

"Ok," she finally said, opening the front door more widely and ushering him into her home. "Come on in. Let's have a chat."

She walked through the foyer and into the living room, slowly taking a seat on the leather couch and signaling for him to take a seat in one of the Ikat-print wingback chairs stationed across from her. Dismissing her gesture, Rick cased the room, stomping around like a lion hunting prey, his eyes everywhere at once, never finding a clear target on which to land. Finally, he found his way to the small sitting area next to the front window.

"Do you mind if I film this, Rick?" Deanna asked.

Turning slowly towards her, gripping the wall briefly, then leaving a muck-streaked stain when he released it, he asked,

"Why do you need to film this? What for?"

"This community is all about transparency," she replied, smiling. "Are you ok with getting started?"

Pausing to acknowledge his half shrug, half nod, she turned on the camera and began.

"Have you been out there since the beginning?"

"Pretty much."

"Did any of you know each other from before, or did you fi–"

"None of us knew each other," he interrupted.

She grinned at his abruptness, and said, "Why don't I tell you a little bit about myself?"

Not waiting for him to respond, she began,

"I was a Congresswoman, 15th district, Ohio. My husband, Reg, and I, along with our two boys, were on our way from DC back home to help our district through this… well, I guess we didn't know what it was then. In any case, we didn't make it. We were stopped by the Army and told to come here. They said they'd come back for us. Never did. What about you. What did you do… before?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied.

"Oh, yes it does. It matters now, more than ever."

Sidestepping her comment, he asked, "what's this place?"

"Can't you tell?" she teased. "It's the dawn of 'Sustainability.' Or, at least that's what the pamphlets we found said. For only $800,000, you too could have lived in a community with its own, fully integrated grid, solar-only power, eco sewage filtration, group maintain community gardens, and on, and on… Wonderful, right? Can you believe they sold they sold them all?"

"What about the walls?" he asked. "Did you do that?"

Nodding, she continued, "this place had supplies and pretty much everything we needed. My husband Reg was an Architect, even taught it at Georgetown. We found this massive shopping mall a few miles away that was still under construction. Reg and our two boys put up the first section of the wall. Soon, more people came… they helped… and, before we knew it, we had a community."

"And Rick, who Reg is or was mattered." she concluded. "It mattered quite a bit. That's why who you were, who the people in your group were, matters. We need people who've been out there. For this community to thrive, we need people. Your group is the first one we've even thought about bringing into our community in a long time."

"Well, you should keep your gates closed," he stated.

Puzzled, she waited patiently for him to continue.

"Anyone who's out there right now, is just about survival. Survival at any cost. It's not the weak surviving now. They'll be checking out where you're soft, or any other way in, just to take what you've built. That's what winnin' looks like in this world."

"So, I shouldn't let you and your group in? You're saying I can't trust you?"

"I'm saying, you can't trust anyone. I've done terrible things. Those people out there? They're my family, and I'll do anything to keep them safe. I've killed for them. I don't even know how many times, but, I know why. I did it to keep them alive."

"Well then, I'm pretty sure I'd want to be part of your family," she said. Pausing, she added, "I've done things too Rick. We've all done things we never imagined doing in the old world. It's the price of survival."

"What've you done?" he asked.

Hesitating for a few seconds, she eventually said, "I exiled three men that… didn't quite work out in the community. Sent them to their likely deaths. I had to do it in order to keep this community safe."

She looked past him and out the front window. Watching her for a few beats, and with Michonne's pleas for him to give this a legitimate shot ringing in his ears, Rick acquiesced.

"I was a Sheriff's Deputy."

"I figured," she replied, smiling more broadly. "You're suspicious, cagey. Makes sense."

Taking him in once more, she made up her mind. Exhaling slowly, she said "Ok, we're done here. Let's have Aaron show you to your new home. Welcome to Alexandria."

With the camera still running, Deanna stood up and walked over to Rick, escorting him to the door.

Rick waited outside for Carl to finish his interview with Deanna. He stood at the base of the stairs to the Monroe's porch, periodically taking in his surroundings, while looking between Aaron and a clearly nervous Michonne.

