A/N: Next two chapters are slow-ish and short-ish, but necessary. And I didn't want to combine them because it was just getting to be too much. So I apologize and will update soon-ish! Bye-ish! -Ash

16 – Resentment

"Why are we staying here?" Michonne demanded, staring across the hallway at Daryl. He was leaned against the door of what used to be Dawn's office. Carl sat crosslegged on the floor, looking up at the two adults.

Daryl only shrugged. "You'd rather stay in a raggedy ass church?"

Anywhere but here, she thought to herself. "I don't know what I'd rather."

"This place got walls," he reminded her. "Food. Lights. They were a buncha assholes, but it was smart to stay here. Rick's right."

She cringed at the sound of Rick's name now. She had been so glad to see his face and know that she was right – he was capable of finding her. But now that he had, she just wanted him to stay away. It was a good thing he'd gone back to the church to bring back the others. She wouldn't have to see him for another few hours, at least.

"This place…"

Carl's eyes focused in on his friend and her apparent sadness. She was so battered, it was almost hard to look at her, but the angst written all over her face made it even more difficult. "What happened to you here?" he asked cautiously.

She frowned, still feeling the pain. Not only in its physical manifestations, but the emotional bruises of having to fight off a rapist wouldn't soon fade. "It doesn't matter," she attempted to smile, not wanting to depress her buddy. "I won."

He nodded, accepting that she probably didn't want to talk about it. "As long as you're all right."

"I'm standing here, right?"

"Right."

Daryl's eyes kept searching Michonne as well. Searching for some sign that said she was really as all right as she was claiming to be. While he didn't know her as well as Rick did, he knew she was putting on a front. "Why don't you go to the kitchen and find somethin' to eat, man," he told Carl.

The kid wasn't hungry, but he was keen enough to know when someone was trying to get rid of him. He stood from the floor and declined that offer, but suggested another. "I'll look for some clean sheets for everyone. They'll need beds when they get here, right Michonne?"

She nodded in consent with a smirk on her face. She loved how perceptive he was. "Stay on this floor," she instructed. There were wards still hanging around, and she didn't want him interacting with them. They would have to fend for themselves.

"I will."

She waited for him to make it closer to the other end of the hall before looking to Daryl. She figured by the way he looked at her that he was onto her, but she wasn't going to address it if he wasn't. Instead, she took note of the messy halls, filled with other men's blood, and nodded towards the supply closet. "We should get started, I guess."

He nodded in agreement, and the two of them began to retrieve cleaning supplies. They had already sent the many dead bodies down the elevator shaft but the remnants of their deaths still remained. "Hard to believe we did all this," he commented.

"It was mostly you, Rick, and Sasha," she noted evenly. She pulled the mop bucket across the hall and began to wipe at the streaks of red marking the floors.

Daryl took his own pail and got to work on the walls. "It was mostly Rick," he eventually revealed. "He cleared two whole floors on his own." He noticed that she tensed at the mention of his name. Rick told him that before she was taken, they had broken up, whatever that meant. But he couldn't imagine that that would still be bothering her. Or was it? "He would've done anything to get to you, you know."

"I know."

"I'm just makin' sure you do…"

"I also know that's no different from what he'd do for anyone else in our group," she added, assuring him that his friend would not be getting off that easily.

He paused for a moment, staring back at Michonne, contemplating whether to tell her what Rick had done earlier, admitting he loved her to everyone. Daryl was certain that it wasn't his place, but he wondered if it would make her feel any better. She seemed to be harboring some latent anger for Rick. Or perhaps it was just a somberness over the situation. Either way, he hated watching her go through it.

"I'm not mad at him," she promised, not looking up from her task. She could feel Daryl watching her, as if she was some unstable child, and she didn't exactly like it. "I'm just mad."

"That why you told him to shut up?"

"I told him to shut up because… what is there to say? Why is he talking now?" she asked with a sigh. "When I needed him to say something, he just clammed up and left me hanging. I don't wanna hear it now."

He went back to his wall, but continued the conversation. "So you are mad at him."

She stopped short when she realized she was standing in front of Dr. Edwards' office. What used to be his office, anyway. He was dead, along with the others now. But she distinctively recalled him asking why she had been out on that road alone. She never answered him, but she knew the reason, just the same. And it hurt every time she thought about it.

"I don't know if 'betrayal' is the right word," she declared quietly. "But that's what it feels like. That's how it feels to know that I love this man; that he's the reason I let my guard down in the first place, and… just nothing in return. I don't know."

Daryl wished he knew how to make her understand. He'd seen it for himself. The man that pulled the gun on Abraham was just as angry and scared as the one that bit out Joe's throat. He would have done anything to save her. He just figured it all out too late. "He tried to make it right, Michonne."

