The Test of Time, a walking dead fanfic

Author Note: Shout out to Siancore. Her one shot of Rick and Michonne reuniting inspired me to take a shot at writing what I'm calling a "prediction fic" lol. I'm pretty sure ninety-nine percent of what I write is not gonna happen in the actual show, but I thought it'd be fun to see if I get anything right. This story will be six chapters.

Since some of the new characters have already been announced, I've taken the liberty of incorporating them into the story, and some of the world-building is based on behind-the-scenes set photos and also from what we learned in World Beyond.

Finally, anyone who was following along with my story A Place to Call Home, please know that I have not abandoned it. I didn't want to rush the final two chapters, so I've been slowly working on them, trying to get them right.

Hope you guys enjoy The Test of Time.

The Test of Time

Chapter 1

Rick's sneakers pounded on slick pavement. His footfalls caused a splash when they stomped the deep puddles flooding the concrete slabs of sidewalk at the foot of the high-rise buildings he passed. The customarily busy streets of the Civic Republic's most populated ward were tonight abandoned by all the ones not cleared to carry a firearm.

Rick kept his eyes downcast when he jogged past a patrolling soldier. He checked over his shoulder that the man wasn't watching before he hooked a sharp left into a narrow, brick-walled opening between two buildings and slowed his pace to a fast walk.

The heavy downpour straight away drenched Rick's grown-out hair, when he pushed his hoodie back. Inching down the empty alleyway, he glanced every other second over his shoulder, not sure which way the guy would come from.

Rick slowed even more, once halfway across, and checked his wristwatch. Ten minutes late now. I knew I shouldn't have trusted this guy, he thought.

And he couldn't very well do another lap around to the alley, it was his third already. The soldiers were gonna get suspicious. He had to keep moving; loitering was strictly prohibited in the late hours. Rick slid his hoodie back in place and took off in a sprint toward the street. When he rounded the corner out of the alley he slammed into a hooded body. They repelled off each other and both landed on their backs.

"Aye, sorry dude," The hooded figure said.

He couldn't see his face, but he registered the deep voice from the one time they'd met behind the trash compactor of Rick's building to set up this very meeting—the guy had been late then too.

The guy scrambled off the ground and reached his hand out to Rick, who took it and used it to pull himself up. And when he was upright again, the guy patted Rick once on the forearm.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Best to get out of the rain, then." His hand quickly jutted in and out of Rick's jacket pocket, when he bumped past and took off. "Good luck and Godspeed," he called over his shoulder.

Rick waited for him to disappear before sliding his hand inside the pocket of his jacket. He felt a plastic that hadn't been there before and took off for his building.

Minutes later, when Rick opened the door to the studio he'd been assigned upon release from the Republic Hospital, five months prior, he sucked in a breath at the rotting wood odor that always hit him the moment he stepped over the splintering threshold.

The cramped cave that reminded him of his collegiate dorm room was where he spent the entirety of his free time, when not at work at the decontamination center. He'd take in tasteless meals at the TV table in the corner of the room, shiver through cold morning showers standing under the sprinkler head in the bathroom that was only separated from the rest of the room by a thin curtain, and spend long nights alone on the twin mattress with the springs poking out. He took delight in the discomfort, it reminded him every day this place wasn't his home.

Rick slammed the door, then pulled the lonely wooden chair away from the TV table and jammed it under the nob. He wouldn't put it past authorities to barge into his room for a surprise sweep. Between the military and founding citizens, Rick observed a general distrust of rescued citizens, and rightfully so, as he'd also noticed he wasn't the only one who worked hard to hide his heartsick affectation.

A chill trickled down his spine, from the drenched clothes still clinging to his frame. Rick made quick work out of peeling off his activewear and stepped into jeans and a plain white t-shirt before he dropped down onto the edge of the bed.

Please let this be it, he thought, staring at his wet jacket, which lay on top of the pile of clothes on the ground. Rick reached for it and removed the plastic baggie from the pocket. He unfolded the piece of paper from inside and his heartbeat ticked up to an unhealthy rhythm when he read the two words scribbled on it: 'Seat twelve'.

Michonne's belly had pushed further out with each day that passed and her walk was now a waddle, making her daily trek along the forest-bordered river's embankment all the more arduous.

She was only halfway through her allotted miles of daily search when her back began screaming at her. "Ooph." She blew out a breath and set a hand at the base of her spine. "You're kicking my ass, kid," she murmured to her stomach.

Passing a tree, Michonne contemplated leaning on it for a spell but decided against it. She was already behind and still had to make the trek back to Alexandria before the day turned dark.

So instead, Michonne picked up her speed, keeping her eyes on the river. She scrutinized every lifeless corpse that floated free and easy downstream, and only stopped to hobble to the edge for a better look when she'd spot one clothed in anything remotely similar to what he'd been wearing that day. Only when she was sure it wasn't him did she let out her held breath.

A part of her didn't mind the search taking so long, it's why she'd declined every offer of assistance from her friends. Finding him meant it was over. That the man she hadn't gotten nearly enough time with was well and truly gone.

But without a body, she'd have longer to stay firmly planted in the denial stage of her grief. It was the only thing keeping her from hibernating under the covers, that still smelled of his fresh manly musk, for the duration of her pregnancy.

Then there was the prospect of never finding a body and somehow that seemed the worst of all the outcomes.

Michonne walked back into her townhouse hours later. On her way to the stairs, she ran her fingers over the plank of wood nailed to their wall with Carl and Judith's handprints painted on it.

She found Judith's bedroom door wide open when she made it up to the second floor.

"And they all lived happily ever after," Rosita read, as she rocked a knocked-out Judith in the chair beside the window.

Michonne smiled. Since the day her happy ending had been blown up on that bridge, she hadn't been able to bring herself to read that particular book to her daughter. But even though she didn't believe in them anymore, happily ever afters, she still wanted Judith to.

Rosita closed the book and peeked down at Judith before struggling to slide out of the rocking chair, against the weight of the little girl.

Michonne hurried into the room. "I got her," she whispered.

"Oh, hey."

As gently as she could, Michonne transferred her little girl into her bed and then kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you." She padded to the door, where Rosita stood watching. They left the room and together made their way to the front door.

"Thank you for putting her down," Michonne said. "I'm sorry I'm so late. I was hoping to make it back before dark."

"Oh, it's no problem. Did you find anything?"

"No. Nothing."

Michonne caught the wary look on Rosita's face before her friend's eyes fell to the ground, and she braced herself for another iteration of the conversation they'd had far too many times for her liking.

"Aaron and I were talking." Rosita glanced back up at Michonne. "And we were hoping you'd let us take over the search. There are others who wanna take shifts too and-"

"I appreciate that, Rosita, but-"

"You need rest," she interrupted, with a firmer tone. "And it's not just you on the line out there anymore..." Her words trailed off and she looked pointedly at Michonne's belly.

Michonne's hands glided over the roundness of it to rest below the underside. The thought had crossed her mind, many times. The further out she went, the harder it'd be for Siddiq to get to her if she needed him. Though there were still eight weeks until her due date, there was always a chance the baby could come early, like Hershel had.

She sighed and eased down onto the last step of the staircase. "If I don't go out there, all I'm gonna do is sit around here thinking about him wandering alone. Or a stranger finding him. It should be someone who loved him."

"I get it. I do." Rosita dropped down beside her. "But you can't cover it all before the baby comes. And what happens if you have to go out so far you can't do it in one day anymore? Let us help you. We'll find him."

Michonne glanced over at her friend. "And what if we don't?" She felt a tear seep from her eyes.

Rosita took her hand. "Then, we'll get through that too. You're not alone in this. Any of it. You just gotta let us be there for you. We can carry this together. It's what we've done since the start."

He had made it that way. Rick had brought all of them together, he'd made it so it wasn't about building their own lives, but the lives of them all. He wouldn't want her going it alone, pushing away the people who so desperately wanted to be there for her.

Michonne had promised him, way back when, that if it was him who she lost she'd keep everyone together. And now she was doing the exact opposite, on an island where only her and her grief were allowed to dwell.

