A Place to Call Home

by WorksByThia

What would happen if Rick and Michonne met earlier? This is an alternate telling of Rick and Michonne's story.

15. Chapter 15

The Next World

Timestamp: Season 6 Episodes 10 - 11

3 Months Later

Standing before the bedroom dresser, Rick incised a hole into his duty belt, which had begun slipping off his waist earlier that week. With the pantry running on reserves and not a lick of anything edible left to be scavenged nearby, all they'd consumed the past couple weeks were meager meals, and any extras he got went straight from his plate and onto Michonnes.

He set the knife down and glanced over his shoulder at Andre racing cars on the floor next to him. Carl could be heard hurling a ball against the wall next door, and while Rick cinched the duty belt around his waist, Michonne—fresh from the shower in her robe with a towel wrapped around her hair—shuffled around the corner to lean against the frame of the door.

"We're out of toothpaste again," she groused and her nose wrinkled in annoyance.

Rick smothered the grin that attempted to spread across his lips. Generally, Michonne was as mild-mannered as they came—or at least more than he was—but these days the side effects of growing a tiny human inside her body had shortened her fuse. Rick did what he could to manage the biggest sources of her irritation; namely Andre right before bed, Eugene with all his questions, and ensuring she never ran out of her favorite toothpaste. Concerning the latter, he'd clearly dropped the ball. "I'll keep an eye out on my run," he said, clasping his belt. "Spearmint and baking soda, right?"

Michonne raised an eyebrow. "You remembered…"

Nowadays, he tried to stay one step ahead of her needs. Since the start of her pregnancy, Michonne had endured more stress and trauma than any one person should in their entire life. Now that they were almost over the hump, his main objective was to create a space where she could find rest. So, remembering what type of toothpaste she preferred was the literal least he could do.

Michonne leaned back into the hallway and craned her neck toward Carl's room, where the banging noise was coming from.

He'd effectively tuned his son out, but observing Michonne's narrowed eyes and crossed arms he added loud noises, in the morning, to the list he'd been forming in his mind. "Carl!" Rick yelled.

"What?!" his son answered. "Denise says it's PT!"

Michonne turned her attention back to him, shaking her head, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"I can't hear you!" Rick threw her a sly smile. "Come on out!"

A second later, passing the ball between his hands, Carl strolled into the doorframe of their bedroom, "What-"

"Denise says this is PT," Rick and Carl said in unison.

Carl rolled his eyes at Rick. "You heard me."

"Yeah."

Michonne chuckled. "As soon as I get dressed we'll head to the infirmary for our check-ups," she said to Carl. "We gotta change your bandage first, though… and I need to borrow some toothpaste."

"Okay, but I'm out of toothpaste." He tossed Rick the ball. "Bye, dad."

Rick caught it with one hand. "I'll see you later."

"Come on Dre, let's get some breakfast," Carl called as he walked off.

Andre hopped up and ran after him.

"Hold up." Rick bent down and opened his arms, receiving Andre into them when he turned and ran back to give him a hug. "You be good today, and listen to your mom while you're out there." Rick pulled away slightly, so Andre could see his face. "Remember what I told you?"

Andre bobbed his head up and down. "Always keep your eyes open."

"Good." He released him and stood. Sauntered over to Michonne and as he did, he took the moment to admire her, his eyes trailing from her face down to her belly—which was now protruding so far out she was only a few days away from not being able to see her toes any longer.

He'd always thought the whole pregnancy glow thing was a myth to make pregnant women feel better about themselves, during a time when their bodies were not under their submission any longer. But staring at his wife, he thought it might just be real; because, Goddamn, she was radiant.

He'd always noticed Michonne's beauty—earlier than he was comfortable admitting considering his marital status at the time—but there was something different about her now and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The only word he could think of to accurately describe her glowing skin and brighter-than-ever eyes was… ethereal. Not to mention, that in addition to her bump, other parts of Michonne's body were growing in ways he greatly appreciated.

Rick leaned down to kiss her belly before popping back up to place one on her soft lips. He set his hands on her hips. "Anything you want me to look out for, while we're out there?"

Michonne gave him a cheeky grin. "Well, since you asked…" She reached into the pocket of her robe and handed him the piece of paper she produced. "You're going near Piedmont Road, right?"

"Yeah… Eugene said something about there possibly being sorghum down there. Said it could help our food situation."

"Well, I saw on the map there's a baby store over there…"

Rick unfolded the sheet and his eyes trailed over the long list; he was unfazed. Over the past few weeks, he and Daryl had scavenged through pretty much all the baby stores within close proximity of Alexandria, Michonne making them a new list of things she remembered she needed, every time they went out again.

They'd looted enough to fill the empty bedroom next to theirs; outfitted it with a crib and all the furniture and accessories a newborn might need. The closets were filled to capacity with pampers of all sizes to last them at least until potty training. According to Carol, Michonne was doing something called nesting? He didn't quite understand the term, but either way never questioned Michonne's methods and as much as he could help it, he made sure to return with every item on her list. "Got it." He folded the paper up and stuffed it in his back pocket. "We'll stop by."

She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

"Of course." He pulled her close, burying his neck in her fresh-smelling neck before leaning back to peck her forehead. "I'll see you later." He stepped out of the embrace and moved past her toward the stairs.

"You be good out there."

"Yeah. We'll see."

---

With her back against the wall and feet crisscrossed, Michonne sat on a cot in the infirmary next to Carl, whose legs dangled off the side of the bed. Denise was in front of him with a flashlight aimed at his uncovered eye. Scoping Carl cracking his knuckles, Michonne leaned forward and set a hand over his. Even though he'd walked away with his life the night the herd had overtaken Alexandria, for a teenage kid worried about appearances she imagined having a hole in his face was less than ideal.

Denise dropped the light and flicked it off. "Looks like someone's been following the doctor's orders." She leaned back against the cot across from them and Michonne let go of Carl's hand so he could put his eyepatch back on.

"That mean I don't have to do PT anymore?" he asked.

"Nope. Sorry. Just means we're out of the danger zone for infection, but it's still important that you keep it clean and change out your dressing twice a day…"

Carl's shoulders slumped. "Okay… can I go?"

"Get out of here," Denise teased.

Carl hopped off of the bed and set his hat back on his head, but lingered a moment, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt."Is- is Aoki around?" he asked Denise, his cheeks shading a rosy red.

"Yeah." Denise waved toward the hallway. "She's in the storage room doing inventory from yesterday's run."

Carl gave them a quick wave. "Thanks, Denise." He hurried down the hall.

Denise and Michonne's eyes followed him, and when he disappeared, they exchanged a knowing look. Carl was smitten. His crush on Aoki was in full effect and both women had been an audience to it; as Carl passed most of his free time helping out in the infirmary now, where Aoki was "interning" under Denise. And at home, he spent a good amount of his time stumbling over himself trying to impress the young woman. Despite the fact his feelings for her were unrequited, Carl and Aoki had still formed a beautiful friendship.

"So…" Denise pushed off the cot and strode to the equipment cabinet. "How are you feeling?" she asked, rummaging around.

As was their routine, Michonne laid down on the bed and lifted her shirt, exposing her stomach. "Let's see… my feet are swollen, my back is killing me, and I'm nauseous as all get-out."

"So basically you're pregnant?" Denise snickered, walking back to her with a tape measure and clipboard.

"Pretty much."

Denise positioned the end of the measuring tape at the lower base of her belly, near her pelvic bone, and stretched it up to her uterus. "Compression socks will do the trick for your feet. I'll add it to the medical list for the run team and I have some Dramamine ginger chews that'll help with nausea." Denise's face scrunched up as she read the measurements.

Michonne propped up on her forearms. "What is it?"

Denise grabbed the clipboard and studied the piece of paper with which she was charting Michonne's progress. "It's not a huge deal- I don't think... It's just... the average fundal height for twenty-four weeks is twenty-four centimeters. It's supposed to match the gestation weeks. You've been right on track thus far, but it seems you're measuring at twenty-nine centimeters this week."

Which meant in a matter of two weeks her belly had grown seven centimeters. As a matter of fact, the past two weeks had been when the majority of her symptoms had cropped up with a vengeance. "What does that mean?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together, as she lowered her shirt and sat up.

Denise hesitated, pushed her glasses up, and crossed her arms. "I have to read up on it," she said, keeping a hopeful tone. "But my instincts tell me it's nothing serious. It could just be that the gestation age was miscalculated when you initially found out."

Michonne thought back to the prison. When Dr. S had questioned her, she'd given her best guess, but it's not like she'd been keeping perfect records of her menstrual cycle. How could she? There had been way more important shit to focus on at the time. So, yeah, it could be she was a little further along than they'd initially thought.

Or something was wrong. Michonne stiffened. The pregnancy so far had felt like ambling toward the edge of a cliff blindfolded and the closer she got to her supposed delivery date, the more and more it felt like she was gonna stumble right over.