Michonne turned to catch Rick's expression. He had appeared wary when he walked out of the house, even refused to make eye contact, which was unusual for them. Sighing deeply, her eyes shot to her feet, listening as Aaron continued explaining how Alexandria was governed. His speech was halted when the front door swung open onto a pensive Carl, Judith still in his arms.

"You ok son?" Rick asked.

Carl gave a brief nod, then quietly walked down the stairs.

"Michonne, why don't you go up?" Aaron asked. "I'll take these two to your houses, and come back to get you when you're done talking to Deanna."

Without answer, Michonne turned to stare at the woman smiling at her from the front door. Glancing briefly at Rick, she gave Carl's shoulder a quick squeeze as she ascended the stairs. Reaching the top, she turned to see Carl, Judith still in his arms, walking down the road with Aaron. Rick stood at the base of the stairs, now looking squarely at Michonne.

"Ready to go?" Deanna asked, trying to draw Michonne's attention from Rick.

"Sure," Michonne said, pivoting and following the woman through the front door and into her home.

Michonne took a seat in the chair Deanna had pointed out to her, taking in the room as she settled in. She noted books stacked on nearly every surface, a drafting table in the corner by the front window, and coils of drafting paper stuffed into a large basket on the floor. The cool comfort of the lived-in home intrigued her immensely.

"I used to be a pretty damn good poker player," Deanna started, taking in Michonne's perplexed expression. "But, I'm having a hard time getting a solid read on your group. Rick certainly, but you too. Are you as skeptical as Rick?"

"Rick's just concerned that this place is on the up and up, that's all," Michonne answered firmly. "Once he sees it is, he'll be fine."

"I see. Thank you for clearing that up. It's helpful to know because I see a lot of potential in your group joining us."

Bemused, Michonne said, "how so? You've barely met us."

Sharing a closed-mouth laugh, Deanna said, "like I said, I'm a damn good poker player."

Understanding Michonne's cue to continue, Deanna asked, "who were you before this?"

The question disquieted Michonne. She'd forgotten what she used to say. Was she a lawyer? A wife? A mother? Not anymore. The automatic boilerplate she would have regurgitated was now meaningless.

Deanna's eyes never left hers, so hers didn't waver either. For some reason, she senses a meeting of the minds with Deanna. She felt compelled to answer her questions.

"I was a mother, a wife, and a lawyer."

Deanna bowed her head and said, "I thought so."

The shared another short laugh.

"So, what are you now?" Deanna asked.

Michonne took a few seconds to contemplate the expected answer to such a question.

She finally blurted out, "I'm not sure."

"What about Rick and Carl and the baby?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you a family?"

"We're all family."

"Good to know. How old is the baby?"

"About 9 months, but we're not exactly keeping time now, so…"

"Well, I keep time here, so we'll be sure to celebrate something as monumental as a 1st birthday. We don't get too many of those types of moments anymore."

"Yeah, that would be nice," Michonne said, grinning at the thought.

"Ok Michonne, thank you. This has been really interesting. I think you're going to like it here."

Michonne took in the twinkle in the older woman's eye, encouraged by what she saw there.

"I think so too," Michonne replied.

Standing at the same time, they made their way to the door. As Deanna pushed open the door, Michonne eyes scanned the bottom of the steps, realizing she couldn't see a single member of her group. Overwhelming anxiety seized her heart. It was irrational, but Rick, Carl, Judith, and the rest of the family had rarely been out of her sight in a long time. Not seeing them made her anxious.

Scanning the street, she caught a sliver of Aaron turning the corner. Not bothering to say goodbye to Deanna, she rushed down the stairs, catching the blur of someone climbing up the stairs, knocking them to the side of the railing as she reached the bottom, turned, and ran down the street, straining to catch up with Aaron.

"Hi Spence," Deanna said, greeting her son.

"Hey Mom," Spencer said, continuing up the stairs, staring back at the dervish that had nearly bowled him over. "Who's that?"

With a mischievous expression on her face, Deanna said, "I'm not sure, but we're going to find out."

Spencer kept his eyes trained on Michonne's departing figure, transfixed, as she turned the corner and faded from his view.

"Sounds intriguing," he said, a small smile gracing his lips.