She wiped at the wetness on her cheeks. If she couldn't be the one to find him, then she'd at least keep her promise. "Okay. I'll let you guys take some shifts."

"Great." Rosita jumped up and held her hand out. "How does a nice big glass of... carrot juice sound?"

Michonne chuckled and offhandedly wondered how she would have made it all these months without her friend.

"We had a bumper crop of them. Siddiq said it's good for the baby. I made a few jars and stashed 'em in your fridge."

She slapped her hand into Rosita's. "Wine sounds better, but okay," she said standing. "Thank you."

Birds chirped outside Rick's window the next morning and their song would have woken him had he managed to close his eyes long enough to catch even just a few minutes of sleep. All night he'd laid under the thin blanket, staring up at the ceiling, and going over the plan. With each pass, he'd find something wrong with it, some possible hitch that could get him killed.

Before Rick knew it the sun was shining through the singular window of his sixth-floor walk-up. He rolled away from it, onto his side, and saw the clock on the nightstand read six. He still had an hour before he was required to report to the bus and there was no way he was getting any sleep now, so he went about his morning routine. Rick pulled the nightstand drawer open and reached in for the only item of worth he owned, the dead cell phone.

When he'd first gotten to The Republic, Rick had bartered all the money he'd been given during orientation for it, which meant he hadn't eaten anything besides basic canned rations for weeks, but Rick would starve a thousand times over for a daily glimpse of his family.

The cell phone artist whose kiosk he'd stumbled upon in the town square on the way to work one day had been a young Japanese woman and he was still amazed she had drawn something that so closely resembled his little girl and wife. Admittedly, Rick had been less confident in his ability to describe them in enough detail for her to do their image any justice. He'd been emotional when she'd held the cell phone up to him.

And when she'd asked him if he wanted her to write a message to go with the picture, he'd been at a loss."I'm not sure," he'd said.

She'd nodded, then proceeded to scribble something on the screen, before handing the phone back to him.

Rick had raised an eyebrow at the unrecognizable letters, he could only identify as Japanese. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Yeah. I'm the only one around here who knows how to speak it." She'd given him a knowing smile. "It's just for you."

"And what does it mean?"

She'd looked around, then placed a soft hand over his, her joyful eyes all of a sudden somber. "Believe a little longer." Her voice was a mere whisper. "That's all we can do now, right?"

He hadn't understood—still didn't—what she had meant by that or how she'd known exactly what he'd needed to hear at that moment. But, months later those four words were what he lived by.

Rick traced his thumb over the etching of Michonne's face and closed his eyes; he imagined he was lying face-to-face with her in their bed. He practiced every day; feeling, hearing, and touching her. Rick exercised the strength of his remembrance of her, afraid the memory would slip away if he neglected it.

As it always did, his mind went back to their last day together. He skipped past the recollection of his and Michonne's first try at making a baby, earlier that fateful day. He liked to save that for the dark hours when he craved her touch the most. But his hand was never a substitute for her warmth.

Rick worked hard to meticulously recall everything that happened after their last time together; the picnic, chasing Judith around the park, and reading her favorite story. He always, always opened his eyes again right after the moment he'd let go of Michonne's hand. It was the single greatest regret of his entire life. Thinking about it now he cursed himself. He should have held on to her, should have let someone else handle things at the bridge, should have stayed home like he'd planned.

He'd all but blocked the rest of that day out; the fight with Daryl, the rebar piercing through him, and all the walkers on the bridge with a singular focus on him. But try as he might, Rick couldn't override the sound of Michonne screaming his name. Her piercing cries haunted him, plenty of nights he'd woken in a cold sweat, echoes of the sound still with him.

Rick's alarm chimed. He swung his legs off of the bed, fatigue slapping him in the face as he teetered upright, taking a moment to steady himself and rub his fist over his tired eyes. Damn, he really should have tried harder to rest.

After his shower, Rick threw the cell phone, the remaining cans of food from his cupboard, and his cowboy boots into the leather backpack he'd been issued at orientation. When he spotted a piece of paper and pen on the table, he tossed those in too for good measure. Never know what you're gonna need out there.

Rick haphazardly threw on his jeans, brown tee, CRM-issued jacket, and utility boots, and then he was out the door.

Vendors tended to their rain-soaked kiosks and set up shop for what was sure to be a busy day of commerce; it was the first sunny weather The Republic had seen in five days. Work at the decontamination center didn't stop for some bad weather, no, Rick and the other consignees had been required to labor against the dead nonetheless.

He dodged parents parading their children to school, and others hurrying to jobs all across the fortified city grid. He could recall the smiley older woman saying at orientation that after they paid off their debt at the decontamination center, they could be whatever they wanted to be inside the Civic Republic. All he'd wanted to be was on the other side of their walls, it was as far as his ambition reached nowadays.

With a downcast gaze, Rick moved with purpose through the throng of hurried bodies, his fingers white-knuckling the strap of his backpack. He needed to be first on that bus. When he neared it, others dressed like him were beginning to board and he was about to step on when he heard, "Rick!"

Knowing exactly one person in The Republic called him by his first name—to everyone else, he was Consignee Grimes—Rick contemplated ignoring her. But before he could make an escape, a hand grabbed his arm.

"Rick, hey. Hold on."

Rick turned and looked down into the smiling face of Anne. He repressed the urge to sigh. He'd effectively avoided her, not hard to do considering the fact she lived two wards down from him and had somehow gotten around becoming a Consignee when the two of them had been brought in. "What do you want, Anne?"

"It's Jadis now," she said, adjusting the lapels of her coat. "Well, again."

Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw more Consignees file onto the bus. "I have to go-" He started to leave.

Jadis grabbed his arm. "Wait."

He shook her off and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What?" he bit out.

"You're seriously still mad at me? I figured you'd be over it by now."

He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Over it?"

"I get why you'd be upset. But I need you to understand that I didn't do it just for myself. You would have died if I hadn't-"

"And I've already thanked you for that. But don't act like what you did was for anything but personal gain. How many others did you give them, huh? How many of my people were you planning to trade to this place?"

"After you took me in I stopped, I swear."

"Yeah." He gave a short, dry laugh. "Right."

"I protected Alexandria." She pointed her finger at his chest. " I protected your family. And I'll never say anything. That's gotta count for something with you, right?" Jadis had visited him once in the hospital, a few days after he'd woken up, so they could get their story straight. She'd informed him she'd told the intake officer she found him while wandering through the forest and that she knew nothing more about him. "However you feel about how we got here, this is life now. So... " Rick watched her gaze dart away from him and settle on something far off. "It'd be nice if the only person I have here didn't hate me. If every time you saw me, you didn't look the other way. Or cross the street to avoid passing by me."

"Let me make something clear to you."

At Rick's gruff tone, her attention snapped back to him.

"You don't have me." He was being an ass, he knew it, but she needed to understand. "We're not friends." Rick stared hard at her.

Jadis' soft and light expression grew dark before she stepped aside. "If that's how you want it, fine."

Rick hurried onto the bus and stopped on the landing. He scanned the numbers posted above the seats, which he'd never paid much mind to until today. When his gaze settled on seat twelve, situated in the center row of the bus, and then the bearded burly man perched there, Rick groaned inwardly.

"Keep it moving," a soldier clad in the standard-issue black uniform nudged Rick in the back with the butt of his spear-fronted rifle.

Rick made his way down the aisle and hesitated before sliding into fourteen, across from twelve. He set his hand on the ledge of the seat in front of him and tapped his finger on it, wondering how best to proceed.

Across the aisle was a man whom he'd worked with for months and whose name he didn't know. As a general rule, Rick didn't intermingle. He kept to himself both on and off the job. He didn't wanna know people, or for people to know him, and he sure as hell didn't want a single ounce of reason to hesitate when it came time to do what he had to do.

"Hey," he said in the man's direction and the side of his lip turned up an unpracticed half smile.

The guy cranked his thick neck in Rick's direction, his expression frozen in a scowl.