She looked back at him with a shrug. "Then why do I feel like he let me down?"

Rick's eyes were fixated on the road as he zoomed down the highway as quickly as the church bus would take him. He was glad their mission had been successful, and in turn, they'd found a new place to hole up for a while, but his heart remained heavy. He foolishly figured that saving Michonne would be the answer to their problems. Or more accurately, he hadn't figured anything beyond saving her. But he got a rude awakening that evening when all was said and done.

Sasha sat crossways from him, watching him drive, noting that he hadn't said a word since they left the hospital. He seemed to be in some sort of trance. And she didn't want to address it with Noah sitting just a few seats away, but she didn't want to get back to the church and have to diffuse another situation. This would be tense enough on its own.

She finally just decided to ask. "Rick, are you okay?"

It took a minute, but he eventually responded hoarsely, "I'm fine."

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Isn't that what we all see? Day in, day out?"

She glanced down at her lap, understanding that he obviously wasn't going to make this easy. "Fair enough."

"I… I don't know what you want me to say," he added, clearing his throat. "What is there to say?"

She shrugged, unsure of that very thing herself. "Whatever you're feeling."

"I'm feeling fine."

"How about you do us both a favor and pretend I wasn't born yesterday."

"All right," he smirked a bit, knowing she couldn't see it in the dark. "How about… I just don't wanna talk about it."

"That would be your choice, I guess. But there's a chance I can help."

"I don't think you can, Sasha."

"You didn't think I could earlier today either," she reminded him. "Maybe stop trying to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, Rick. We exist to support you; the same way you do us."

He let out a long, tense sigh, still grasping desperately at his defenses. They were just about all he had left in the world. But they were also why he was in this predicament in the first place. "I fucked up," he finally admitted quietly.

She replied with a small scoff and shook her head. "I think that was clear when Michonne told you to shut up."

"Yeah, I suppose it was."

"What did you do?"

"Do I really have to rehash this? Daryl doesn't just tell you these things?"

"Rick."

"Fine," he relented, running a nervous hand over his face. "She… I don't know. She told me she loved me and I told her I was scared. She asked for a definition and I said I didn't have one. I left her alone, when the one thing I always do… the one thing I'm good at, is being there. I mean… I let all this happen."

"Oh lord," Sasha sighed dramatically. "I don't even know where to begin."

"I know."

"No wonder she was shooting daggers at your back."

"I know."

"Why would you do that to someone?" she frowned. "And you, of all people." Everything she knew about Rick said he was reliable, nearly to a fault. How did he manage to let down the one person he claimed he loved?

He finally took his eyes off the road to look at her for a moment. "Is this your version of helping?"

"I'm sorry. I just need you to explain this one. Why'd you choose now to drop the ball?"

"I don't know," he shook his head in defeat. "I got scared. She just kinda… snuck up on me. And I was in this… this vacuum of awful shit happening to us. The Governor. Losing her and the kids. Joe. Gareth. And part of me blamed myself for being distracted. I think part of me blamed her for distracting me. I don't know."

She could understand that. She was about as closed off as they came, and found it hard to let people in herself. But once she'd done it, she couldn't fathom living any other way. "Can I tell you something?" When he nodded for her to go on, she did. "Daryl and I did this same dance you and Michonne are doing now. 'Do I like him?' 'Do I love him?' 'Can I trust him?' 'Can he trust me?' And the truth is, if you care enough to ask, the answer is probably yes. And you can't dwell on it, you can't hem and haw and wait for the signs or the moment when you're not scared out of your mind. It never happens the way you want it to. But you don't get to give up just because the world makes it a little harder than you want. It hurts because it matters to her. And you're scared because it matters to you. So fix it."

That was all he wanted. He just didn't know how. He digested her words with a long sigh as they turned onto the road for the church. "What do you think it means that she gave them my name?" he asked.

"What?"

"She told those officers her last name was Grimes. Does that mean anything?"

"Maybe she was being pragmatic." She shook her head and offered a small shrug. "Or maybe she wanted to feel like you were there with her."

"Maybe…" He hoped it was the latter. "When they took you," he began cautiously as he glanced over at her, "were you mad at Daryl?

"I was," she admitted, sitting back in her seat. "When Beth and I went back to the funeral home to find him and he wasn't there? I was livid."

He nodded. "Why?"

"Because he wasn't there," she answered simply. "The man I loved wasn't there for me. And it sucked."

"So did he fix it? Or did you just forgive him?"

"A little of both maybe." She vividly remembered that feeling of pure joy when Daryl rescued them at Terminus. Nothing else mattered to her. "But I'm not Michonne," she reminded him. "You did just fine saving her physically, but it sounds like she needed you emotionally. Her heart is what you failed to protect."

She was right. "You're right."

"So… now you know where to start."