Stop it, Michonne scolded herself. Denise had gone to medical school; she'd even done a rotation in the maternity ward, and for Christ's sake, she'd saved Carl's life. She'd spent the past few months with her nose in every obstetric care book she could get her hands on. Denise was going above and beyond, doing her part to ensure Michonne had a safe pregnancy and delivery, and Michonne had to do her part. That meant taking care of herself and not worrying about shit she had no control over. "Okay... let me know what you find."

Denise carried on with the rest of the exam: weighing Michonne, taking her blood pressure, checking her heart and lungs, and listening to the baby's heartbeat.

---

Rick steered the moving truck down the center of the road. Munching on the piece of chocolate Daryl had just handed him, with a trailer filled to the brim with food and essential sundries, he thought it was the law of averages catching up with them. It all had to balance out, after all the shit they'd waded through and the people they'd lost, it was time they won a little.

"Hey." Daryl slapped his arm, staring at the map in his hands. "Take this left."

Rick hit the break and tugged the steering wheel to the left, pulling the truck around the bend.

"There it is," Daryl said, through a mouthful of chocolate, pointing through the windshield at the strip mall baby store: Little Joys.

Rick whipped the truck around, avoiding the abandoned cars in the way, and reversed the truck into the parking spot directly in front of the store.

Once inside they cleared the front and back rooms and then Rick tore the list Michonne had given him in two, handing one half to Daryl.

Daryl squinted at his list, examining the words. "The hell's a breast pump?"

Rick chuckled. "I got that one."

"Alright… we better be quick."

As Rick maneuvered through the aisles, his eyes scanning the shelves for the items on his list, he thought about the first time.

Twenty-two and fresh out of college when Lori had been pregnant with Carl, he'd been far too terrified of being responsible for another human being to enjoy the pregnancy. More confident in his ability to not just father but be a dad too, he relished the opportunity to do it all again.

During the stretch of peaceful months they'd had, Rick reveled in the little things: like rubbing Michonne's swollen feet after she put in long hours managing the rebuild of the wall, or trying to delicately explain to Andre how the baby had gotten into his mama's belly and how it was gonna get out, or looting diapers with Daryl.

But it was the late nights when Michonne would conk out first and he'd rest his head near her belly to chat with their little one, that he treasured most. A world with walkers would be the only world their little girl would recognize and he needed her to know her daddy's voice so that when she was born into the crazy upside-down she'd be reminded he was always there.

Rick stood inside the packed truck trailer taking the shopping bags Daryl handed him and situating them amongst the other items. "We should circle back 'round for the car before we head home… we found food today, and might find some people on the way… "

"I don't know," Daryl replied. "We ain't seen nobody for weeks. Maybe we ain't gonna find nobody else. Maybe that's a good thing."

"Hmmm…" It wasn't lost on Rick that only a few weeks before, they'd each been on the other side of this argument. His change of heart was rooted in his ruminations of Deanna's final words to him: You are one of us.

Deanna had taken them in—despite looking how they'd looked—believing the only way the community could survive is with more of the living. She and Reg envisioned Alexandria growing not only structurally but communally too. Rick hadn't been able to see it when they'd first arrived, his time on the road clouding his vision, but now that he'd been able to take a breath he realized they'd been right.

But in the same breath, he couldn't discount Daryl's altered stance. Rick hadn't been on the road with him, hadn't seen what he'd seen: the group of assholes who'd tried to blow him, Jessie, and Glenn up.

Daryl tossed him the last bag and Rick set it inside the truck, before jumping out and dragging the handle of the door down with him. When he took a step to turn around, his body was slammed into the wall of the truck. He reached for his Python and aimed it at the guy standing, with his hands raised, in front of him and Daryl.

"Back up! Now!" Daryl yelled, pointing his revolver at the man whose face was covered, save for his eyes.

He did as he was told, but tried to lower his hands.

"Keep 'em up!" Rick shouted.

"Whoa, easy, guys…" He was out of breath, but his voice was calm, too calm for a guy with two guns pointed at his head. "I was just running from the dead."

"How many," Daryl asked.

"Ten. Maybe more…"

Rick took a few steps back, keeping his gun and eyes trained on the man as he walked to the end of the strip of stores. He quickly peeked behind the edge of the building into the alley from where the man had come. It was empty.

"I'm not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running."

Rick crept back over. "Where?"

"About half a mile back. They're headed this way. You probably have about…" He rolled his eyes to the sky and bounced his head from side to side. "Eleven minutes."

Rick did a quick head-to-toe inspection of the man. His clothes were clean, his long hair looked freshly cleansed, and he didn't seem to have a gun on him. Rick had a few pounds on him and figured both he and Daryl could take him should it come to that, but he had a strong sense that it wouldn't. He lowered his gun and holstered it. "Okay, thanks for letting us know."

Daryl kept his gun centered, between the man's eyes.

"Uh… yeah," the guy stammered, seemingly thrown by the sudden turn of events. "There are more of them than us, right? Gotta stick together." He leaned around Daryl's gun, to look him in the eye. "Right?"

A moment, and then Daryl dropped his firearm.

The man lowered his hands. He looked between Daryl and Rick, appraising them."You have a camp?"

"No," Daryl grunted out.

"Do you?" Rick countered.

After a small pause, the man said, "no." He dithered, his eyes going to the ground for a moment. "Sorry for running into you. I'm gonna go now." He took off, jogging away. "If this is the next world, I hope it's good to you guys!"

Daryl looked back at Rick with a raised brow.

"I'm Rick," he called to the man's back. "This is Daryl. What's your name?"

The man stopped and turned back to them. He lowered the cloth, revealing his bearded face. "Paul Rovia." He spread his arms out. "But my friends used to call me Jesus." Shrugged his shoulders. "Your pick."

"You said you didn't have a camp. You on your own?"

"Yeah." He narrowed his blue eyes. "But, still, best not to try anything."

"Best not to make threats you can't keep, either," Daryl hissed, squaring up to him.

Jesus nodded. "Exactly."

But there was something in the slight smile Jesus gave that let Rick know the threat was just a play, bravado he wouldn't back up—or at least not with violence. "How many walkers-"

"No, not this guy."

Rick sidestepped Daryl. "How many walkers have you killed!" he called after Jesus as he

fled.

"Sorry, gotta run. You should too." They kept an eye on him until he disappeared into the trees.

"What the hell was that?" Daryl ground out.

"His beard was trimmed. He was clean. There's more going on there… we could track him, and watch him for a while. Get to know more. See if he's really alone. Maybe bring him back."

The edge of Daryl's upper lip curled up. "Nah, guy calls himself Jesus-"

Rick and Daryl jumped at the loud popping of gunshots coming from the alley.

He advanced through the alleyway, alongside the perimeter of the building with Daryl over his shoulder. They pursued the shots fired, but let up at the sight of the rusted garbage barrel with pyrotechnics popping from within. "Firecrackers."

"Hell…" Daryl looked down. "He swiped your keys didn't he?"

Rick pressed his empty back pocket. "Shit."

They hustled back around to the front of the building, just as the truck with all their stuff in it went speeding out of the parking lot.

Jesus stuck his arm out of the window and waved. "Sorry!"

---

Glenn ascended the stairs of the watch post. At the top, Jessie stood monitoring the perimeter. "Jessie… hey." he stepped onto the landing.

She tilted her head up, and staring at the sky seemed to contemplate whether or not she desired to attempt at a conversation. He was relieved when she rolled her head in his direction, albeit begrudgingly, and had to look away so as not to stare at the dark circles under her hollow, sunken eyes. After she'd re-emerged from under the covers last month, Jessie had volunteered for every available night guard shift and Glenn wasn't certain she was even sleeping when off duty.

Glenn scratched at the nape of his neck and glanced at her. "How are you?"

She all but rolled her eyes, turning away from him. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop that."

"I'm not following."

"The constant checking up on me. Asking how I'm doing. I appreciate you trying to do… whatever it is you're trying to do. But you asking me all the time- everyone asking me all the time… doesn't make it better… It just fucking doesn't."

"Right… I'm sorry." Glenn was halfway down the stairs when he stopped, his mind going back to that night that came after the loss of the most beautiful girl in the world…

Where Jessie was, he'd been there, not her specific there—because losing a child was a type of loss he couldn't relate to—but the universal there, that was grief. Knee-deep in the depths of misery. And in the pits, he'd made a point to keep himself unavailable to helping hands. Chasing after the governor hadn't just been for Maggie. He'd run away to get away from his grief, but it had followed after him and taunted him on the dark nights alone on the road.

What his found family didn't know was that on the night before he'd come back, right before the beginning of the end of the prison, he'd almost eaten his gun. The fact it jammed was the only reason he was still here.

Being among his family, from the prison to Alexandria, it's what brought him back. They'd unknowingly pulled him up from out of the depths.

Far removed from that place, he could still recognize a fellow depth dweller.

He stepped up onto the platform again. "Look… Heath and I are going on a two-week run in a few days. I wondered if you'd wanna come."

After a moment of thought, she asked, "why two weeks?"