"Hi." He set his hand on his chest. "I'm Rick." He waited for the man to reply in kind, but he simply stared. Guess common courtesy really isn't a thing anymore. "You mind switching seats with me? That one has the best view on the drive."

"Nah," The man looked back out of the window.

The bus engine revved and the double doors swooshed shut. "Marks!" A soldier with a clipboard yelled at the front of the bus. There were always two on every shift, it was protocol. The other sat behind the wheel. Cull facility workers were the only civilians who left The Republic and never were they without a military escort. They said it was for the safety of the Consignees, but he knew better. If it hadn't been for the soldiers, fingers on the trigger, watching their every move he would have been halfway back to Alexandria by now.

"Grimes!" the Soldier yelled.

"Here," Rick said.

"Gutierrez!"

"Yup," the man beside him grunted.

Rick settled back in his seat when the bus jerked into movement, minutes later.

The first fifteen of the thirty-minute bus ride, he spent staring out at the desolate city streets—riddled with roaming walkers. It was the portion of Philadelphia The Republic hadn't seen fit to claim. A stretch of burnt buildings, which had been touched by napalm at the start, rolled into the cracked roads of the once quaint, but now haunted, small town of Chester.

He'd taken this ride far too many times to give a shit about the shitty view; his mind was too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to get Gutierrez to give up that seat.

Rick sat up when they passed the Chester City limit sign. Dammit. They were ten minutes away from the stadium. He needed to get into that seat.

He looked at Gutierrez and a thought blindsided him; the man was in the same boat as Rick, which meant the consignee rations that were barely sustaining Rick were more than likely starving a man his size. Rick retrieved a three-ring embedded aluminum can from his pack. "Hey," he said to Guttierez, and when the man looked over, Rick held the can out to him. "Peaches?"

Gutierrez's slumped form straightened. "What? You're just gonna give me-"

"For that seat? Yeah."

His eyebrows raised. "You're shitting me. All I have to do for that canis trade you seats?"

Rick looked past Gutierrez, out of the window. He could see the stadium in view. "Offer expires in thirty seconds, man."

Gutierrez peered above the seat in front of him at the soldiers, before sidestepping across the aisle to sit beside Rick. "The view ain't that great. Not worth a can, but what do I know." He held his hand out.

Rick dropped the can into it. "Yeah." It's worth much more, he thought. "Thanks." He scooted past him into seat twelve.

Rick waited until Gutierrez popped the top of the can and was too preoccupied with slurping the peach pieces to notice him reaching under the seat and sliding his fingers all over the wood board.

His hand froze when it made contact with the cold piece of steel. He fumbled with the duck tape holding it in place and once it was free, Rick was quick to slide the gun into his jacket pocket just as the bus slowed to a stop. He set his finger on the trigger.

This is it. He didn't have the time he thought he'd have, to psych himself up. It had to happen before the soldier stood up to escort them out. Rick could feel the pounding of his heartbeat inside his throat. And for a second he worried others could hear it too, based on how loud it was in his ears. He had to do it now.

All it took was a quick flash of Michonne and Judith's faces, to propel him out of his seat.

He removed the gun from his pocket and racked the slide as he advanced down the aisle. He only vaguely heard the screams of the consignees in the background, the sound of the gun in his hand firing two succinct shots in the back of the soldiers' heads, eclipsed everything else.

"Everybody off the bus! Now!" He yelled, pointing the gun at anyone who hesitated. "Off! Hurry up!"

The men and women stampeded to the stairs, avoiding his gaze, as they passed.

When the last one exited, Rick pulled the lever to shut the door. He set the gun on the dash, grabbed the slumped-over soldier in the driver's seat, and threw him aside.

His bloody hands shook when he sat down behind the wheel and revved up the engine.

15 months later

"Mommy!"

At the sound of her daughter's voice, Michonne haphazardly finished stuffing her arm into Rick's denim shirt and sprinted down the stairs.

When she reached the living room, her socks skidded on the wooden floor, and she had to steady herself on the arm of the couch at the sight of Judith on her knees cheering R.J. on, as he wobbled on his feet.

"Come on R.J., you can do it."

Michonne dropped down beside Judith. "Oh, my goodness. When did he start?"

"Just now! Come on buddy," she said, not taking her eyes off of her brother who only had on his diaper. It was all he wore in the house since he'd figured out how to wiggle out of his onesies. "Come on buddy."

R.J. steadied himself, before lifting his little foot and taking a step.

"You got it, baby," Michonne said, a hitch in her voice. She held her hands out.

He took another step and then another and then another, until he reached her and fell forward and into her arms.

Michonne hugged him to her chest. Burying her face in his bushel of curls, she breathed in the beautiful smell of baby. Wetness leaked through the corners of her closed eyes when her mind went to where it always did. Your daddy would be so proud.

Michonne and Judith spent the rest of the day chasing R.J. around the house and of course picking him up every time he fell on his behind—which was a lot. But she had to hand it to the kid, he'd only shed a couple of tears.

She'd radioed everyone it concerned letting them know she'd be taking the day off to spend time with her kids, so when a knock on the door interrupted their lunchtime, Michonne groaned.

"I'll be right back," she said to Judith and R.J., before making her way to the door.

"Just say no," Judith wagged her finger. "Tell them it's a family fun day."

She smiled. "Got it. I'll let them know the boss said so."

Michonne swung the door open and Daryl stood in the frame. Tension she didn't know she was holding, released at the sight of him, and her body relaxed. She fell into his arms and seconds after she heard his rucksack fall to the ground, she felt his arms fold around her.

"When the hell did that girl learn how to read so good?" Daryl asked, walking into the living room, that evening. "Kid reads better than me."

Michonne laughed and handed him the beer she'd pulled for him when he sat down on the other end of the sofa. "I know, right? Thanks for putting her down. She wouldn't have had it any other way. Uncle Daryl shows up and Mom turns into chopped liver."

"No problem. Been missin' lil ass kicker." He took a sip from the bottle and settled into the cushion. "She told me lil man walked for the first time today."

"Mm-hmm. It was a whole thing."

"They're growing up too fast."

"You're telling me."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Daryl picking at a dirty spot on his jeans and Michonne staring into her glass of wine.

"So how long are you here for this time?" Michonne asked, breaking the silence.

"A few days."

Michonne raised a playful eyebrow. "Can't tempt you to stay longer?" She gave him a cheeky smile and was rewarded with one in return.

"Nah," he grunted. "I need to get back out there. Only got a few months before the weather gets bad."

"You don't have to go back out."

"Told you before, ain't gonna stop looking."

She nodded and took a sip of her wine. She wasn't gonna waste her breath trying to talk the man out of doing exactly what she'd still be doing if she didn't have kids to protect. Hell, she still kept an eye out when she went on the occasional scavenge.

"I still talk to him sometimes," Michonne admitted, apropos of nothing. "Actually, all the time. On good days, when good things happen, he's the only one I wanna tell. And bad days. Well, they're mostly because of him." She laughed ruefully, couldn't believe she was saying all this aloud. Maybe it was the wine or the fact that Daryl was the least judgemental person she'd ever met. But it felt good to finally admit it all. "He should be here. He should see his son walk for the first time. His daughter grow up." She wiped at a tear that escaped and took a breath, trying to hold back the rest. "I'm doing the best I can but this isn't how it was supposed to be." Her voice broke. She felt her anger bubbling up. Not at Rick, it was never at him. But at the fucked up outcome of his selfless decision.

The room fell silent and Michonne couldn't find the courage to look at Daryl.

She heard him clear his throat. "You're right. It ain't right... And I'm sorry."

"What?"

"That shit with Negan, I shouldn'ta let it come between me and him. Can't stop thinking about that day. What I coulda done different. How it coulda made things turn out different."

Michonne wouldn't admit it to him, because there was already a healthy load of guilt he carried on his back for what happened, but she'd wrestled with her feelings of resentment for not just Daryl but Maggie too. In the early days of life without Rick, she wondered if things would have turned out differently had the two of them not stopped Rick from getting back to Alexandria. But that was the fucked up thing about life, there were no redos, and giving in to the what-ifs, without absolute certainty was an exercise in futility. For her, it had come down to this, Maggie and Daryl had no idea what would happen that day and she fully believed that if they had the chance to do it all again, they wouldn't make the same choices.