"We've got plenty of room for all of you to spread out a bit, but I figured you'd be more comfortable starting out with two houses," Aaron said, steadily monitoring Rick's state of mind.

He seemed less dangerous than in the barn, but he considered Rick to be incredibly unpredictable. With Michonne being interviewed, he was hesitant to leave Rick to his own devices; Aaron had noted how much calmer Rick was with Michonne in the vicinity.

"Dad?" Carl called out. "What do you think?"

Rebounding between Carl to Aaron, Rick replied, "don't need two houses. One'll be fine. We'll take that one."

Rick pointed to the three-story home to his left.

"Great choice," Aaron joked, eyeing Rick. "The curb appeal is phenomenal."

Not getting a response, Aaron continued, "ok, I'm just up the street, three doors down. Come by if you need anything. Either way, I'll come back later to check on how you're settling in."

After watching Aaron walk away, Rick swung his arm around Carl's shoulders, pulling him up the stairs and towards the front door. Opening the door, they stood at the threshold, taking in the clean, gleaming floors and tastefully modern furniture. He could barely wrap his brain around what he was seeing. Carl quickly stepped in, setting Judith on a rug on the floor, as he stepped through the dining room, past the living room, and into the kitchen; Rick trailed behind.

Carl went to the sink in the kitchen's center island, lifting the faucet handle and jumping back as water flowed down the drain.

"Water," Carl said, smiling in wonder. "Can I check this place out?"

"Go ahead," Rick answered. "Just take Judith with you."

Walking through the kitchen, Rick noticed the open doors of a bedroom and bathroom next to the staircase. Taking the stairs, he moved through the upper level of the home. Walking to a room at the end of the hall, he opened the door into what appeared to be the master bedroom. He walked in and made his way into the adjoining bathroom.

His eyes quickly found the mirror in front of the double sinks. Taking a few steps forward, he stared at himself, unable to recognize the man in the mirror. Inching closer, he bent forward, nearly resting his face directly on the glass. He ran his hands through his beard, shocked at not only its length, but its filth. Turning on the water, he cupped his hands, filling them with lukewarm water, then lifting them to splash his face. Noticing a shaving kit on the counter, he picked up the razor, turning it in his hands, examining it slowly. Returning to his face again, he placed the razor back on the counter, picked up a small pair of scissors, and began trimming his beard, prepping for his first shave in a long, long time.

After shaving, he dropped his dirty clothes on the bathroom mat and stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind him. He leaned in, turning on the shower and noticing the instantly warm water flowing over him. He grabbed the bar of soap, holding himself under the waterfall, shocked by how soothing it all was. The water caused chills to run through his body and felt like pinpricks on his skin. He watched the muck and grime leave his body, the dirt-streaked bubbles disappearing, as the foam circled the drain.

Finally cleansed, he stepped out of the shower stall, the cold air causing goosebumps, but his nostrils taking in the cleanliness around him. Drying off, he realizes that he didn't consider what he would wear afterwards. Putting on his dirty clothes seemed wrong. He walked back into the bedroom, and over to a dresser positioned against the wall, across from the bed.

Opening the top drawer, he saw a sparse collection of women's underwear and bras. Moving to the next drawer, he found a pair of dark blue boxers in his size. Slipping them on, he noted how loosely they clung to his hips, barely staying up. After a brief hunt, Rick found a pair of dark-wash jeans in the closet. They hung low on his hips as he turned around, taking in his emaciated form in the full-length mirror hanging in the closet.

Turning once more, he was startled by a loud knock coming from downstairs. Immediately on alert, Rick cursed himself for not having his gun with him. Not wasting time finding a shirt, he crept into the hallway, down the stairs, and towards the front door. He doesn't hear Carl, which immediately worries him. Peering through the window at the side of the door, Rick caught a glimpse of a blonde carrying a large laundry basket. Cautiously, he opened the door.

He stood in front of her, waiting for her to introduce herself. She'd been expecting some sort of greeting, but quickly realized none would be offered.

"Hi, I'm Jessie," she said, turning and pointing up the street. "I live two doors down. I work in the pantry. Deanna sent me over to bring you and your group some supplies."

