Tyreese's death is etched into my mind.

There it shall remain forever. I can't wrap my mind around it. Can't process it entirely. But its real and it happened. Returning to Alexandria with Tyreese's dead body was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Rick knew something was wrong when we returned in the dead of night. It wasn't until he saw Carl that he caught wind of the gravity of the situation. Rick Grimes was visibly shaken by the sight of Tyreese's corpse. When he found out who was responsible, of course, he was even more horrified. Since Carl was in no condition to, I filled Rick in on the details of exactly what had happened. Needless to say, I included Negan's little "message" and Rick got it loud and clear. For the first time, I think Rick Grimes finally understood what we were up against. These Saviors aren't just bandits and thugs. They're not the skittish cannibals from Terminus, nor the traveling band of rednecks that Joe's group was. They're ruthless murderers. There is, after all, a reason Hilltop fears them so. Carl and I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

The following morning, Tyreese is buried directly behind the church.

Its a somber moment for everyone, particularly those of us who made it out of Terminus together and were present when Tyreese and Carol rejoined us. Sasha, who was a basket case the night before, has hardened almost overnight. Her expression is blank. The air around her cold. Maggie and Bob both do their best to comfort her, but there is little one can do to heal the heart of someone grieving over the loss of their only older brother. While Rick makes off with Daryl and Abraham to consider what to do now, Carl and I return home. The gloominess of the funeral follows us back and we don't even make it to our room; collapsing, instead, on the couches in the foyer. Both of us are immensely tired, but only Carl manages to slip off to sleep. I, on the other hand, am still wracked with grief, anger, and anxiety. Sleep refuses to relieve me of this. So, as I always do in times like this, I focus everything on Carl. If I tune out everything around me and focus solely on him, the pain is somehow more bearable. Only this time, Carl is gripped by sadness too and, sleeping, neither of us are able to talk about the issue at hand. The creaking of the front door draws my attention away from the sleeping form of Carl and I am pleasantly surprised when I see who has stepped through the threshold.

Tara.

Tara Chambler.

I haven't seen my friend for days. Not even at the funeral.

Being one of the few medics that stays in the camp at all times makes her a very busy woman. Nevertheless, I'm happy to see her and rise from my spot to greet her. Our greeting is a typical one for us. Wordless. She offers me her fist for a fist bump, smiling reassuringly at me in the process. Returning her good will, I too offer my fist, and the two bump casually. It is what she does next that surprises me. Before I can fully retract my fist, she seizes my wrist and tugs on me hard. I like to think I'm pretty solid, but Tara catches me completely off guard and easily manages to pull me into her, sliding her arms around my upper torso for a hug. At first, I'm a little shell-shocked, but slowly I warm up to it and return her hug. Almost immediately I feel the sting of tears touch the back of my eyeballs. Emotionally, I'm drifting out to sea, and I think she saw that.

"I'm glad you're okay." she murmurs as she clutches me tightly. "Both of you."

"It was horrible." I breath.

"Rick filled me in. Told me everything. I thought I'd come check on you."

We pull apart and I instinctively look back at the couch to check on Carl. He's still sleeping and, honestly, I don't think he'll wake anytime soon. The weight of all that's happened will keep him out for sometime. Tara's touch lingers on my shoulders, as if to reassure me that she's still there for me while I sort out my thoughts. Tears now blind my vision. Wanting to remain strong, though, I quickly raise my arm and rub the excess tears away from my eyes. When I regain my sight, I can see that Tara's gaze is full of understanding and compassion. A look that I've come to know almost as much, these past three years, as I've seen her sassier expressions.

"We should talk." she says plainly.

I reluctantly cast another glance over my shoulder at Carl.

"He'll be alright." Tara is quick to soothe my fears. "Let him sleep. If it makes you feel better, we'll go talk out back, that way you're close if he needs you."

That sounds like a fair compromise, though I am curious what she wants to talk about.