She reached her hand out and squeezed his forearm. "Families fight, Daryl. But he knew how much you cared. I know I do."

Daryl covered her hand with his. "I'm gonna find him for ya, Michonne. For all of ya."

Anyone bold enough to bang on my goddamn front door at this hour clearly doesn't value their life, Beale grumbled to himself, pushing his warm covers back.

Teresa, his wife, stirred beside him. "Mmmm, darlin'." Her head lifted off the pillow and she ran a hand through her gray streaked blond hair. "What is it?"

Beale reached back with one hand, while the other scrubbed over his face and over his bald head. "Go back to sleep." He pushed off the bed, grabbed the robe hanging on the hook of his door, and moved down the aged staircase of their 19th-century French-inspired home.

The Beale manor sat alone on a tiny acreage of a semi-rural section of The Republic, that was far enough away from the city center for Major General Beale to find peace on his off days, but close enough to get back in case of emergency.

Three years ago, when everything had kicked off, he'd been part of the Founding Citizens. The group that had reclaimed Philadelphia and fortified the city. And when the time came to zone what would remain old Philadelphia and be rezoned as the new Republic, he'd advocated for some rural acreage to be included. He'd never been a city guy, why start now?

A cold breeze snuck in when he opened the front door. Pearl, no, Thorne, dammit. He still wasn't accustomed to calling the woman he'd watch grow up from a precocious little whippersnapper by her surname. She stood at attention on his front stoop in her fatigues. He was impressed by how perfectly pressed her uniform was at this hour, knowing she too had most likely been woken by those who answered to her. Not a single piece of her off-black hair was out of place, it was all tucked tightly into her low bun.

"Evening, sir. Sorry to disturb the house."

"At ease, Lieutenant."

She stepped apart and eased the arms at her side behind her back, her form not relaxing one bit.

He tied his robe tighter when another gust of cold air swept into the house. "What brings you by so late?"

"We found him, sir. "

Beale stood up straighter, needing no clarification on who he was. "I'll get dressed."

Twenty minutes later, Beale stood in front of the two-way mirror of the military training complex, beside Thorne. His fatigues, unlike Thorne's, were slightly wrinkled. He hadn't been able to find the audacity to wake Teresa and ask her to give his uniform a quick press like she did every morning. On the twenty-minute drive to the military complex, he'd done his best to smooth out what he could.

He walked beside Thorne and the four men of his protection detail, into the military headquarters, which had once been the Main Hall of Drexel University. The rest of the campus was used for military purposes too. Dorms were where new recruits lived during basic. They used the football field for drills and training. A lecture hall now housed their military tribunal. In one building was the Civic Republic Health and Wellness Center, where wayward military personnel went for lesser offenses. In another was the heavily guarded Republic Prison. And the classrooms of various buildings had been converted into offices, war rooms, and interrogation rooms with two-sided mirrors like the one he was staring at now.

Through it, he saw Rick Grimes tied to a metal chair in the center of the room. His head drooped forward and blood dripped steadily from the various spots of broken open skin on his swollen face. The slow droplets reminded Beale he'd forgotten, yet again, to fix the drip under the kitchen sink. He'd have to get to that first thing when he got home before Teresa woke, or he'd most assuredly hear her moan about it in the morning. "How long have they been at it?" He asked Thorne, keeping his eyes on the man.

"Five hours."

"And?"

"Not a word."

"Maybe there's nothing to tell, you ever consider that?" He looked down at her.

"The first time..." she bobbed her head from side to side. "Yeah, I could buy that. The guy could have stumbled on that gun. It's a large city. There's still lots left to be found. But, he was in the hole this time. Maximum security. There was no getting out without help."

"If what you're saying is true, that means there are others. You think dissent is growing among the people?"

"I don't think that's it. If that were the case, much more would have happened already. Could be someone trying to test our protocols. Maybe they let him be the guinea pig-"

"To see what happens." It was plausible. After all, their foundation hadn't been built with clean hands.

He held his hand out to Thorne. "Do you have it?"

She handed him a black file folder. "It's all there. Names and locations. Too short notice to get photos or video footage to corroborate what she told us, though." Her voice dipped at the end, a note of annoyance in the tone of it.

Beale looked over at her and caught the exasperated look on her face before he turned his attention back to the file. Flipping through the pages, his eyes scanned the information. "You have something to say, Pearl?"

"No, sir," she said firmly.

"That's a first." He shut the file and looked over at her with a smirk. "You forget I've known you since you were knee-high. Never been short of an opinion."

Thorne sighed and relaxed her posture slightly. "Sir, if what I think is going on is true. We should send a message, and let whoever is behind this know what we do to deserters." She turned to fully face him. "CRM uniform regulations mandate the protocol for evaders is-"

"I know the damn protocol."

"So why is he still alive?" she asked, taking a tone with him none of his other subordinates would dare to.

But, okay, he'd give it to her. It was a fair question.

The first time, he'd only kept Rick alive to get to the bottom of who'd supplied him with the contraband gun. But after a year of solitary confinement and daily subjection to their enhanced interrogation methods, the man hadn't cracked. They'd been days away from finally following through with his execution when he'd escaped from the Republic Prison. And It'd been, this, his second escape attempt which had made the biggest impression on Beale.

There was something about Rick, and Beale couldn't put his finger on it, that had him believing it was in the realm of possibility that this man had acted alone, by the sheer strength of his own resolve. It's why Beale had instructed them once again to bring him in unharmed. "If you're right and we kill him, there goes any chance of finding out who aided him this time. And if I'm right, well then, you don't kill that kind of talent. Not when it's in such short supply," he said, walking toward the door.

Rick's head jerked at the sound of the room's door opening and then shutting, the slam propelled him back to consciousness. He tried to lift his head, but it was too heavy. It didn't matter anyway, he was helpless to fight whoever it was, with his arms and legs zip-tied to the chair.

Rick focused on taking steadier and slower breaths, it was all his bruised rib cage could handle, and even that hurt like hell.

Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard what sounded like a chair scraping against the concrete floor before he saw, through the curtain of blood dripping from the fresh wounds on his forehead, combat boots step into view.

His body tensed, bracing for the next assault. He used the consistent pounding in his head—it was the perfect metronome—to keep time as he waited. But it never came.

"Sergeant Briggs had a wife of twenty years," he heard a man's gravelly voice say. This voice was new to Rick. It held a note of superiority he hadn't observed in the revolving door of soldiers who'd tried their hand at getting him to fess up.

Without lifting his head, Rick peered up through his lashes and caught a glimpse of the bald older man, who had a kinder face than his voice let on. He dropped his gaze, the simple effort of looking, proved too much for his swollen eyes.

"Briggs was one of the guards you took out at the prison complex," the man went on to say, his tone informative.

"And Carter, he was another one. He'd just turned eighteen last week."

Rick couldn't be sure which one Briggs had been. But Carter... he hadn't known the young man's name at the time, but he still saw the kid's face in his mind's eye every time he tried to rest. It was no longer just Michonne haunting him.

The kid had been the only soldier, who'd entered the floor-to-ceiling concrete room they'd kept Rick in, to not take a turn railing into him. The kid was naive, and Rick assumed it was why they'd assigned him to change out his piss bucket daily. It was a shame no one had taught him never to turn his back to a prisoner.

Rick had every intention of knocking the kid out and leaving him alive, but the kid put up a valiant fight when Rick went for his firearm. After the gun pointed at the kid's head had gone off, during the struggle, there'd been no time to lament the young man's life being cut short. Rick had known other soldiers would come running at the sound of the gunshot. So he'd left his lifeless body there and had moved through the military complex with the efficiency of a character in a video game, shooting whatever was in his path, and looting the firearms of the dead in his wake.