"Thank you," Rick says, taking the basket from her outstretched arms. She presented a clean and at ease demeanor, a steady smile playing up her features. He didn't know what to make of it. It struck him as strange for anyone to be this calm and worry free. Especially in this world.

"You guys settling in?" she asked, inexplicably trying to keep the conversation going.

"We're getting cleaned up a bit," Rick answered. "Never thought I'd see hot, running water and working lights again."

"I see that. You've got a little cream right…" she said, indicating by pointing to her own chin.

Rick brought his hand to his chin, wiping away the excess shaving cream.

She gave him a thorough once-over and said, "you know, I used to work in a hair salon, along with a dozen other things… Anyway, if you want, I could give you a cut."

She waited for his response, their conversation feeling one-sided. She was oddly intrigued by his reticence. She assumed most people would have been more effusively grateful. He seemed different from the others they had brought into the community. He hadn't moved from the front door, but had given no indication that she was welcome to move any further into the home.

"You don't even know me," he said, befuddled by anyone willingly helping someone else without working some angle. "Don't you think that's dangerous?"

She smiled and said, "I can take care of myself."

"No, thank you," he said, still baffled by her offer. "I'm good."

Surprised by his abrupt closure of the topic, the grin quickly left her face.

"Oh… ok, got it. No problem. You know, It's ok if you're not ok with this yet. I get it."

Changing the subject, she began, "so, I heard from Aaron that you've got kids. I've got two boys myself. He mentioned your boy was around the same age as my eldest, Ron. When you're ready, maybe we can get them together. It'll be nice to have more kids around."

She waited a few moments for a response. Getting nothing, she swallowed her embarrassment and elected to end the one-way chat.

"Ok then, I'll see you later," she said, nodding curtly as she turned and walked down the stairs.

Rick stepped out, basket in hand, onto the porch. He stood there and watched Jessie briskly walk the stairs, then turn to the left, eventually making her way up the stairs of the house two doors from their house. He didn't know what to make of her. Curious as to how someone like her could possibly exist in a world like this.

His introspection was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. He watched as Michonne out of breath, stutter-stepped in front of the house. Studying him, she did a double-take, which caused a smirk to appear on his lips. Panting, she walked up the stairs, staring at him the entire time.

Feeling uncomfortable, he asked, "what?"

They'd all seen each other in varying stages of undress, but for some reason, this felt different.

Grinning widely, her eyes sparkling in a way that gave him pause, she said, "your face… I've never seen you like this."

"Yeah," he said, turning back into the house with her on his heels. "I thought the exact same thing when I caught myself in the mirror. Before, and after."

Laughing, the air lending its easy breeze, they walked back into the house. Maybe Michonne was right. Maybe this would be the start of something.


"Dad?" Carl called out, gently shaking a groggy Rick. "Michonne says you need to get up and get stuff ready for the party.

Rick opened his eyes to a highly amused Carl. Shifting, he suddenly became aware of the pitfalls of spending an entire night on a hardwood floor. As he rose to a seated position, his sore back protested mightily. Using his hands to assist, he slowly rose to his feet.

"Where's Chonne?" Rick asked, his head swiveling, yet finding the couch empty, a folded blanket nestled on top of its cushions.

"She's upstairs giving Judith a bath. She already has her outfit ready. She just needs you to go home and get the decorations, then come back so we can start setting up in the backyard. Maggie and Enid will be here in a little bit. They promised to bring Hershel Glenn. Judith will be excited about that."

Rick cleared his throat, his thoughts going to how he would handle going home.

"I still have my stuff here, but do you want me to come home with you?" Carl asked, registering Rick's worry.

"I'm good," he said, chuckling slowly, his son's keen sense of empathy giving him pride. "Stay here and I'll be back in an hour or so."

Rick walked over to the chair, where he had left his boots, and slipped them on.

"Let me go up and check on Michonne and Judith first, then I'll go," he said, watching as Carl went to sit on the couch.

Rick walked through the foyer and began climbing the staircase. He held onto to the handrail on his way up, feeling the strain on his leg as he ascended the stairs. Arriving at the landing, he observed the open bathroom door. Walking towards it, he smiled as Michonne on her knees, gently cooed to Judith, giggling and covered in bubbles. Smiling, he hesitated to interrupt the scene.