I nod my agreement.

I cast one more longing glance at my sleeping lover and then find myself following Tara through the house until we reach the backdoor and slip out onto the porch. The sky is is still pewter in tint. There is no sign of this storm system moving out of the area anytime soon. I really wish it would, though. The depression of the day is only made worse by the dank overcast sky. A gust of cold air gushes over the two of us as we step off the porch and into the dying grass of the lawn. Slipping her hands casually into her pockets, she comes to a stop in the middle of the barren yard and turns her gaze up towards the dull grey sky to indulge her thoughts. Not knowing what she intends to speak about, I merely keep quiet, mimicking her by placing my hands into my pockets, all the while staring idly at my feet. For a moment only silence hangs between us. I barely notice it, however. My mind has been stuck in a purgatory of grief ever since last night and now, whenever there is silence, I see Tyreese's death in flashes. Like some old fashion frame-by-frame film where only brief instances are shown. Tyreese pleading. His fractured skull. Negan's gleeful face. Its enough to stiffen the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Still thinkin' about it?" Tara suddenly pipes up prophetically.

I keep my eyes focused on my feet, "Yeah." I reply. "Can't get the damn images out of my head."

"It was the same when my sister died."

I know of Tara's sister.

Lilly Chambler was her name. Lilly had a daughter named Megan, who is also dead. They owe their deaths to one man. The Governor. I'd never been told how they were killed or why, just that they were killed around the same time, during the attack on the prison Rick, Carl, Michonne, and the others once used as their home. Ahead of me, Tara closes her eyes, allowing her memories of that day to come flooding back. Its been three years since then, and I can still see the pain wrinkle across her face as she recalls her sister and her niece. People used to say that time heals all wounds. I've come to realize that particular saying is one of the biggest lies ever told to mankind. Time doesn't heal anything. It just allows you the necessary time to make room for the hurt. To normalize it. But it never truly goes away.

"Did I ever tell you how it happened?"

I shake my head.

"Walkers." she replies. "She was never supposed to be in that prison yard. She was supposed to be out by the river where it was safe. There were just too many of those dead bastards around her. She never stood a chance. It makes me feel like a real piece of shit, you know?"

I regard her with a furrowed brow of confusion, "It wasn't your fault she died, Tara."

"It was absolutely my fault." she retorts strongly. Her tone of voice takes me back a bit. "Do you know what I told that man? Brian? The Governor. It wasn't even a few minutes after I'd first met him."

Again I shake my head, clueless.

"I sat him down at the small table in the kitchenette of the apartment we were holed up in, showed him my gun, and said, 'Do you see this? This is a fully loaded standard issue Smith and Wesson. I'm Atlanta city police and I have enough artillery to kill you every day for the next ten years. You mess with me or my family and I swear to Christ I will put you down.' I really said that."

"You weren't really police." I interject, grinning slightly at that concept.

"Nope." she smirks back. "But he believed it. At first. I don't know. I guess those words stay with me because I vowed to protect them. Dad, Lilly, Megan. But I trusted him. Let him get close. Dad died of natural causes, but Megan was bitten as a direct result of where that man hid them. Lilly died avenging her. If I'd just gone with my instincts and killed him then, they would still be here."

"Mich used to say the same thing about Andrea."

"The Governor ruined a lot of lives." Tara says nodding. "My family's, Andrea's, Glenn and Maggie's."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I cut to the chase, drawing a glance from her over her shoulder.

"Because its happening again." she replies plainly. "Negan. He's of the same ilk as that madman. He's already terrorizing those people you guys went to meet. Now he's killed Tyreese."

I wait patiently for her point.