"Carter was a friend of my son's," The man went on to say. "Boy was he excited about getting his first posting at the prison complex. Then there was that bus full of Consignees who witnessed it all last time. And the soldiers on that bus who you mercilessly executed..."

What? A rush of dizziness hit Rick when he used all his might to lift his head, to look at the man. He hadn't harmed any of the Consignees on that bus. He opened his mouth to say as much, but the man spoke first.

"One of those soldiers, his wife was expecting their first child. I had to sit across from the poor woman and tell her that her husband wouldn't be coming home, that her daughter wouldn't ever meet her father." The man shook his head. "On top of that, I had to lie to her. You know, that's what pisses me off the most. The fact that you made me a liar." He folded his arms. "I had to tell that poor woman her husband died protecting The Republic from a column of the dead."

Blood spattered from Rick's tongue and onto his busted lips when he opened his mouth again. "The Consignees?" he mumbled. To Rick's own ears, his voice sounded frail, paper thin. "You- you killed them?"

"Oh, no, Son. I didn't kill them." He jutted his finger in Rick's direction. "You did that."

You killed them. No. All those innocent people. You killed them. No. Rick squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, willing the destructive thoughts away. Their blood wasn't on his hands, he'd just been trying to get back to his family.

"You see, dissent is a fast-growing disease, Rick. There's no room for that here in The Republic. We try to take care of it as efficiently as possible."

His upset turned to anger in a split second and he raised his drooping head high. "I'm still here," he spat. "How efficient are you really?"

The man smiled widely, it almost looked as if he were enjoying it all. "Good point. For what you did, you should be dead. And I won't bullshit you, you cut it real close. But, what you were able to pull off, how far you got out there this time, it impressed the hell out of me."

Rick was unsettled by the sudden delight on the man's face, what he thought the face of an excited fan meeting their idol for the first time might look like. What is going on here?

"I haven't seen that kind of courage of convictions in a layperson in years. You former military?" he asked as if Rick were a buddy he was chatting it up with at a bar, and not the guy who'd murdered a slew of his men.

"No. Just someone who doesn't take too kindly to some asshole telling me I can't leave a place."

"I get that. If some... asshole told me I could never see my wife and kids again, shit, I'd burn this whole place to the ground. I'd do anything to get to them. I suppose we're the same in that way."

Rick kept his expression even, despite the cold chill that washed over his body. "I don't- I don't know what you're getting at. I don't have anything left out there." Even to his own ears, the words his quivering voice spoke sounded unconvincing.

"Oh?" The man raised his eyebrows. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his reading glasses. Slid them onto the bridge of his nose and lifted the file that rested on his lap. "Seems our intel might have been incorrect then. But just to cover my bases..." He examined the file. "You don't know a... Michonne? Head of a community called... Alexandria?"

Rick felt his lip twitch, he bit down on it, as the world began to spin and the walls closed in on him.

"And the two of you don't have a daughter together named Judith? She's beautiful by the way."

Rick's body jerked against the restraints and his shallow breaths picked up speed. His face was no longer under his control and he couldn't hold back the glare he felt forming on it.

"That's what I thought." The man closed the file and threw it to the side. "You can thank your friend, Jadis, I believe it was. Seems she's an ambitious one. I'm sure she'll be a great asset to our military."

Rick thrashed against the restraints. "If you so much as lay a hand on my family-"

"Ah, don't worry." He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not concerned with them. Or your podunk little community. They don't know we exist and as long as things stay that way, they're not a threat to us. But all that could change, Rick."

The man reached back into his pocket and Rick's chin jutted up, a reflex, when he saw the pocket knife he pulled out and flicked open.

"See, killing you, that would be the easy way. And I've never been the kind of man to take the easy way out. No. I do the hard things. The things that others don't have the foresight to do. And I've found in that respect, I've won way more than I've lost. But the ball's in your court."

Rick stared down at him, regarding the knife in the man's hand, as he stood and walked behind him. He felt the knife slide in between his wrist and the zip tie, then a relief of tension when it sliced through the restraints.

Rick massaged at the indents around his wrist as he watched the man walk back around to sit. They stared each other down.

"What happens next... that's up to you."

For the first time in a long while, he had choices. His hands were free, he could lunge for the man, strangle him, and then grab the knife from his pocket to finish the job. But he was sure there were others, on the opposite side of the mirror who wouldn't hesitate to put him down and then go after his family anyway.

The other option was just as unappealing as death, but it was the only one that kept Michonne and Judith alive.

5 years later

Michonne stood in front of the railing on the deck of the boat that rocked against the high tide of the channel, as it departed from Bloodsworth Island. But it wasn't Virgil luring her to the island for his own selfish purposes or the fact that she was going home without the weapons her community so desperately needed that had her reeling. All of the events of the past twenty-four hours had been trumped by one singular moment. When she'd laid eyes on evidence to the fact that the man she hadn't ever been able to let go of, might still be... she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Because, how could he be?

She made her way down to the cabin of the boat, regarding her three traveling companions who sat on the upper deck table when she passed.

Michonne sat on the wood bench lining one wall of the tiny room. She opened her backpack and hesitated before reaching in to pull out the cell phone and boots she'd found. Staring at the etching of herself and Judith on the face of the phone screen, tears riveted down her cheek and Michonne couldn't stop her hands from shaking when she ran them over the weathered leather of the boots that were unmistakably his. Rips and tears in all the same places she remembered and the letters RG carved into the soles. They were worth nothing, but in her hands, they felt like what she would imagine riches did—when money meant something—in the hands of the poor.

Her mind couldn't wrap itself around this new reality in which she now lived.

Michonne sniffed and wiped at the wetness on her nose with the back of her hand, before reaching for the walkie-talkie at her side.

"Shoto? Shoto, are you there? It's Daito." She closed her eyes and listened to the calming hush of the water slapping against the boat's outer shell, while she waited for a reply over the radio. In six years, she'd never traveled this far out. There was a chance the signal wouldn't reach, not until she was closer to home. "Are you there? Anyone?"

At a spurt of static, Michonne straightened her slumped shoulders.

"I'm here, Daito." She heard her daughter's voice, barely audible through the crackling.

Despite her still-wet eyes, Michonne smiled a little. She and Judith had established the code names using the small amount of Japanese Michonne had learned while overseas during her undergrad semester abroad. She was never so grateful for it, as she was when she'd read the characters printed next to the pictures on the cell phone with Rick's name on it. 'Believe a little longer'. Was that message meant for her? She didn't know how it could be. She'd never told Rick about her understanding of the language and how would he have known that she'd find the phone?

She let out a breath of relief, before pushing the talk button. "Hi, sweetheart."

"We've been trying you," Judith said.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now."

"Are you still with Virgil?"

"No." She had tried with that man, done everything she could, but some people were just too far gone. "But I found three people on the island, and I'm helping them get back home. I've missed you and your brother so much."

It'd just been the three of them, through everything that had transpired over the recent years; Jocelyn, broken ties with her found family, and what they still had left to overcome—the Whisperers. She'd done things she feared Rick wouldn't have approved of, in order to protect their kids. But even now, when things were better between Alexandria and the other communities, she still felt no guilt for any of the decisions she'd made. Judith and R.J. were alive and that was what mattered most, and her kids would remain her priority despite a part of her wanting to drop everything to follow the cold trail that in the end might not even lead to him.

"Mama." The sound of R.J.'s sweet voice agitated her tear ducts again. Don't cry, she told herself. They'll hear it.

"No, no. Call signs for safety," Judith corrected him.

"Daito. You're Daito."

"Hey, baby," Michonne said. "And who are you?"

"I'm the Little Brave Man."

"Oh." The kid wasn't making this easy on her. She closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. "I love 'Little Brave Man'."

"He picked it all by himself," Judith said, proudly.

Michonne admired how her baby girl cared for her little brother. It reminded her of the way Carl had taken care of his little sister, right up until the end. The hat he'd given her, which Judith sometimes let R.J. borrow was an ever-present reminder of the unbreakable bond between all of the Grimes siblings. "How long have you been with your sister, Little Brave Man?"