"Everything close by is pretty dried up. We're going farther out than we have before. There's nothing left in this world that isn't hidden. We just have to find it."

"And you want me going? I haven't- outside of what we did, I haven't had much time out there."

She'd held her own when they'd gotten caught up on the road after herding the walkers. She was no Michonne or Carol, but she'd never get that grit from being locked up inside the walls, and getting away from the memories couldn't hurt either. "I promise I won't bug you the whole way," he added.

Another brief moment of thought, before Jessie nodded, and then she looked away—dismissing him.

---

Michonne furled her fingers around the leather of the sword's handle to hide the shaking of one of her hands, and with the other, she clung tight to Andre as they trudged through the forest with Aoki and Carl on either side of them.

Strapped to her son's back was the mini version of her own katana. Rick had stumbled upon it at a sporting goods store during one of his runs. They'd practiced for weeks with it, within the walls, and simulated what it'd be like to use it on a walker but there was nothing like the real thing.

The four of them reached the clearing which was only a few miles away from Alexandria and walked to the center marked with a painted "X", which Michonne and Aoki had sprayed on the grass a few days prior when they'd scouted the spot.

"You good?" Carl checked with her.

"Yeah, you two go ahead."

Carl turned to Aoki and jerked his head toward the trees. Aoki stepped up to Michonne and squeezed her arm. "He's ready. Don't worry."

Michonne nodded and when Aoki and Carl slunk into the tall trees, she bent down in front of Andre, whose eyes were scanning the perimeter. She thought Rick would be proud of the vigilant, serious look on Andre's face as he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. "They can come out of nowhere, you have to always be paying attention," Rick had said, during one of their lessons.

But she was sure it wasn't just dad's words that made him stand at attention. Andre was markedly changed by the night they'd walked among the dead, and the aftermath of seeing the town covered in corpses. That night he'd felt the threat of his life being on the line, something she'd shielded him from up until then. Andre now unequivocally comprehended what the walkers were and what they could do.

"Hey," she whispered, drawing his gaze. "You okay?"

He nodded in a hurried manner, pasting on a brave face.

Michonne ran a hand down his arm. "You can tell me if you're not. Sometimes I still get a little scared," she admitted.

"I am… just a little."

"That's okay… I'm gonna be right next to you the entire time. And if you feel like you can't… you just look at me. I got you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Can I tell Carl we're ready?"

"Yeah."

She stood next to him. "Sword up," she instructed.

Andre reached behind and unsheathed the sword; he held it in front of himself with both hands. Michonne returned her own sword to its holder and instead prepared her pistol. Andre may have only been a little scared, but she was terrified, and there was no way in hell she was leaving a thing to chance.

A whistle pierced through the air and Michonne looked down at Andre. "You ready?" she repeated. She had to be certain.

Andre widened his stance. "Ready."

Michonne whistled her response and gripped her pistol, while taking a few steps back, leaving Andre alone.

She and Andre waited, her heart hammering inside her chest. She couldn't see her baby boy's face, but his little shoulders tensed when Carl emerged from the forest, walking backward as he lured a walker out from within the pines.

Aoki followed close behind, her gun lined up with the back of the walker's head, just in case. When Carl reached the spray-painted line in the grass, he turned around and sprinted past Andre, to stand next to Michonne—leaving Andre directly in the walker's path.

The walker zeroed in on her son, stumbling along toward him and everything inside Michonne screamed at her to take care of the thing bent on eating her baby boy.

"It's okay," Carl whispered. "He's got this."

Michonne tracked the walker's every staggered step, calculating the proximity of the thing to her son. She double-checked where the ten feet marker was on the ground. Ten feet. That's when she'd step in, she resolved, even if Andre didn't ask her to intervene.

Twenty feet away. Andre hadn't moved an inch. It's too soon. He's not ready.

And within seconds, it felt like, Michonne watched the walker step over the fifteen feet marker. She lifted her pistol, aiming at the walker's head.

"Don't," Carl warned. "He's gonna do it."

The walker crossed the ten feet marker. Michonne racked the slide of her gun.

"Come on Andre," Carl encouraged.

The walker was within grabbing distance now. She slid her finger to the trigger and was seconds away from squeezing it when Andre rushed toward the walker. Darting past it, he sliced into the walker's knees on his way, cutting them in half at the cap. The walker wobbled and toppled back, down to the ground.

Andre circled back around to stand at the crown of its head, as he'd been taught.

But he paused, unlike he'd been taught—no hesitation, they'd drilled into him. He stared into the eyes of the chomping corpse who was still trying to get at him, before lifting his knife and lowering it into the center of the walker's forehead in one fell swoop. The walker stilled and Andre pulled his bloody sword out, holding it at his side as he stared at what he'd just done.

"Holy Crap," Carl breathed. "That was awesome!"

She watched her baby boy back away from the body and it was only when he turned to face Michonne that she saw the silent tears trickling down his face.

Oh, God. Michonne dropped to her knees and held her arms out.

Andre flung the sword to the ground and barreled into her embrace.

---

A little later, Michonne cradled Andre's hand inside her own as they moseyed down the center of the gravel road. Aoki and Carl were strolling ahead of them, chatting.

She shook their clasped hands, wiggling Andre's arm like a piece of spaghetti, and he looked up at her. "What's wrong, Dre?"

He lifted his shoulders and dropped them back down.

"With words, please?"

It took Andre a second to work up to saying, "I didn't like that."

Michonne shuddered. Andre's entire life, up until the walkers had taken over, she'd instilled in him the importance of doing no harm and now she was teaching him how to kill things. For a kid with limited life experience, she figured it had to be confusing.

Michonne stepped into Andre's path and squatted down in front of him. "Guess what? I don't like it either. I look at them, right before I have to kill them and my heart breaks a little bit each time. Because I know they used to be someone… with hopes and dreams and fears. And they just wanted to survive like all of us. They didn't wanna become that…" She shook her head. "Nobody wants to become that… when we kill them, not only are we protecting ourselves, but we're helping those people too."

Andre looked at the gravel. "Did someone do that for my dad?" he asked, and for a second Michonne was disoriented by the question; Rick's face flashed in her head, immediately followed by Mike's. Oh…

When Mike died Andre had only been three. For a while, as she'd been working through the guilt, whenever Andre would ask where his dad was she'd simply tell him Mike was away. It was only after Andre had woken up one night in the throes of a nightmare, screaming for Mike, that she'd told him his dad wasn't coming back. She'd never gone into detail and Andre never asked, she assumed it was because he didn't understand enough to even know how to ask… until now.

"Was he one of them?"

Michonne swallowed down her emotion. "No. He was… he was never a walker. He wasn't one of them."

She held her breath, waiting for him to ask the inevitable next question she'd known she would have to answer one day. The question she'd made up in her mind, she would answer honestly, once he uttered the words, "how did my dad die?" And she prayed daily, to whoever was listening, he would be able to forgive her for what she'd done. That Andre would understand it hadn't been a choice she'd made for her own preservation, but for his alone.

But it wasn't just her own self-interest that caused fear at the truth being unearthed. Going into detail about the night Mike died meant telling Andre everything that had transpired leading up to that moment. Andre hadn't seen his father high, on everything he could get his hands on inside that camp, and she felt it was a betrayal to Mike, potentially tainting his memory with Andre.

She thanked her lucky stars when Andre looked her directly in the eyes and all he said was, "I wanna go home."

Michonne nodded. "Yeah. Let's go home."

---

Rick jerked the wheel of the car and watched with a shit-eating grin Jesus tumble into Daryl, who nudged him aside with his elbow. It had been a hell of a day. The knocked-out man in the backseat had led them on a wild goose chase, which resulted in the truck sinking to the bottom of a lake. And the only reason Jesus was sitting in the back of the car now and not flung up in a tall tree as Daryl wanted, was because given the opportunity Jesus had pulled not one weapon on either Rick or Daryl, despite the fact they'd repeatedly threatened his life.

"He took a pretty hard hit. Denise needs to look at him."

"Yeah," Daryl murmured.

Through the rearview mirror, Rick caught him staring out of the window. "You wouldn't have gone through with it. You wouldn't have left him."

"I would've, right up in a tree… I would've."

"No. I know." He knew what type of man Daryl was; had watched him mature from the

hotheaded fool he'd been back at that camp in Atlanta into one of the people Rick depended on most. "Almost as soon as we got to Alexandria, you got it. You saw- you… and Michonne, Glenn, you all tried to tell me. So shut up..." Daryl shook his head and Rick swerved once more, Jesus slumping into him again. " 'Cause I'm finally listening."

---

Rick toed his boots off at the front door and lined them up next to the row of variously sized shoes; another of Michonne's newly found pet peeves was people tracking dirt into the house.

Plodding through the quiet of the dark downstairs, he heard laughter coming from down the hall that held Aoki's room. Rick knew Michonne was in the midst of her nightly gab session with the younger woman, which by his estimation usually lasted about an hour. He typically took this time to go through his nightly routine. And when he'd step out of the shower Michonne was either brushing her teeth or slipping into her pajamas. But that day, when he flipped off the bathroom light and padded into their room, it was empty.