Its true, I didn't live through the horrors of the Governor. To me, he is merely a legendary figure that I was told about by Carl and Michonne; sometimes Tara or Maggie too. I didn't even know his real name. Michonne had once mentioned that Andrea had called him Phillip. Tara calls him Brian. No matter what name one uses, there is no denying that he was a horrific figure who has the blood of many on his hands. When I consider her comparisons, I can see how she'd connect Negan to the Governor. Both men are somehow charismatic leaders, who attract many to their cause, even if that cause leads to the death of so many innocents. Tara clears her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"I came to talk to you, because I don't know what is going to happen." she continues. "There's already been a casualty. There may be more before this is all over."

"Tara... I..."

"If its any consolation." she continues regardless of my protest. "I've got your back through this."

That genuinely shocks me.

I'm not completely sure why. Tara and I have always been close.

Still, something about the way she says it, and the sentiment imbued within it, brings the stinging sensation of tears back to my eyes. Once again, I'm reminded of the life we've all built here, and while Carl, Rick, and Judith are my only legitimate family here (as I married into theirs), I also have Tara. Tara and...

"And its not just me." she continues, almost as though she senses my line of thought. "You have Rick and Michonne, Carol, Sasha, Glenn, Maggie, and more importantly-"

"You have me."

The sudden deeper tone of voice causes me to jolt with shock.

It quite clearly doesn't belong to Tara and yet, the tone is so familiar that the tears building in their ducts finally find freedom and fall free of my eyes, spilling over onto my cheeks and tracing a distinct path across my face to the ground below. Tara's gaze tilts upwards slightly, just beyond me to the whomever just spoke, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth. Tears still embarrassingly staining my cheek, I turn to bring the mystery speaker into view. Not all that surprisingly, yet somehow stunning, Carl Grimes is standing at the edge of the porch, just above the lawn, hands in his pockets like ours are, gazing down at me. Like Tara, he has a soft smile on his face. I hadn't heard him come out of the house. He must've woken up and come looking for me when he realized I wasn't around. I can tell he hasn't been awake very long. His clothing, while intact, is disheveled from all the heavy tossing and turning he often does in his sleep, and his eyes are rather puffy. Its quite a cute look on him, if I do say so myself.

Socked feet touch down on the dying grass as Carl steps down into the yard and quickly crosses over, hands still in his pockets, towards me. I can't resist. The millisecond he is within reach of my arms, I stretch out, slipping my hands around his thin frame, drawing him into a loose hug. He, in turn, leans his forehead against me shoulder and allows me to simply hold him. Its amazing how therapeutic just holding this man can be. His sweet aroma, gentle touch, soft skin, and rough hair. I could drown in it. All of it. I can't help but squeeze him tightly. Several more tears free fall from their ducts as a spontaneous flashback shows me Carl's reaction to Tyreese's death. I hate seeing him hurt. Seeing him cry. I have to stop that from happening again, no matter what the cost.

Tara clears her throat, bringing us both back to reality.

"You two are making the humidity in this yard even worse." she quips, hands on her hips in mock frustration.

"You're just jealous because you haven't found a girlfriend yet." I retort, sticking my tongue out at her.

This elicits a soft chuckle from Carl.

"Keep talking, pal." Tara barks, raising her voice. "When I do get one, I'll make sure we trade tongue in front of you two all the time, to make up for the three years you've done it to me."

Guilty as charged on that one.

Though Carl and I were discreet around the others back in the day, we were less so around Tara; mainly because she understood us better than he others, plus we enjoyed tormenting her. We've naturally become less modest around the others since our marriage, but Tara never lets us live down the moments that occurred in the years prior. Not to mention, its sort of a thing of ours that Tara and I will argue over our love lives and who has had the most fulfilling up to the current date. After marrying Carl, as one might expect, I gained a natural edge over her and eventually began to win all of our arguments. We are all drawn out of our banter by the sound of a creaking door as Michonne steps out of the house and onto the porch. Her serious, almost grave, expression brings us all back to reality.

"Rick wants to see us." she says plainly.

"All of us?" Tara asks.

Michonne nods, "Its important."

If Michonne tells you something is important; its important.

"Lead the way."