"Tía Rosita brought me."

Her smile dissipated at the sound of her friend's name. "Judith, how are Tía Rosita and Coco doing?"

"Okay, I guess. Better."

"How's home? Anything with the Whisperers?"

"We got 'em, Mom. We got most of the horde." She paused and her voice was shaky when it came back. "Alpha can't hurt us anymore."

It was the last part that broke her heart the most. Michonne hated that her daughter had been subjected to so much terror, and hated even more that Judith had had to grow up as fast as she did. But then there was the other side. Her baby was brave and strong and so very resilient. She was most definitely her father's daughter and her brother's sister.

Michonne breathed out another loud, heavy sigh. Her kids were safe again. Her community was safe again. So why'd she still feel so unsettled?

"You're doing it again," Judith said. "You always make that sound when you're worried."

Michonne twisted her neck, offended by her daughter's spot-on read of her. "Do not."

"Do, too."

Fine. She knew Judith was right, but that didn't mean she had to admit it.

They were both quiet for a moment and knowing Rosita would be calling them to bed soon, Michonne opened her mouth to say goodnight but hesitated. She vacillated and contemplated if she should tell Judith about what she found.

No, she should wait until she got home after she had more time to consider what it all meant, and if she should even bother giving her daughter hope that could prove to be false.

But what it all meant, if it was true, would mean just as much to Judith as it did to her. Her daughter had never let go of her father's memory. She kept it alive in the gun she now carried that had been his, in the way she continually talked about what she remembered of both him and Carl, and in how she'd always ask Michonne for details she couldn't recall. She had to tell her. "I found something," Michonne blurted out. "Not what I was looking for on the island, but something else, something that... could be really important to all of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I found something that belongs to the Brave Man. In a place he might have been, recently. I don't know what it all means. Or if it means anything at all-"

"Mom, is he alive?" Judith asked, cutting through the bullshit of Michonne's waffling.

It was the question she hadn't allowed herself to answer, because if the answer was in fact 'yes', then there'd just be more questions to contend with. And she didn't even know where to begin looking for answers. "I- I don't know, baby. That's what I'm saying. I- I don't know."

She heard Judith sniffle and immediately regretted putting the weight of this discovery on her daughter when she wasn't able to physically be there for her at that moment.

"If you think he's alive, then you have to go find him." The conviction in Judith's voice reminded Michonne that as much as she was like her father, she was like her mother too.

But, no. No, that wasn't an option. "Not now. You and your brother need me, and with everything going on in Alexandria-"

"Mom, you have to go. You have to. We're okay. What if he needs you more."

"I can't-" Wait, what? Judith's words sinking in stopped Michonne mid-argument. "What do you mean?"

"What if he's trying to come home, too, but no one will help him?"

Well, shit. She hadn't- that thought hadn't crossed her mind. But if he was alive, the man she knew wouldn't stay away unless it was completely out of his control. "Ah, God." The thought of him trying to get back to them all this time crushed every single bit of her resolve. She needed an answer, all three of them did.

They needed him or they needed to properly grieve for him.

Maybe she could go home and recruit some of the others and send them out in her place, so she could stay with the kids. No, that didn't sit right with her, just as it hadn't when she'd handed the search for his body over to the others. It had to be her. And she was already on a path that could possibly be leading to him; she didn't have the resources to double back. If it was gonna happen it'd have to be now. "I don't know, baby."

"You have to," Judith urged. She heard the desperation in her daughter's voice. And knew it came from a place where the longing for the father who'd been ripped away from her lived.

"If I go-"

"When you go… and when you find him," Judith said, not giving her an out.

Even though she was still not completely decided, Michonne said, "Okay, okay. When I go… and find the Brave Man..." She looked up at the ceiling, her own words piercing through her heart and settling into her bones as reality; she was going.

A banging above drew her. "We're at the coast," she heard a voice yell.

"I have to go, baby."

"Listen to Uncle Daryl," Judith said with a placating tone. "I know."

Daryl. Carol. Rosita. They were all back there with them; her children were not alone. They were in hands as protective and capable of caring for them as her own.

With her final fear assuaged, she committed at that moment... "Okay. Okay, baby girl I'm gonna try. I'm gonna head North." It's the only lead she had, that Rick had been on this boat last docked in a New Jersey shipping yard. "But I'll try you on this walkie every morning for as long as I can."

"I'll take it everywhere."

"I love you and your brother so much."

"I love you too, Mom. Go get him. Shoto out."

Rick had been to Philadelphia once, before everything had ended. He'd been a kid, on a road trip with his family. They'd visited a number of sites in the city, but what he recalled most vividly was the tour of the historic City Hall Tower. He'd walked through the rooms, his jaw dragging on the floor as he took in the old-world craftsmanship of the architecture and paintings on the walls. The tour had culminated in time on the glassed observation deck. Five hundred feet above the ground, it offered a panoramic view of the city.

And now, nearly three decades later, he stood in the corner of the same room he had as a child. But today, he was there to protect the Civic Republic's Mayor, Yolanda Ruthers. Despite how many times he'd walked into this main meeting hall with her, he still found himself awestruck by its grand design.

Rick stood in front of the wall nearest to the door, lined up alongside the other mid-ranking soldiers. They too were part of the security details of those seated at the oversized and ornate conference table that ran nearly the entire length of the large room.

He was far from the table, but could still feel the frigid air that wafted between the high-ranking CRM officers, on one side, and the members of The Republic's civilian government on the other. Rick shook his head slightly, eyeing the line of his stoic and straight-backed comrades, wondering how the hell he'd wound up on the wrong side of things.

"Look, what happened to Campus Colony, Omaha, and Portland goes to show we are nowhere near safe enough for a changing of the guards," Lieutenant Colonel Thorne said, from her seat beside Major General Beale. "We're the last of the alliance left, because of our military."

Mayor Ruthers dropped the pen she'd been using to take notes and leaned back. Her arms crossed and her gaze narrowed, zeroing in on Beale who sat in the center seat across from her. "And what about the research facility?" she asked. "We have yet to get the full story about what happened there. It goes up in flames and we're meant to believe that..." She glanced at her notes. "It was just an electrical grid overload, at the same time the communities in our alliance were eviscerated by the dead. That is a mighty big coincidence. Not to mention, we still have yet to receive reports on exactly what research was being conducted there, as you all promised us years ago and now it's all gone."

"It was an oversight," Beale said, unfazed by her thinly veiled accusation.

"An oversight?"

"We've been a bit busy," he said, with a condescending laugh. "Protection this place. Making sure the people, which includes you, can sleep soundly at night."

Smug asshole, Rick thought, careful to keep his face neutral as he'd been trained.

"Right." Mayor Ruthers said, with a polite tone that negated the slight purse of her lip, Rick was sure no one else besides himself noticed.

Following her around daily, for the better part of two years, he'd become accustomed to the nuances of her facial expressions and body language. And it didn't help that her mannerisms and personality reminded him so much of the woman he didn't afford himself the privilege of dwelling on anymore. It made the pill of life in The Republic easier to swallow if he pretended there was nothing left outside the walls for him.

"And what about Jennifer Mallick and Former Master Sergeant Dennis Graham?" She asked. "I have Intel, they died a month ago. That intel did not come from your camp."

Beale squirmed in his seat and Rick tuned a more attentive ear into the conversation. He'd never seen the man so much as flinch at anything before.

"Was that an oversight too?" Mayor Ruthers asked.

"They were our people," Beale replied. "We didn't see the need to bring it to-"

"They were citizens of The Republic, first. Every death in The Republic must be reported to the Custodian of Records."

"I'm aware of the City's bylaws."

"Really? Cause I can't tell. And it makes me wonder, General, what else we don't know."

"Look, have we been perfect? Obviously not. But no one said the path to rebuilding the world would be-"

"And what happened with Kublek?" Mayor Ruthers interrupted.