So, Rick took the time to check in on Andre, who was already snoozing peacefully. He stepped into his room and dropped a kiss on his forehead, before tiptoeing out and down the hall to Carl's bedroom. Cracking the door open, he found his son laid out on his bed reading a graphic novel by the lamplight. "Hey."

Carl earmarked his page and swung his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge to face Rick. "Hey, dad."

Rick leaned against the doorframe. "What did Denise say?"

"That I was the best patient she's ever had and… uh, you should reward me by letting me go on that two-week run with Glenn."

Rick stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. "Is that right?"

"Yup."

"Nice try…"

Carl shrugged with a smile.

"So everything's good?"

"Yeah. PT and keep it clean. The usual."

Rick nodded, staring at the patch on his eye. "Good. I'm proud of you for taking care of it."

"Thanks."

"You doing okay?" Rick asked, aware that despite his son's reluctance to open up, the exterior wound wasn't all Carl had walked away from that night with.

Carl stared at his lap. "I'm good."

Rick wanted to push, but Michonne had told him to be patient and let Carl confide in him when he was ready. "Don't stay up too late." He moved to shut the door, but stopped and popped his head back in. "Love you, son."

"Love you too, dad."

Rick wandered downstairs into the kitchen and steeped two cups of tea, then sauntered into the living room and fell onto the couch. His head dropped against the sofa back and his eyes were only shut a few seconds before he felt something soft and pillowy touch his lips. Cracking his eyes open, he saw Michonne standing over him. "Hey," he rasped.

"Hi." Michonne plopped down, reclining against the armrest.

Rick scooted over to her, lifting her legs to settle them across his lap. Once they were sorted out, huddled up close on one side of the couch, Rick sighed. "It's good to be home." One of his hands rested on the side of her thigh, his thumb rubbing along the seam of her jeans.

"Yeah…" she adjusted the pillow behind her back. "Where's Daryl?"

"Watching over a guy. Til some other guy can take over."

"You found a guy?"

He rubbed at the kink in his neck. "Crazy day." Propped his feet on the coffee table.

Michonne reached over, removed his hand, and took over kneading at the nape. "You wanna talk about it?"

Rick's eyes slipped closed. "No, not right now…" he said absently. "Wanna talk about your day? How'd it go with Andre?"

"Not great."

He peeled his eyes apart, to look at her face. "How's that?"

Michonne's hand fell away. "He killed a walker… and he was so confident while he was doing it and before too. But, I don't know what happened after…" He watched her face scrunch up, as she stared at the wall in front of her, seemingly thinking back to earlier in the day. "I think it had something to do with Mike. He asked if Mike turned."

Rick sat up straighter. "Did you tell him?"

"No, he didn't ask how. Just wanted to know if he'd been a walker… I think you might have been right though… he's not ready. There's still a lot he doesn't understand, I think."

"At least we know he can do it… that's gotta put your mind at ease a little right?"

"Yeah… a little." Michonne took the tea from the coffee table and took a sip. By the way she peered into the depths of the cup, afterward, he could tell she was ready to be done with the conversation at hand.

So Rick stroked her belly. "How's little one doin'?"

"Heard her heartbeat. Still strong. Denise is a little concerned about how fast I'm growing, but she said not to worry."

"Then we won't..."

A peaceful silence fell between them, as they each pondered their day.

"Oh." Michonne's eyes flashed up at him. "Did you get my toothpaste?"

"Well… I do have a crate of toothpaste for you. It's currently at the bottom of a lake."

"Oh, so you had a day?"

Rick snorted. "Yeah… all on account of your dental hygiene," he quipped.

"Awe… I'm sorry, baby." Michonne tried but failed to suppress the giggles that left her mouth, and then all of a sudden her face went slack. "Oh no… that means… all the baby stuff too?"

"Yeah. But the store was fully stocked. Daryl and I will go back."

"I know he's probably sick of me and my lists by now."

"Well… at least he knows what a breast pump is now."

She screwed up her face. "Oh God…"

Rick threw his head back and guffawed. "You should have seen his face."

Michonne joined in, her belly bouncing to the rhythm of her laughter. "Tell me you didn't have him pick up the nipple cream."

"No… I couldn't do that to him."

They came down from their chortling as Michonne removed her legs from Rick's lap. "I'm in desperate need of a bed." She intertwined their fingers, bringing him with her when she heaved herself off the sofa.

Michonne paused in front of the couch, giving her body a moment to adjust to being upright again. Rick moved past her, keeping their hands connected as he led the way to the stairs.

"Oof!" he heard Michonne say, before dropping his hand.

When he turned around, Michonne was standing stock-still, staring down at her stomach.

"What? What is it?"

"I think-" She set her hands on either side of her belly and inhaled sharply. "Oh my God. She just- I just felt..." Her eyes trailed up to Rick. "I think she just moved."

Michonne reached out for Rick's hand and brought it to her stomach. His breath came fast as he waited and then it stopped altogether when he felt tiny, rippling pulses against his hand.

And after that, Rick's vision blurred.

---

Jesus' parched lips and rumbling gut appreciated the cup of water and cookie laid out for him upon awakening in a dark and unfamiliar place. He could recall most of the events of the hours preceding his abduction and the note tilted against the cup of water provided him a further explanation for his captivity: You were hurt. We brought you here. You're safe. Talk Soon. Rick. But much like in the world as it had been before, he didn't blindly trust many.

It hadn't taken much for Jesus to break free of the knots—if he could even call them that—which bound his arms together. It really was laughable, the ease with which he'd slipped the ties. Clearly, Rick had never been a Boy Scout.

Jesus took his time perusing the community, starting at the infirmary. He was impressed by the sheer magnitude of the space, how they'd transformed what once was a kitchen and living room into a viable clinic, and how well stock they were in all things first aid and pain management. He slipped back out through the window he'd climbed in through.

On his way, he quickly surveyed the garden from afar. A woman tending to it, he didn't waste a second glance at what looked like a first scanty effort at growing things and instead moved on to the pantry. Standing before the near-empty shelves, he felt a pang of sympathy.

Sheesh… these people are just getting by, he thought. There's nothing here for us.

Jesus hustled out of the garage and down the hall, in search of the armory, which he figured couldn't be too far. His intention was to get his knives back and flee peaceably. But when he opened the double doors at the end of the hallway and his eyes fell on rows and rows of guns and stacked boxes of ammunition, his plans changed in an instant.

The medicine coupled with the ammunition meant there was a deal to be made.

Out of the two men he'd encountered the day before, Jesus supposed Rick was his best bet for a congenial conversation and went in search of the man.

---

"Lori, what are you still doing out here?" she heard Tyreese call from where she stood on the lawn. That day, she'd slid her gardening gloves on before the sun and community had a chance to rise. Now, even though darkness covered the town again, Lori was still going at it.

"Hey," she said, struggling to tie the base of the last trellis with her singular hand. Most people assumed the long hours she put into the garden were a pure display of dedication to providing the town with a reliable source of nourishment, but in reality, everything took her twice as long. It frustrated Lori to no end, the limitations of her stump, and with the number of residents cut in half and much to do to get Alexandria back running better than it used to, she all but was on her own. Michonne, Tyreese, and Carl came to her aid on occasion but they too had duties they couldn't shirk on the regular. "I wanted to get these up. The trellises mean we can start growing vertically. Double our yield of tomatoes per square foot. We can only keep stretching our rations so far."

Lori sighed when the knot slipped loose once again. She'd taught herself how to shoot a gun one-handed and yet a small slip knot was tripping her up. Most of the time, Lori forgot she was missing a limb and tackled each day with the confidence to take on anything someone with two hands could. But it'd be the little things like flossing or putting on deodorant which reminded her she wasn't as capable or strong as she made herself out to be. Tyreese was always there, ready and willing to pluck the gunk out of her teeth or shave her hairy armpits. At that moment, as always, she didn't have to ask. He stepped over and gently nudged her hand away.

While he effortlessly tightened the knot, she surveyed the lackluster garden. Hershel had taught her a whole hell of a lot but there was still much she didn't know. So when things hadn't begun growing like they were supposed to and she couldn't intuitively determine the root cause, she'd researched and worked the problem and figured the culprit of the lack of growth was a deficiency in the soil.

Lori had asked Rick and Daryl to keep their eyes open for fertilizer but not surprisingly, the world ending didn't stop the production of illicit drugs. There was literally no other explanation—other than homemade explosives—for all the fertilizer from every home and garden store within a hundred-mile radius magically disappearing.

Without that fertilizer, they hadn't seen a single bud in three months, and she felt the full weight of people depending on her to provide a long-term solution for their food situation, but all she could do was think up other methods of growth.

"Lo," Tyreese said, jolting her from her thoughts. She panned up to his face and relaxed a little at the smile she saw there. "It'll grow. We're gonna be okay."