And important it is indeed.

####

Rick gathers us all in the sanctuary of the church.

Aside from the services that take place here every Sunday, the building has become somewhat of a makeshift meeting place for the town, or specific members thereof, in times of great hardship or emergency; this incident being a dreadful combination of the two. Today, Rick has assembled everyone. The entire safe zone, numbering some seventy survivors, are gathered in the humid, confined space. There is a low buzz of chatter as Michonne, Tara, Carl, and I step into the dusty old building and make our ways to the front, where our usual seats our for these sorts of meetings. Ahead at the podium, Father Gabriel, the man who married Carl and I, and the one who runs the Sunday services in this building, stands off to the side as Rick takes his place, bringing a lull to the once chattering room full of people. Preparing myself for whatever Rick has to say, I reach over and take Carl's hand, which is sitting in his lap. Carl offers me his best reassuring smile, squeezing my hand in his, before returning his attention to his father.

And again I'm grateful that he's there.

"Yesterday," the leader begins. "One of our own was killed. Murdered by a group of psychotic killers. This morning we buried him. Tyreese may be gone, but his memory isn't. I'm not here to beat around the bush with you all, or lie to you, so I'll get straight to the point. A few days ago, myself and some others from this community met with another community of survivors, like ours, called the Hilltop. They told us about a savage group of men who have taken to calling themselves 'the Saviors'. They're the ones who murdered Tyreese. They killed him and took glee in doing so. They thought that his death would be a message, loud and clear, that they own us and everything we've worked so hard for. They thought that by killing him, we'd stand down and surrender to them."

Rick lets his words hang in the air for a moment.

So far, his speech has had the intended effect. The entire community is completely captivated by his words, hanging on every syllable spoken from his mouth. Over the years I've known him, Rick has always explained to me that he had never chosen for himself to be leader. Back in Atlanta, he had merely stepped up and become involved in the fledgling group, and they steadily grew to rely on him in turn. Even so, I can't help but think he was born to be a leader. He is capable of enthralling the masses in ways a politician could only dream of doing. Once the tension was palpable, Rick picked up his words where he left off, drawing the crowd immediately back in.

"But, what they didn't realize is, we're not that kind of people. We don't submit ourselves to thugs, least of all thugs who murder our friends and family. I won't bow to their demands. If they want a fight, well, they've just earned themselves one. We have allies in the Hilltop. Between them and us, these thugs don't stand a chance in hell."

As Rick finishes his declaration, the hush that had previously dominated the room erupts into a variety of conversations. I'm pretty sure everyone realizes what has just happened. Rick has declared war on Negan and the Saviors and won popular opinion in doing so. Thinking back to the previous night, Negan had stated that the reason he didn't kill Daryl was to prevent the creation of a martyr. On that front, he has failed. Tyreese has become a martyr and a rallying point by which the community can stand around. I worry about his overconfidence, however. Rick wasn't there to see them. The Saviors are ferocious. It will take more than numbers and speeches to dissuade them from their current destructive path.

With the meeting adjourned, Rick motions for Carl and I to join him as he leaves the podium and heads for the nearby vacant church offices. We're not the only ones who follow. Abraham, Rosita, Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Sasha, Michonne, and Tara have also come, filling the tight space of the office before slamming the door shut behind us. This room has a different atmosphere. This room is full of tension and sorrow. We've felt Tyreese's death more than anyone else out there except perhaps Carol, who is currently looking after Judith. We're still taking it quite hard.

"What's your plan, Rick?" Abraham opens.

"I need to go back to Hilltop." Rick declares. "Solidify our deal with Paul. I hate to admit it, but, we need them for what's to come."

"These people aren't soldiers, Rick." Maggie interjects. "We're the ones with combat experience. That's why they trust you to lead. They won't last long against thugs like this."

"As much as I hate it," Sasha adds, surprising all of us. None of us have heard her speak much since the incident. "She's right. I saw them, Rick. These people can't handle them. Without more like us, we can't handle them."