Rick stood up straighter, listening a little more intently. Beale still kept him on a pretty tight leash, as evidenced by the tracking bracelet connected to his ankle which would alert Officers if he went beyond the walls, and the fact that he had close to zero clearance. He was never read in beyond the information pertaining to his posting, but he'd recently overheard two Privates gossiping about the Lieutenant Colonel who'd been sent to the Health and Welfare Complex. It was unheard of for someone of her rank. He'd heard words like 'treason' and 'turncoat' thrown around in the conversation about her.

"The former Lieutenant Colonel has been tried by the military tribunal for Article ninety-four of the Uniform Code of Civic Republic Military Justice," Beale spouted out.

"Right. Treason."

"The case is closed."

"And the record sealed, I'm aware. But I have to say, General, the crimes against her and the verdict, it doesn't add up. None of it does."

"I can assure you, we were all surprised by her actions."

Mayor Ruthers stared at Beale, seemingly measuring the man and how far she could push her inquiry. "I went to see her, before her trial, at the Complex. And I, the Mayor of this city, was told by soldiers posted at her door that I didn't have clearance to speak to her. Now she's awaiting her death and we still have no idea what exactly she did."

"I can assure you the investigation was thorough and the trial fair."

"I'm afraid that's not good enough anymore." Mayor Ruthers glanced to the side and when Rick looked to where her gaze was set, he saw the City Attorney, Antonio Ricci, give her a nod.

She turned back to Beale. "The council has decided that we would like to retry Lieutenant Colonel Kublek... In the civilian courts."

Murmurs rose among the CRM Officers seated at the table.

Rick's gaze flicked over to Beale. He watched the man's placating expression slip, it was replaced by lip-twitching agitation. "That won't be necessary, Mayor."

"Oh, we think it is. A woman's life is at stake here. I don't think due diligence is too much to ask for. And the only way we'll approve another emergency delay of civilian oversight is if those files are unsealed and Kublek is offered the opportunity to testify on her own behalf, before the people."

Beale and Mayor Ruthers hit a stalemate. They stared each other down, neither making a move to budge.

It was Beale who broke first. "Well." He offered her a put-on smile. "It's our goal to assist the Council in every way we can. So do what you need to do. "

"Great. We will." Mayor Ruthers closed her padfolio and stood. "Judge Bridges will expect those files on his desk no later than two weeks from today. After that, we'll arrange for Kublek's transfer from the prison back to the Health and Welfare Complex to await her retrial. And The Republic will remain under military authority for one final quarter." With that, she made a beeline for the door and Rick fell into step beside her as they exited the room.

Once they moved out of the building, Rick hustled in front of Mayor Ruthers, to open the door of the black suburban, parked along the curb in a line of others. He kept his eyes on the lookout as she approached.

"Thanks, L.T.," she said, sliding into the cab.

Rick shut the door and hustled around to the driver's seat.

The ride was easy, as it always was in the early afternoon hours. The Republic had requisitioned a fleet of thousands of the highest brand of vehicles, from across the country, which they'd converted to electric and now had charging stations all over the city. But there were only a handful of people inside the walls approved to drive: soldiers and hand-selected groups of citizens with essential jobs. Everyone else continued to rely on bikes, mopeds, and electric scooters. On busy days the city center looked so much like the old world, it was dizzying.

Fifteen minutes later, Rick pulled the SUV alongside the curb behind the long line already forming in front of the high-rise secondary school building—which had once been a major corporation's headquarters in the old world. This was Rick's least favorite part of Mayor Ruthers' day.

He put the car in park and rested his elbow on the window, tapping his finger on the wheel as he mulled over everything he'd heard in the unusually eventful City Council Meeting.

Beale requesting an emergency delay of civilian oversight again was confounding, but that wasn't what unsettled Rick. Rather, it was the feeling Rick got, that Beale had no intention of ever giving up his control over the city.

When The Republic had been formed, during the unstable and tumultuous times at the start, the Founding Citizens had voted to give the military emergency powers during the infancy of the city. It was agreed that full military autonomy was vital for the early survival of The Republic, as well as its stabilization in the years that followed. But it had been written into the bylaws that at the ten-year mark, there would be a transition of power, back to the civilian government and the military would then answer to the people. Three months prior had been when the changeover was to occur, but between the three communities with whom The Republic was aligned falling and the research facility going up in flames, Beale had convinced the Council to extend the deadline. Rick had a sneaking suspicion that maybe Beale had always intended for it to go this way.

He'd been impressed that Mayor Ruthers had used Lieutenant Colonel Kublek to call Beale's bluff. But it bothered him how quickly Beale had agreed to hand Kublek over.

The school bell's blare spilled into the car and Rick looked out through the front passenger window at the entrance of the school building. Backpack-clad kids of all ages ran out toward the awaiting cars.

Rick unbuckled his seat belt when he spotted the little girl with two big puffballs atop her head, skipping toward the car. He glanced into the back seat and saw Mayor Ruthers lost in thought, with a vacant look on her face, staring out the window facing the road.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mayor?"

She startled and cut her eyes in his direction.

Rick jutted his head toward the school building. "She's coming."

Mayor Ruthers looked out of the window beside her. "Oh. Crap. Thank you." She jumped out of the car and ran toward her daughter, Joy, with arms wide open.

Rick stepped out too and went to stand beside the back passenger seat door.

"Mommy!" He watched the six-year-old girl jump into her mother's embrace, wrapping her arms around her neck as she was lifted.

"Oh..." Mayor Ruthers pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Hey, sweets! How was your day?"

Rick's gaze dropped to the concrete and he blocked out their voices when he felt a rush of emotion so visceral it hurt to breathe. God, he really hated this part of the day.

The moment he'd been introduced to Mayor Ruthers and her daughter, Rick had known exactly what Beale was doing. They were a daily, visual reminder of what was at risk should he decide to try something again.

"Hi, Batman!"

Rick lifted his head when he heard Joy greet him, as she always did, with the nickname she'd given him the day he began protecting them. Soldiers didn't interact with their protectees and weren't allowed to get attached to or befriend them. But Rick always made an exception for the little girl. A small smile played at the corner of his lips when he gave Joy a nod.

And, okay, he could admit it; with the black-striped uniform and trench jacket, he did kind of look like Batman. All he was missing was the mask.

Rick took Joy from Mayor Ruthers before he escorted her to the other side of the car and buckled her into her booster seat.

Twenty minutes later, Rick stood just outside the sandbox of Ward Three's playground swing set. His back was to Joy and Mayor Ruthers, but he kept his ear tuned into their laughter as they swung, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the busy park.

There were two other parks on the way to the Ruthers' townhome and one right in front of the school, but according to Joy, Ward Three had "the good playground equipment". So every day after school they drove ten blocks out of the way to get to it.

Rick didn't mind much, the extra time in the car, listening to Joy boisterously recap her school day. It was the only time he allowed his mind to wander unchecked. He'd imagine that the high-pitched voice going on about her day in the backseat belonged to his little girl and that it was instead she who he was picking up from school, and his wife in the back with her.

"Higher, Mommy!" he heard Joy yell. "Higher."

"You got it, sweets." Mayor Ruthers said, right before he heard a shriek and heavy thud. "Joy!" Mayor Ruther's screamed.

Rick was already running for them when he turned around, and he processed the scene on the fly. Joy was facedown on the grass outside the swing's sandbox and her body was convulsing. He reached them just as Mayor Ruthers was shifting Joy onto her back. She placed her hands on either side of her daughter's face. "Joy," she panted, her voice drenched in fear. "Joy, baby, can you hear me?"

Joy's eyes were rolled up, vacant, and unfocused.

He dropped down beside them. "Let go of her," Rick said, calmly.

"But she-"

"Let go," he demanded and handed her his walkie. "Radio emergency services."

Mayor Ruthers reluctantly let go of her daughter and accepted the walkie-talkie with her shaky hand. "What- what channel?"

"Twenty-one hundred." Rick removed his coat and rolled it up, before setting it on the ground. Gently, he transitioned Joy onto her side and pillowed her head on it. He kept a supportive hand on her shoulder, careful not to restrain her involuntary shaking.

"Emergency services, do you copy?" Mayor Ruthers said into the walkie-talkie.