Lori didn't believe it, but seeing the conviction on his face, she couldn't help but wanna try. She was about to open her mouth to affirm his words when she heard the gate of the empty unit open. Denise ran out and beckoned Abraham—who Lori presumed was walking over for his guard shift of the man Rick and Daryl had brought home from their run.

And when Abraham hustled down the stairs after Denise, Tyreese and Lori took off in that direction.

---

In his quest to find Rick, Jesus had somehow landed himself in front of a dining room full of unwelcoming faces. It had been an eventful hour. Summed up: two naked strangers, a kid with an eye patch pointing a gun at his head, a beautiful painting—he needed to remember to see if he could barter for—and a whole lot of other people pointing their guns at him.

"So, how'd you get out?" Rick asked, now fully dressed and sitting to the right of Jesus, who was at the head of the table.

"One guard can't cover two exits or third-floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked. Entropy comes from order, right?"

"Right," Daryl ground out. It was clear the man hadn't forgiven him for the escapades of the day before.

"I checked out your arsenal. I haven't seen anything like that in a long time. You're well-equipped, but your provisions are low. Very low for the amount of people you have. 54?" He'd looked over the community member roster on the ration sheet in the pantry.

"More than that," said the woman to his left, the other naked stranger, who Jesus assumed was Rick's significant other. From the stoic set of her face, she didn't appreciate the earlier intrusion.

He imagined these people must have encountered strangers of the more nefarious type because scanning the other faces around the room, the temperature was quite hot. "Well, I appreciate the cookie. My compliments to the chef," he said, hoping to cool down the climate.

Daryl stepped up. His tone was defensive when he said, "yeah, she ain't here."

Jesus sighed and shifted to fully face Daryl, who stood to the side of him. "Look, we got off to a bad start. But we're on the same side, the living side. You and Rick had every reason to leave me out there, but you didn't… I'm from a place that's a lot like this one. Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with. I took your truck because my community needs things." He glanced at Rick. "And both of you looked like trouble."

Rick smirked.

"I was wrong." Jesus sat forward, inclining his head toward the woman to his left again, who he was pretty sure was pregnant. When he'd stopped the truck to check out the goods he'd stolen, he'd noticed the baby items… which were at the bottom of the lake now. "I'm sorry," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "You're good people. I think our communities may be in a position to help each other."

"Do you have food?" The question came from the one-armed woman sitting behind Rick.

"We've started to raise livestock. We scavenge, we grow. Everything from tomatoes to sorghum."

"Tell us why we should believe you," Rick demanded, waving a dismissive hand in his direction with a look on his face that said he wasn't quite sold.

"I'll show you. If we take a car, I can take you back home in a day, and you can all see for yourselves who we are and what we have to offer."

"Wait." The pregnant woman's face brightened as she leaned toward him, her clasped hands sliding on the table. "You're looking for more settlements. You mean you're already trading with other groups?"

Rick sat up straighter and leaned forward, his eyes narrowed at Jesus.

Taking a gander around the room, Jesus noticed the disinterested faces from before were now aglow with curiosity.

He smiled to himself. Oh, I'm about to blow these people's minds. "Your world's about to get a whole lot bigger."

---

Aoki galloped down the front porch stairs of her house with Andre on her back. Her house. Taking ownership of the place she laid her head night after night still felt unnatural, after how long the forest had been her home.

"Faster horsey." Andre whipped her pigtails like they were actual horse reins. He'd requested she wear her hair like that in order to make the experience more authentic.

The day before had been rough for the ordinarily exuberant and chatty kid, who'd been silent at the dinner table, pushing his food around his plate. For all his childish tendencies, Andre was a sharp young kid, who she could tell had taken the events of the day before to heart. Aoki had made it her personal mission to put a smile back on his face. But honestly, she hadn't had to do much; Andre was always very quick to bounce back.

Aoki picked up her speed and raced down the sidewalk toward Carl, who she'd spotted preparing gas canisters for the trip to Jesus' community when she and Andre had stepped out of the house.

She halted in front of Carl, rearing up and neighing, before squatting down for Andre to hop off. "Go say buh-bye to your mama and papa," she instructed and he ran back toward the house.

"Hey, Carl!" she exclaimed, adjusting her shifted-back t-shirt.

"Hey." He stood, lifting one of the cans. "You going with them?"

"No. I told Michonne I'd watch Andre. You?"

"Nah, a kid with a messed-up face probably wouldn't make the best first impression."

Aoki stared at her friend. She wasn't one for hyperbole, but Carl Grimes was one of the best people she'd ever known—both before and after. Hearing him express out loud the way she'd already had her suspicions he felt about himself, cracked at her heart. Though she despised his reasoning, she was happy Carl would be around to hang with her and Andre. "I think you look cool," she said. "Like Mick Curry."

He chuckled. "Who?"

"You know, the one with the eyepatch. Sergeant Fury and His Howling Commandos?"

Carl, who she assumed had been sick of her complaining about missing her anime shows, had put her onto comic books. Though she appreciated the gesture, she'd much rather be watching her entertainment than reading it, and she was far from an aficionado like her friend.

"Close… but, it's actually Nick Fury."

"Oh. Well, either way, you still look badass…"

Carl dipped his head and scratched at his neck. "Thanks."

"Let's chew up some asphalt," she heard Abraham yell.

Aoki picked one of the gas canisters up off the ground. "Come on. We better get these in the RV."

---

Michonne lounged in the passenger's seat of the RV, next to Rick, who drove. She stared down at her belly, gently poking at it trying to prod the little one awake. After feeling the quickening fluttery movement from within her belly all night, she was downright addicted to the sensation now. It was as if her baby was saying: see, mama, I'm okay in here. So stop worrying.

"Is she kicking?" Rick asked.

She detected the smile in his voice, before peeking up to catch the slight dimple in his turned-up cheeks, as he focused on the road. "No." She gave an exasperated sigh. "I think she's sleeping."

Rick cut his eyes away from the road, grinning wider at her as his extended hand landed on her belly. Michonne covered his hand with her own and when their eyes locked she was transported back to the night before, which they'd spent reveling in first contact with their baby. Staring into his misty eyes in front of the couch, the thought had crossed her mind that she couldn't have asked for a better partner in this.

Rick retracted his hand and white-knuckled the steering wheel when his eyes landed on an overturned smoking car at the side of the road with writhing walkers interlaced in the crevices of the undercarriage.

"Yo, Rick," Daryl called from the back, where everyone else—Jesus, Tyreese, Lori, Glenn, and Abraham—sat. "What's going on?"

Rick slowed the RV. "We got a crash ahead." He whipped the vehicle into the parking lot. "Looks like it just happened."

Jesus peered through the windshield. "It's one of ours." He ran for the door of the RV and lept out before Rick had a chance to stop.

Rick slid a look her way, his lip twitching. Their history with other groups was sordid, to put it mildly. She was impressed Rick had even agreed to go with Jesus, but then again, her husband had come a long way from the mistrusting vagabond he'd been when they rolled up on the gates of Alexandria. But two things could be true, and Rick was and would always be Rick, which meant Jesus better not be bullshitting them.

They all bound out of the RV after Jesus, who they found examining the scene of the crash. Rick pointed his Python at the man. "If this is a trick, it won't end well for you."

On edge, Jesus' eyes darted around. "My people are in trouble. They don't... we don't have a lot of fighters. I know how it looks, but I'll play it out. Can I borrow a gun?"

Daryl laughed without humor. "No." He pointed at the ground. "Rick, we got tracks right here." The group shadowed Daryl, following the footprints.

Minutes later, Michonne held her katana at her side, watching Rick knock at the closed door of the medical building, where the footprints had ended.

Rick stepped back waiting for whatever was in there to emerge, but not a peep was heard on the other side of the door.

"They gotta be in there," Jesus said, his hands wringing at his sides.

"We moving in or what?" Abraham asked Rick.

Daryl rushed to the door, pressing his face against the tinted window. "How we supposed to know this ain't firecrackers in a trash can?"

Jesus raised his arms halfway then dropped them to his side, in one quick motion. "You don't."

"We'll get your people if they're in there. But you're staying here…" Rick leaned around Jesus, his eyes on her. "Michonne?"

"Yup. I'll stay… just be careful."

"Yeah…" Rick slid his handcuffs from his duty belt and snapped them on Jesus. "We're gonna be careful." He glanced back at her as he tightened the restraint. "You hear me whistle, shoot him."

Michonne settled her katana back into the holder, trading it for the gun in her thigh holster. "I will."

---

Michonne watched with an attentive eye, as the man across from her inventoried the medication he'd looted from the medical clinic. They were sitting at the tiny table in the bedroom of the RV, the front living quarters packed with Jesus' friends who they'd rescued from the clinic. "Got any prenatal vitamins in there?" she asked.

The man looked up, flashing his pearly whites at Michonne. "I thought you might be… but I didn't wanna assume. How far along are you?"

"Twenty-four weeks, I think…"

The man nodded. "Well I don't have any prenatals here, but back home we do." He extended his hand. "Name's Harlan, by the way."

She took it. "Michonne."