Rick meticulously glances between each speaker, taking in their input with a stern expression as he process the information. In the days since the Governor, Rick's leadership abilities have expanded to include battle strategist among his various talents. It was him, after all, who came up with the plan of getting us out of Terminus without any casualties. Minus my getting shot, his plan was a massive success. By Carl's account, it was Rick who engineered their plan of counterattack against Terminus the same night. If I trust anyone to lead this fight, its Rick. However, conversely, both Maggie and Sasha have a solid point. The survivors, minus ourselves and scant few others, that inhabit Alexandria, aren't battle trained. Those who already lived here when we arrived, have enjoyed a life of leisure up until now, and are nearly completely helpless. Those who, like us, arrived after surviving the road are hardened, but not exactly combat experienced.

"We needs soldiers to fight this thing, Rick." Michonne suddenly interjects, echoing my thoughts. "Not civilians."

Rick nods.

"I agree." he says. "Its time for this community to buckle down and toughen up. Despite all the hardships we've faced, this community has lived privileged lives with us as their protectors. Now its their turn to pitch in and fight for their keep. We should've done this from the beginning."

"What are you suggesting?" Tara inquires of him.

The elder Grimes settles both hands on his hips and glances at her;

"If we can't get more soldiers like us," he begins. "Then we'll turn the people we have into soldiers."

####

So it is settled.

With Abraham at the helm, Rick is setting into motion a plan that will offer all of the community's members basic combat training. The use of weapons, combating walkers and people alike, and other relevant topics are to be taught to them in order to maximize our chances against the Saviors. Of course, they'll lack experience, but at the very least, we won't have average civilians trying to take on an organized crime group, which would only increase our casualty count. Carl and I again find ourselves home, only this time, alone and very much deep in thought. All of these preparations, meetings, and general activity have all the telltale signs of a war-machine steadily cranking up its gears. Carl is a natural at this and still seems more stressed over Tyreese's loss than at the upcoming battle. This is not a new thing to him. His group went through the same preparations in anticipation of the Governor's attack many years ago. To him, this is the same thing, new people. I wish I had the same reassurance and experience.

"You'll be on the frontlines when the fighting starts." I blurt out, airing my concerns.

"We will be." he quickly corrects me, casting a concerned glance my direction. "I won't leave your side. I promise you that."

His reassurance is sweet, even if it doesn't completely soothe my concerns entirely.

Carl senses this and is quick to scoot himself closer to me, reaching out to place callous hands against the curvature of my cheek. Its a sign of affection he's picked up from me over the years, as he is quite fond of me doing the same to him whenever he is in a frantic or particularly distressed state. His fingers are rough as he slowly, yet gently, rubs the cheek he's latched onto. I have always enjoyed the touch of Carl's hands, which are toughened and made callous by his months as a farmer, along with Rick, back at the prison. They're so unlike my smooth, average hands, which haven't seen the kind of hard work a farmer commits to the land he tills. Succumbing to the vibe of the moment, I lean in and rest my forehead against his, allowing our noses to briefly brush together; his hot breath dusting my skin, even as my own sweeps across his. Our mouths both stay slightly ajar, as if both of us are contemplating kissing the other, but haven't quite convinced ourselves to make the first move. Soon, my own hand mimics his, taking the opposite cheek from which he is touching, and caressing the contrasting softness of his cheek. We hold each other like that for minutes.

If I'm honest, I could probably do this for hours.

"You gonna kiss me already?" he invites, and I feel every word as a breath that lightly buffets my skin.

I rub my thumb softly against his own skin, mimicking his movements as I contemplate him.

My heart flutters.