"Hey," he said, piercing the beautiful bubble.

"Hey yourself," she replied, exhausted, but not failing to beam back up at him. "I've been trying to get our Judy-bear out of the tub for the last 15 minutes, but someone just doesn't want to do that. Do you sweetie?"

"Nope," a giggling Judith retorted. "Still dir'y."

"Still dirty huh?" Rick replied. "Well, if you don't get clean, you won't be able to go to your party."

"No! C'ean!" she yelled.

"That's what I thought," Rick laughed, turning his attention back to Michonne.

"I'm gonna go home now. Be back in an hour or so."

Her head bowed, she nodded slowly, before raising her head to meet his eyes.

"Everything ok at home?" she asked, not really sure what to say. She didn't know if it would ever not feel awkward.

"It's fine, or at least, it will be," he said, peering down at her, Judith now wrapped in a blanket and sitting on her lap.

A new tension hung in the air, neither brave enough to say something that might disrupt lightness permeating the bathroom.

"I'll see you in a bit," Rick said, leaning over to kiss the top of Judith's head, then, thinking nothing of it, kissing the top of Michonne's head as well, forcing a smile to her lips.

He walked down the stairs, the clacking of his boots failing to disturb Carl, who he found sitting on the couch, his headphones firmly in place.

He walked over and pulled Carl up and into a quick hug, before walking over to the door, pulling it open, and shutting it behind him. He spent a few minutes on the porch, thinking to himself as he prepared to make the short walk home. Sighing, he flogged himself for not stopping by last night on his way to Michonne's.

Made it harder on myself. Stupid.

Exhaling sharply, he gripped the railing, attempting to prevent over-flexing his leg as he limped down the stairs. Hands on hips, he stood still for a moment, taking in the scenery, then, turned to walk home. Passing the Anderson house, new residents having moved in several months ago, he kept his chin tucked into his chest to avoid bringing the home into his sightline. Only two doors down from his own home, over a year after the herd, and he still couldn't bring himself to look at it. Pondering what he'd done to bring disharmony to his family, guilt washed over him with each step.

As his porch came into view, he noticed Sam kneeling in the front yard, playing with his army men. Not seeing anyone near him, he walked up to the sweet, but troubled boy.

"Hey Sam," Rick called out. "Where's your mom?"

Not looking up from whatever fantasy was playing in his mind, Sam answered, "on the porch, waiting for you."

Rick saw Jessie as soon as his foot hit the first step.

"G'mornin'," he drawled, hoping to discourage a conversation he wasn't prepared to have at the moment. Seeing her face, he knew she wasn't going to let him off that easy.

An irritated Jessie took another drag on her cigarette, calming her frayed nerves as she worked out the details to this long overdue conversation.

Rick peered at his shoes, struggling to find a way out that didn't make him come across like an uncaring asshole, but finding… nothing.

She snorted, annoyed by his hesitation.

"I guess I shouldn't care. After all, it's not like we're a real couple. Just playing house, right? But, last night? Last night, I watched you walk past this house without even stopping for a minute."

"I told you at the funeral I needed to make sure Michonne was ok," Rick snapped, sighing in frustration. "I don't wanna do this right now. It's Judith's birthday and we've gotta get ready. We've waited this long to talk, what difference does a few hours make?"

"We're still having the party? But… Spencer just… I don't understand," she said, perplexed as to how anyone could feign joy after the events of yesterday.

"Michonne wants to have the party, so we're gonna do it," Rick said, immediately regretting his choice of words, and steeling himself for her response.

Taking a protracted breath, she looked him square in the eyes, and said,

"God, I'm such a fool. Sitting around all this time, waiting for you to lo–. Waiting for you. But, you were never going to give us a fair chance, were you?"

"Jessie please, not today," he said, exasperated. He knew he hadn't been fair. Not really. Silently, he resolved that today would be the day that he finally shared his truth.

With a look of disappointment, coupled with frustration, rippling across her face, Jessie rose and walked into the house. Rick, shaking his head, followed.


A/N: The light is coming. Thank you for reading.