"The guy up there driving. That's my husband, Rick."

"Well, we're bringing back medication, so your husband and the others may have saved more people than just us back there."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Yeah, that's right. I was an obstetrician before, and I most definitely owe you. So, I'd say you just hit the jackpot today."

---

Rick wasn't sure what to take in first, the moment he stepped into Barrington House. Jesus had informed them that the family who owned it gave it to the state in the '30s and the state had turned it into a living history museum. Surmising that since the place had run a long time before the modern world built up around it, the people of the Hilltop had flocked to it because they figured it'd keep running after the modern world broke down.

Slack-jawed, Rick scanned the antiques and relics he assumed had been worth something before, his feet moving in a tight circle as he took in the extravagance. But the inside wasn't half as impressive as what he'd observed just beyond the gate: rows of trailers, livestock, and raised beds filled with garden vegetables. This place was the embodiment of what a community in this world should be, and what Alexandria was building toward.

Judging by the guys with sharpened spears posted up at the gate, who they'd encountered after stepping off the mud-stuck RV, these people weren't very trusting of strangers either. Hell, he didn't mind the hostility, it was a clear sign they understood what the hell was going on in the world. But he and his people did too, which is why his finger hadn't left the trigger of the rifle cradled in his hands.

"Good gracious, Ignatius," Abraham breathed, next to him. "This is just… fucking magnificent."

"The windows on the top floor let us see for miles in every direction. It's perfect for security," Jesus explained. "Most of the rooms have been converted to living spaces. Even the ones that weren't bedrooms."

"People live here and in the trailers?" Rick asked.

"And we plan to build. As you all know…" Jesus gestured toward Michonne. "There are babies being born."

"Jesus…" Rick rotated around and caught sight of a middle-aged man fitted in a sport coat, dress shirt, and penny loafers.

The old him would have immediately counted the man out for his attire alone. Who the hell wears penny loafers in this world? But… but… Rick was turning over a new leaf, so he reserved his judgments.

"You're back…" The man appraised the group, his expression deeply unimpressed. "And you brought guests."

"Everyone, this is Gregory. He keeps the trains running on time around here."

The man spread his arms as if presenting himself to them. "I'm the boss."

Rick bowed his head slightly. "Well, I'm Rick." He stepped forward. "We have a community-"

"Why don't y'all go get cleaned up, hmm?" Gregory cut him off, turning his nose up.

Rick sighed inwardly. "We're fine."

"Jesus will show you where you can get washed up. Then come back down here when you're ready." Gregory closed the space between them, and sniffed, his nose wrinkling as if smelling something foul. "It's hard to keep this place clean."

Rick sucked his cheeks in. Don't blow this out of proportion, this asshole is just on a power trip, he told himself. "Yeah. Sure."

Rick turned to Jesus who threw him an apologetic look. "Follow me," he said, walking to the stairs.

They filed in, trudging up the steps behind Jesus. Rick looked over his shoulder, spotted Michonne coming up behind him, and slowed to allow her to catch up. "You clean up first. You talk to him."

"Why?"

Rick groaned. Knowing himself and his limits he admitted, "I shouldn't." It was for the best, handing this one over to his better half because even on her most irritated day, she had miles more patience than Rick did on his best.

---

Michonne nudged the door to Gregory's office open and peeked her head in. "Gregory."

He looked up from the papers on his desk. "Come in… Michelle, right?"

"Michonne," she corrected, pushing the door open wider, allowing space for Lori to step in. Michonne had asked the woman to join her, aware Lori knew the ins and outs of what they could promise to these people as it concerned their fresh food prospects. Michonne had also noticed something about the woman recently, she thought might come in handy with a man like Gregory... Lori didn't suffer fools gladly. "This is Lori. She's-"

"Why… hello," Gregory purred, standing at the sight of Lori. He held his hand out to her and Michonne could have sworn the man's ears perked up like a dog whose owner had just arrived home from a long vacation.

Lori shut the door, before taking his hand. "Hi."

"Lauren, is it?"

"Lori."

He cradled her hand in between both of his, holding onto it. "Pretty close."

She slipped her hand out. "Uh… not really."

"She calls them like she sees them. I like that." Gregory motioned for the seating area of his office. "Come in, let's chat."

Lori and Michonne made their way over and sat in the two chairs across from the couch, where Gregory parked himself, crossing his legs.

Giving the room a once-over, Michonne's eyes stopped on the painting hanging over the mantel and her breath caught at the sight of an authentic Basquiat.

She'd taken a neo-expressionism course as an elective in her pre-law undergrad studies at Georgia State. In a single semester, she'd fallen in love with the works of Jean-Michael Basquiat. After she'd gotten her first high-powered job at a corporate firm, she'd finally been able to scrape together enough to afford the painting she'd had her eye on for years. "Is that your Basquiat?" she asked.

Gregory tore his gaze away from Lori's face and looked at Michonne. "You're a connoisseur?"

"No. I just love his work."

"Ah! Nice to meet a fellow fan… Jesus acquired this piece for me on one of his runs." Gregory clasped his hands. "Now. Jesus told me your group saved Dr. Carson. Obviously, a doctor's a rare commodity today, so I want to thank you for bringing ours back."

"This place, what you have here, it's been here since the start?"

"That's right."

"And how have you survived?"

"You're looking at how." He set a hand on his chest. "I'm good at this. And I don't get hung up on the details. Where you live, is it as nice as the Hilltop Colony?"

Michonne nodded. "It's just different."

"How do you feed everyone? Jesus said you had land for gardens, but no crops."

Michonne turned to Lori, who sat up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "We just started planting," Lori replied.

Gregory leaned toward her. "Planting what?"

"Cucumbers. Tomatoes."

"Oh. Crops? Soy, corn, hemp, sorghum?"

"Garden stuff."

"But you have guns, so I assume you have a decent weapons cache."

Lori deferred back to Michonne.

But instead of taking over, she gave Lori an encouraging nod, signaling her to continue. Michonne knew Lori was aware of all the goings-on of the armory and infirmary, because just like at the prison, Lori helped out in almost every aspect of Alexandria when she wasn't in the garden. And over the past few months when she found time to work alongside the woman in the garden, Michonne found herself asking Lori for her opinion on various aspects of the community, seeing as she had her hand in just about everything. And Michonne took note of the fact that Lori's opinion was more times than not, not only shrewd but logical.

"It's decent," Lori answered.

"And your infirmary, is it stocked?"

"Is yours stocked?" Lori quipped. "We came here hoping to talk about trade. Do you have enough here for that?"

Gregory leaned back at the firmness creeping into her voice. "You see what I have here. You see what I've built. Jesus said that your food situation was challenged right now. You don't keep people fed, it comes apart." Gregory cupped his hands on his propped knee. "Let's speak the common tongue here, huh? You don't have shit."

Michonne and Lori exchanged looks and both sat up straighter in their chairs.

So, this is what we're doing now?

Gregory scooted to the edge of the couch, leaning even further in Lori's direction. "Now, I'm happy to help. I'm a nice guy. But we can't just give things away for free… how's this? Since you can't offer much, I'll let your people work here for their share." A smile spread across his face and Michonne's stomach turned at the once-over he gave Lori, practically undressing her with his eyes. "You would be a welcome addition to the community, a smart and beautiful woman. Getting back to that common tongue, I can tell ya, I can make it worth your while."

Oh, hell no. "Look-"

Lori placed a hand on Michonne's arm. I got this, the gesture said. "Let me stop you right there," she said in a sharp tone Michonne hadn't heard before.

"Listen, honey."

"Stop," she demanded. "Coming on to me and calling me honey. You don't have any ammunition."

Gregory pressed his lips together. "Who said that?"

"You're low on medication. You need things, things we have. And we need things too."

"What? Are you gonna give us a bottle of aspirin and a box of bullets?" he jeered.

"Our Communities can help each other."

Gregory stood. "Thank you, Lindsey. Melanie. Been a good talk." He walked behind his desk, picking up the glass of something brown.

Lori stood and hurried to Gregory's desk, standing in front of him. "We can help each other," she urged.

"We're doing fine…" The little kindness he'd displayed before, which she'd suspected he'd been feigning, slipped off his face before it went slack. "Are you?"

---

In the foyer, later, after being shooed away by Gregory, Lori and Michonne sat among the rest of the group who they'd just informed of Gregory's lack of interest in what they were offering.

"We want to generate trade. Gregory does. But ammo isn't something we urgently need," Jesus said, standing before the group.

Rick narrowed his eyes at Jesus, wondering if he'd given Jesus too much credit; ammo was as good as gold now. "Well, how's that?" he asked, from where he sat on the armchair of the couch.

"The walls hold. We just brought in more medicine. Gregory wants the best deal possible."

Rick could give a shit what Gregory wanted. "We need food. We came all this way, we're gonna get it."

"I will talk to him and we will work this out," Jesus insisted, his voice pitching up an octave. "Circumstances change. We're doing well now, and you will next. I will make him understand that. Can you give me a few days?"