For a moment, I ponder all that we've been through from the moment the two of us met until now. This isn't the first time death has hung over our heads like a dreadful black curtain. Its also not the first time people have been responsible for that threat. Even so, the natural anxiety of losing the family I've worked so hard to build is eating me alive inside. As I drown in Carl's mesmerizing aqua, my mind flashes to the worst possible case scenario; a scenario where Carl is taken from me by the same monster whom claimed Tyreese's life and I am forced to live the rest of my miserable life without my other half. Its a fleeting thought that lasts only an instant, but in that split second, my heart leaps with fear. The sudden jolt of panic brings along with it sweeping relief when I realize that I'm still holding him. He's still offering his lips to me. I still have him here. Regardless of what happens an hour from now, a day from now, and week from now, or whatever the case may be, right now, he's all mine.

I need no more invitation than that.

My lips crash down on top of Carl's, who hungrily invests himself into the kiss, seemingly pleased that I finally gave in and indulged his physical needs. And indulge him I do. Our kiss is sweet and its needy and its passionate. Emphasis on the needy, though. I can feel his urgency as he pushes his lips onto mine, as he frantically plays my tongue with his; even his breath is coming in short huffs from his nostrils, dousing me with the sweet heat of his breath. I let Carl take charge of what is usually my area to take charge in; kissing, of course. He dominates me easily and actually manages to elicit a quite audible whimper from me when he playfully bites down on my upper lip, inviting me to pursue him in his kissing games. As quickly as it began, however, it ends and Carl and I both release each other's mouths for several deep gulps of air.

I can't help but grin.

Carl certainly knows how to use the full range of his expressions to silence my dread. When his words didn't do the job, he relied on his physical love to break down my barriers. He knows just the buttons to press to get the reaction he wants. He is quite skilled at it.

"Better?" he chirps, pleased by his handiwork.

"Much." I reply truthfully, grinning slightly at his swollen lips.

"I told Dad we'd both come with him to Hilltop." Carl's demeanor shifts, even as he changes the subject, to a more serious tone. "I want to be there just in case."

That doesn't surprise me, so I merely nod my agreement.

"Tonight, however," I chime in, trying to keep the tone light. "We should enjoy our time together. Tomorrow brings with it it's own worries."

Carl grins slightly, revealing the jagged point of his canines.

"I think I can agree to that." he replies mischievously.

So, that we do.

As the moon takes its roost high in the night heavens over the planet, Carl and I indulge each other once more, in a much more intimate fashion, trying to tune out the cinders of war which are now beginning to ignite all over the small Washington D.C. area. The uncertainty of what is to come is certainly troublesome and even worrisome, but the fact that I have a wonderful person like Carl at my side through it all, not to mention the various assortment of friends I've accumulated in the time since, eases my mind and puts it temporarily at peace.

Peace that would soon be shattered.

A/N: War bells are ringing in Alexandria! I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, particularly the first scene. In the previous story, Michonne got a lot of development from the advice and chats she had with Tanner, and Tara seems to be slipping into that role as well where he is concerned. As one of my favorite TV show characters, even with the brief time she's been with us, I am looking forward to giving her a much larger role in the conflict to come. As always, your reviews, follows, favorites, and PMs are greatly encouraged and appreciated. I love hearing what you guys think and speculate and feel!

Now onto the reviews!

Guest (1): I do appreciate the compliment! I try to write those scenes as vividly and as graphically as possible. I want you to be able to feel like you're there and saw it with your own eyes. Even in horrific scenes like that. Glad you are enjoying! :)

Guest (2): It was indeed intense. It will only continue to build as the chapters move forward! Thanks for your comment!

Obtained: Yay! Its good to see you again! I understand busy. I've barely kept my head above water with all the RL stuff I've been doing lately myself, but I'm glad you noticed this! Good to have you aboard again! No spoils, but the tension will come to a head in the future chapters! Stay tuned to find out what happens to Negan as well as our heroes! :D Thanks for your review!

Thanks again guys!

I appreciate the comments/reviews and you all taking your time to share them with me! Keep 'em coming folks!

I will see you guys with the next one!

Later!