He didn't think there was a chance Gregory would change his mind. A "no" was on the tip of his tongue, but before letting it roll off, Rick tilted his head toward his sounding board.

"We can," Michonne advised.

Rick turned back to Jesus. "Yeah," he answered.

He stood when the front door opened and a frantic man—out of breath—burst through at the exact moment the double doors of Gregory's office swung open.

"What's wrong?" Gregory quavered, and his bravado dissipated.

"They're back," the man panted.

The color in Gregory's face faded. He glanced at Jesus, nodded, and the two of them scurried out the door.

What the hell is going on here?

Rick looked over to where Tyreese, Abraham, Daryl, and Glenn stood. All four men nodded in unison, parading after Jesus and Gregory.

Rick made a beeline for Michonne, who was pushing herself off the chair she sat in. Gently he grabbed her arm and assisted her up. "You stay in here." It didn't sit right with him, what he'd just observed between Jesus and Gregory, and there was no way he'd allow Michonne to get caught up in whatever might happen out there.

For a split second, it seemed like she might push back, but she nodded.

"Stay with her?" he asked Lori, knowing good and well Michonne could handle herself, but hedging his bets should something happen out there that prevented him from getting to her.

"Okay."

Rick jogged out the door and down the porch steps of Barrington House as Gregory and Jesus approached a ponytailed woman and two men—one bearded and burly and the other curly-haired—as they marched through the gates.

"What happened to everybody else?" Gregory asked them. "Where's Tim and Marsha?"

"They're dead," the bearded man said.

"Negan?" Gregory guessed.

"Yeah."

It was the second time he'd heard that name. Negan. The circumstance surrounding the first known encounter was abominable enough for Rick to bristle at the utterance of the name.

"We had a deal," Gregory mumbled.

"He said it wasn't enough." Curly hair asked, "was the drop light?"

"No."

Ponytail, who was on the edge of tears, said, "they still have Craig."

The bearded man stepped forward and Rick had been a cop long enough to notice signs of a possible assailant. He clocked his clenched fists, flushed face, and the throbbing vein in his neck. "They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us if I deliver a message to you," he said evenly, but Rick kept his guard up.

"So, what is it?" Gregory asked.

The bearded guy sidled up to Gregory and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before shoving his knife into Gregory's abdomen.

Rick charged the man, disabling one arm while Tyreese grabbed the other.

"Get off me!" The man shoved Tyreese away. "I had to!" He swung the knife around in Rick's direction.

Rick caught his arm and used it as an anchor when he heaved his knee into the man's gut. Then he cracked the man's arm at the base.

The man cried out, dropping to the ground, and Rick fell on top of him.

Rick thrust his fist into the man's face, the first blow landing at the base of his jaw. It felt like live wires were coursing through Rick's veins as he proceeded to pound into the man's face.

Hands grabbed Rick from behind, throwing him to the side. He fell on all fours, and crawled around, to find the bearded man, who struggled to stand—his sights set on Rick.

Rick pushed off the ground and launched himself into the bearded man. They rolled, the man landing on top of him with one hand around the base of his neck and the other holding a knife to his throat. "Stay back!" he yelled at someone above them.

Rick's eyes rolled up. Glenn stood there with his hand on his rifle, ready to unholster it.

"Anybody who tries to stop me is killing my brother!" Rick looked back at the wild-eyed guy above him, who was huffing in his face. He caught the hesitation in his gaze. Cold-blooded murder wasn't in his true nature. If he'd really wanted to kill Rick, he would have done it already… he should have.

"Drop it," Rick heard Tyreese hiss, standing at the side of them. The bearded man looked up at Tyreese, exposing his neck.

And as soon as Rick's mind thought it, he did it: his fingers jutting into the soft skin of his neck, as hard as he could, puncturing a hole. Blood drained from the hollow opening, spraying onto Rick's face.

The man deflated and Rick tossed him to the side.

He staggered off the ground. His world spun a little as he turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings. Rick felt the sticky mess of blood on his face and wondered what he must look like. But the community members' horrified faces were a mirror enough for him."What?" he challenged.

"Nathan! "You killed him!" Curly hair yelled from the ground, nursing his collarbone. Daryl—who Rick figured was the culprit of the guy's injury—stood above him, with his gun trained.

"He tried to kill Gregory, then me."

Rick felt a razor-sharp sensation course through his jaw, and it wasn't until he face-planted that he realized he'd been punched by ponytail.

The woman came at him again, but Tyreese grabbed her by the waist, pulling her away from Rick.

Enough of this shit. Rick popped his pistol from the holder.

"Drop it now!" The two men from the guard posts charged, their spears aimed at him.

Rick's head was reeling, but he stood his ground. "I don't think I will."

Jesus sprinted in between them, holding his arms out. "Everyone, this is over! It's over!" Jesus looked from Rick to the men with spears. "Ethan was our friend, but let's not pretend he was anything more than a coward who attacked us." His eyes scanned over the distraught community members standing around. "He did this. And these people- Rick… stopped him."

Jesus turned back to Rick and raised his eyebrows. Rick reminded himself that he was the intruder in this scenario. These people were defending their home. "What can I do?"

"Put the gun away. You've done enough."

Rick lowered his Python.

---

Lori peered through the shutters of Gregory's office window, at the woman wailing over the lifeless body of the man who must have meant a lot to her. She and Michonne had watched from the porch, as everything had unfolded and Lori had to physically hold the other woman back when the knife was held to Rick's throat. Thing was, Lori knew how it'd go, Michonne rushing to his aid wouldn't have changed a thing.

It's how it always went. Despite losing people, the group as a whole always came through the other side victorious. What was it Rick had said to Deanna? We're the ones who live. But staring at the wailing woman, Lori wondered how much of them still being here could actually be attributed to their own works.

She turned when she heard the doors to the office open.

"Dr. Carson was able to patch Gregory up. He's in pain, but he'll live," Jesus said, walking to stand in front of the fireplace.

Lori moved away from the window and walked over to where Tyreese stood by the bookcase. She interlocked their fingers.

"We heard the name Negan," Rick said, pushing off the desk he was leaning against and moving to stand in front of Jesus. "A while back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his men. Who is he?"

"Negan's the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors. As soon as the walls were

built, the Saviors showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss. They made a lot of demands and even more threats. And he killed one of us... Rory. He was sixteen years old." Jesus' gaze dropped to the floor. "They beat him to death right in front of us. Said we needed to understand, right off the bat."

Sixteen? Lori thought of Carl and a chill ran down her spine.

"Gregory's not exactly good at confrontation. He's not the leader I would've chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him."

"He made the deal," Lori said, picturing the spineless man standing before the likes of the depraved souls Jesus had described.

"Half of everything. Our supplies, our crops, our livestock, it goes to the Saviors."

"And what do you get in return?" Daryl questioned.

As if it were obvious, Jesus replied, "Uh… they don't attack this place… they don't kill us."

Daryl countered, "why not just kill them?"

"Most of the people here don't even know how to fight, even if we had ammo."

"Well, how many people does Negan have?" Tyreese challenged.
"We don't know. We've seen groups as big as 20."

Daryl grunted. "Now, hold up. So, they show up, they kill a kid, and you give them half of everything? These dicks just got a good story. The bogeyman, he ain't shit."

Jesus contemplated his words for a moment. "Well, how do you know?"

"A few months ago, we took his guys out PDQ," Abraham jumped in. "Left them in pieces and puddles."

"We'll do it," Daryl set his hand on his hip. "If we go get your man back, kill Negan, take out his boys…" He pointed his finger at Jesus. "Will you hook us up? We want food, medicine, and one of them cows."

Jesus checked with Rick, who shrugged. "Confrontation's never been something we've had trouble with."

The Hilltop had food, they didn't. In fact, they didn't have enough of anything. Except for people, who could fight their way out of anything. This was the trade, but it was gonna cost them something. Lori could only hope they wouldn't have to pay in luck because she feared it was running out.

The office door opened and Dr. Carson stepped in. "Gregory's up. He wants to talk."

Rick strode toward the door, but Dr. Carson held his hand up. "He said he wants to talk to a woman named Lori?"

The entire group—except for Michonne and Tyreese—turned to look at her, with a mix of worried and surprised expressions, the same looks they'd given earlier when Michonne had asked her to join in their initial meeting with Gregory.

Well, shit. Thanks for the confidence, guys. She was sick and tired of these damn people underestimating her. Lori pushed off the bookshelf.

"You got this," Tyreese whispered, letting go of her hand.

Jesus met her at the door. "I'll walk you over. And I'm sorry in advance, Gregory can be a real prick."

"Oh, I know."

---

"Sorry for the gloom," Gregory said, feebly, when Lori opened the bedroom door. "They have me on these antibiotics that make me sensitive to the sunlight. This is agony. It's like somebody's twisting my intestines with a cement mixer."

Lori stepped into the dark room, lit by antique lamps and the sparse light that found its way in, through the sheer curtains of the window. Gregory lay in an ornate bed, making him look like some sort of forlorn king on his deathbed. She padded to stand in front of him, near the foot of the bed. "It could've been worse. You're lucky we were here. Jesus told you about our offer?"

"He did." Gregory drew out the syllables of each word and despite the fact they'd just saved his life, didn't seem interested in negotiating, in the slightest. "What makes you think you can do what we haven't done?"

"We've handled people like Negan."

"How?"

"They're dead. We can get your man back."

Gregory pursed his lips and rolled his eyes to the side. "I don't know if Craig's worth the trouble. I mean, it's his brother who did this."

"He was fighting to save someone he loves."

"He was afraid. That makes him weak. Frankly, I don't know if I want him back in our gene pool."

"Forgiveness takes more strength than anger." She'd learned that ten times over, the past couple of years, and more times than not she'd been on the receiving end of the absolution.

"Yeah, I guess. He's a hell of a cook. He makes these amazing baked eggs with green tomatoes."

Lori shook her head and sighed. Why was she wasting her breath on this buffoon? "You give us supplies, we'll save Craig and take care of Negan and the Saviors, permanently." She folded her arms. "That's the deal. That's what we're offering."

Gregory laughed. "I'm sorry, I find this whole conversation pretty funny. I mean, you balked when I proposed that your people work for our supplies, but now… isn't that exactly what's happening here? See, I had leverage and I used it. It wasn't personal."

"Yes. We need food," she admitted, knowing it was what his smug ass wanted to hear. "You have it. We're willing to work for it."

His chin tucked in slightly and his lip spread into a close-lipped smile. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll get supplies for your people."

Ugh! "Good," she breathed out in relief.

"I'll talk to Jesus and he'll make the arrangements… see, this was fun. Exciting."

And when the asshole had the audacity to drop his eyes to her breasts, and because she figured the only reason he'd requested her was he thought he could get over on the "weaker vessel", she closed the space between herself and the footboard, leaning on it. "Half."

Gregory's eyes peeled away from her chest and settled on her face. "Excuse me?"

"Half of what you have. Starting today, and every two weeks, until we're back on our feet." Her eyes bore into him. "I saw what happened out there. Negan's expecting more supplies from this place. And more… and more…" Even as the words confidently fell from her lips, her heart pounded. It was a risky move but making risky moves was how you won in this world, watching Rick and Michonne lead had taught her that. "And if it keeps going like that, pretty soon you won't have anything left. What happens then? Without ammo, without fighters…"

Gregory's eyes went to the bedspread and Lori nailed the hammer in. "You'd be a dead man… so half of everything you have right now or the deal's off… you see? I have leverage."

Gregory met her gaze. He watched her for a moment before raising his hands off the bed a few inches, to give her a golf clap. "Congratulations. You have yourself a deal. You want anything else? Kidney, maybe?"

"No, not that… but I do want something else… your doctor-"

"No. No, that's where I draw the line-"

"Let me finish," she said carefully.

"Fine. What?"

"Every time Jesus brings our rations, Dr. Carson comes too… for Michonne and to further train our doctor. That is if he's alright with it. And he comes to deliver her baby too."

Gregory rolled his eyes. "I'll allow it," he rasped.

---

"You got room for one more, right?" Jesus asked, trudging alongside Rick. Both were carrying baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables to the RV, thanks to Lori. He had to hand it to her, she'd gotten the job done. And what she'd done for him and Michonne... he couldn't even find the words to begin to thank her properly.

A lot of things were surprising him today and the man next to him was one of them. He thought of how they'd met the day before, and felt a tiny bit of shame considering the fact that had Jesus stolen their truck a few months ago, he probably wouldn't have lived to tell the tale.

"I mean, we're talking about righting the world here," Jesus went on. They reached the RV and before stepping in he said, "plus, you still have my knives."

"Rick!" He turned to Dr. Carson, who stood at the door of the medical trailer. "You ready?"

"Yeah. Coming!"

Rick handed his basket up to Abraham, "tell the others we'll be a minute."

"Heard."

Rick stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and strode toward the trailer, passing Tyreese and Lori, who were strolling hand in hand—in deep conversation—toward the RV. He smiled at the sight.

They stopped when they spotted him walking in their direct path. "Got everything loaded up. We're good to go," Tyreese said.

"Great." Rick turned to Lori. "Nice work in there and… thank you."

Lori blushed and ran her hand through her hair. "No problem." They exchanged smiles, watching each other for a moment. They'd been through a lot, both separately and together, and In the back of Rick's mind, this is what he'd always wanted: both of them genuinely happy again.

She waved her hand toward the medical trailer, breaking eye contact. "Now go… go see your little one."

Rick bowed his head slightly at them, before hustling the rest of the way to get to the trailer, not wanting to miss a thing.

He opened the door, climbed up the stairs, and then stepped inside. The room was narrow; on one side stuffed with an assortment of medical equipment and crates of supplies and on the other side was an exam table and ultrasound machine.

Michonne spotted him, from where she lay on the table with her tank top pulled up halfway, Dr. Carson squirting gel onto her abdomen. He offhandedly thought, as fast as her belly was growing, they'd have to start scavenging maternity wear for her soon.

Michonne smiled at him as he made his way over.

"You didn't start without me, did ya?" Rick asked.

"No… we're just getting ready here." Dr. Carson said. "Michonne was telling me about what's been going on. So we did some measurements. Did a heart and lung auscultation… you got here right in time."

"How's all that looking?" he inquired.

"Everything looks great."

Rick stepped around the head of the exam table to stand in between it and the ultrasound machine. "Hey," he whispered to Michonne, interlacing their fingers.

"Hi," she said, with a sigh.

He kissed her forehead and lingered there a moment, knowing she needed—just as much as he did—the extra moment of connection. Waking up that morning, they hadn't known it'd be the day they'd see their baby for the first time. Though it was a joyous moment, there was always that fear they'd find something they didn't want to.

"Alright." Dr. Carson flipped the machine on. Rick tracked his every move, even though he had no clue what the hell the man was doing when he pressed the buttons on the keypad.

Dr. Carson brought the ultrasound wand to Michonne's belly and paused before setting it on the rounded peak. Smiling brightly at them he asked, "you two up for finding out the sex today?"

Oh. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd been solely focused on wanting to see a healthy baby. Rick opened his mouth to answer with a resounding "hell yes", but stopped himself, dropping his gaze to ask Michonne, "what do you wanna do?"

"I wanna know… if you do."

"Yeah," he replied to Dr. Carson.

"Alright… ready?"

Rick supposed the question was meant for both of them, but Dr. Carson's eyes were on Michonne. Rick didn't have to look at his wife to know what was on her face. She was clutching his hand so tight he thought it might bruise.

"Just take a deep breath," Dr. Carson reassured.

Michonne inhaled and then exhaled a shaky breath. "Ready."

Dr. Carson pressed the wand into Michonne's belly, spreading the gel around the entire surface. He pressed a button on the machine's keypad and a black and white zebra-esque image appeared. "Let's see what we can see…" he said, sliding the wand around, but keeping his eyes on the display.

Dr. Carson stopped when something popped up: a round object filling the screen. "Okay, here we go. Let's get a better look." He moved around her belly a little more and it didn't take a medical degree to interpret the shape of the tiny human that was displayed next on the screen.

Rick stood up straighter at the jolt of pride that rushed through his body. That was his child, who'd fought her own little battle in the womb from Georgia to Alexandria, right alongside her mom.

"There's the head," Dr. Carson pointed out. He slid his finger down the screen and landed on the tiny, rapid movement within the body of their little one. "And that's the baby's heart. You can see it beating there."

"Oh my God," Michonne breathed. Her hand tightened around Rick's. Neither of them could take their eyes off the screen.

"And those are its little feet... everything is looking really good... and..." Dr. Carson squinted and pointed to a small spot floating on the screen. "And see this right here?" he turned back to them, with a big smile. "It looks like you're having a boy."

Rick cut his eyes down to Michonne at the same moment she lifted her watery eyes to him. They watched each other for a moment before they burst into laughter.

Rick let his head fall forward, shaking it from side to side. Five months. It's how long they'd been preparing themselves for a girl. He'd gone so far as to visualize what she might look like. But Rick felt not an ounce of disappointment at the news and judging by Michonne's warm smile, she didn't either.

"I guess we were wrong," Michonne laughed, wiping the stray tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Hmmm…" Dr. Carson murmured. "I don't think that's our only surprise…"

Rick looked back at the man, who was staring at the screen as he steadily moved the wand around Michonne's belly. His brow furrowed as he studied the display.

Rick's hand went to his mouth when another tiny form entered the image. Was he seeing things? Cause if not, that meant there were really two tiny humans on that screen. Which meant there were two tiny humans inside Michonne's belly. Which meant… holy shit!

"Is that… are there… " Michonne uttered.

Dr. Carson nodded and gave a disbelieving laugh. "Rick. Michonne. Meet your babies… and it looks like you two were half right. Baby "A" is a boy... and baby "B"... is indeed a girl."