Immediately, a woman's voice came back over the radio. "Go, for emergency services."

"My daughter she- she's-" Mayor Ruthers stared down at Joy's writhing body. Water welled in her eyes and they shot up to Rick. "What the fuck do I tell them?!" she yelled.

Rick took the walkie. "Female. Age Six. She's having a seizure," he said into the speaker. Staring at Joy, he spotted a gash on her forehead. "Possible head trauma. Over."

"What's your location?"

"Ward Three South. Triumph park. Near the swings."

"Emergency services are on the way."

Balancing a plastic-wrapped tray of food with one hand, Rick tapped lightly on the door of hospital room two-fourteen with the other. It was eight hours later.

"Come in," he heard.

Rick pushed the door open and waited in the frame when he saw Mayor Ruthers wipe at her red eyes. She sat beside the hospital bed, which a sleeping Joy lay on. "I can come back."

She sniffed. "No, it's fine."

He took another step into the room and held up the tray. "Thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks." She pointed in the direction of the tiny table in the corner of the room. "Set it there, please."

Rick did as asked, then turned back to her. "I'm just outside the door if you need anything." His shift had ended hours ago, but for some reason, leaving them didn't sit right with him. So, he'd radioed the lieutenant who was on schedule to relieve him and let him know he'd be covering the night shift too. Blane, the young guy Rick assumed was just biding his time until he could try for a promotion, had easily obliged.

Mayor Ruthers nodded and dropped her gaze back down to Joy. Rick took it as his cue to leave and moved toward the door.

"Can you sit for a while?" Her voice was quiet, he almost didn't hear her say it. "I know you're not supposed to, but I... I don't wanna be alone right now."

He hesitated. The rules were clear; no fraternizing with the protectee. But this woman, as far as he could tell, had no one. It was something he'd noticed about her pretty early on. She never had people over and never interacted with anyone outside of the council members.

Rick was one of four soldiers on her detail; they traded off shifts. He'd always volunteered for double holiday duty, figuring it was a more productive way to spend his time, rather than sitting lonely in his apartment drinking away the inevitable sting as he imagined families gathering all over the city. Instead, he'd sit lonely in the SUV parked outside the Ruther's townhome watching through the window as Joy and Mayor Ruthers enjoyed solitary holidays.

What the hell. Rick shut the door and moved to the chair on the other side of the bed.

He took in Joy. He was thankful she was sleeping soundly and his heart ached thinking about the revolving door of doctors he'd watched walk into her room all day and into the night.

"They think she might have epilepsy," Mayor Ruthers said. Her voice was frail, it sounded as if it could break at any moment. "Apparently, she's been having silent seizures for a while. I'd catch her staring off into space sometimes, but I thought she was just in her own world."

Rick looked over and caught her shaking her head.

"I should have seen it. I should have known what was going on with her. Been so damn focused on work..." A tear slid down her cheek and she practically slapped it away.

"There's no way you could have known," he said.

She gave a stale laugh. "You did. You knew exactly what to do and I froze up when she needed me."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I only knew what to do, because my son had-" Rick snapped his mouth shut, at the realization of what he'd just revealed. In all his years in The Republic, he'd made a concerted effort to keep personal details close to the vest, knowing anything they found out about could be used against him. He prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize. When he put that uniform on he was who they wanted him to be, who he needed to be in order to protect his family.

But Mayor Ruthers wasn't the enemy, Rick realized. She'd made it clear she didn't trust the CRM. But that didn't automatically mean he could confide in her. Even though he desperately wanted to trust her, or just about anybody, enough to talk about the life that was beginning to feel like a mirage. This new cold and dark existence was slowly replacing the warmth and light of everything before it. He couldn't hold it in any longer, he needed to speak it back into existence. "Carl," he blurted. "That's his name. He had a seizure. It was one of the scariest moments of my life. I had no idea what to do for him, but there was a doctor there. It's how I know now."

Mayor Ruthers nodded. She was quiet for a moment, then a second later she asked, "He's gone isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It happened a long time ago. But, thank you."

"Did it happen in this?"

"Yeah. Close to the start. We were out there a while."

"How old was he?"

Rick cleared the tightness in his throat that always followed thoughts of Carl. "fourteen."

"Damn." She blew out a breath. "I can't imagine ever being out there with a kid, at any age." Her eyes dropped down to her lap. "Was it them- the dead."

"It was. I did everything I could to protect him. But in the end, it feels like it was always gonna happen the way it did. Wish I would have enjoyed it more, the time I had with him." With them all. He'd been so caught up in the fight, and then rebuilding everything after, that he hadn't savored enough of the small moments.

"Yeah. Same. My husband and I were newlyweds when everything kicked off. We both knew what The Republic could be. We devoted ourselves to it from the beginning, without regard for our own lives. He was a private in the military when I got pregnant and when he was assigned to the cull facility protection detail, my gut told me not to let him take the job. Having him out there, every day, was hell. I literally held my breath from the moment he walked out the door until he came back through it. And one day... he didn't come back."

Rick's swallowed. His voice cracked when he asked, "He died out there?"

"Yeah. On the way to the facility, he and the Consignees he was protecting ran into a column of the dead. Major General Beale told me they fought until the end, but there were too many. It happened right before Joy was born."

Quickly, Rick did the math. It wasn't hard. His chest tightened and he shifted to sit up straighter in his chair. A pins and needles sensation starting in the soles of his feet spread throughout his entire body. He wanted to jump out of his skin. Be anywhere but in the room, consoling the wife of the man he'd mercilessly murdered on that bus so many years ago. He stood, trying and failing to keep a calm outer shell. "I have to go."

"I'm sorry. Did I say something-"

"No. I shouldn't have-" Rick tried and failed to formulate the words needed to get away, but he kept coming up short. He settled on saying, "I'm not supposed to do this. It's against protocol."

"Yeah. Right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He turned his back on her and walked to the door. "I'll make sure someone comes to cover for me," he said on his way out.

Rick rushed down the hallway of the medical unit and out the front door, to the alleyway between the hospital buildings. Unable to hold the sickness that had begun to rise from the pit of his stomach the moment he'd stepped out of the hospital room, Rick doubled over and released it onto the dirty concrete.

When it was all out, he wiped at his mouth and stood upright. Rested his hands on his hips and lifted his eyes to the dark, starry night sky.

"Rick?"

He turned. Mayor Ruthers stood there.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I brought up stuff you weren't ready to talk about. I didn't mean to pry."

"No," he lied. "It's not you."

"What is it, then? You can tell me."

Rick's brain immediately supplied him with a way out, the only half-truth he could sell in his current state. But, fuck, he didn't wanna go there. Just suck it up and say it, so you can get the hell out of here. "You talking about your husband, it reminded me of... my wife."

Mayor Ruther's face fell. "You lost her too?"

"No," he let slip, unable to let himself even insinuate that Michonne was dead.

"You mean…" Mayor Ruthers glanced furtively over her shoulder, before stepping closer to Rick. "She's out there?" she whispered.

"No," he said quickly, backtracking. A condition of his agreement with Beale was that no one inside the community could know not only that he'd succeeded in escaping, but that he was being blackmailed to stay. Rick gritted his teeth and let the lie live. "I mean- I meant, it wasn't the dead who killed her."

Her mouth formed a deep frown and her eyes narrowed at him. "That's not true, is it? Your wife is out there. Isn't she?" She looked over her shoulder again and lowered her voice. "Are they keeping you here against your own will?"

Rick was dumbfounded as to how she'd made such a large, yet accurate leap.

"I've heard rumors from other council members," she whispered. "That there are people here who-"

"We shouldn't be talking about this," he said firmly, cutting her off.

"I can help you if you just-"

"Drop it. Please."

She crossed her arms and slowly backed away from him. "Well, then. Thank you, for everything you did today."

"Was just doing my job." The words came out harsher than he'd intended or was necessary, but he didn't have time to clean it up before she turned and walked away.

Rick sat on the bench outside of Beale's office the next morning, his knee bouncing uncontrolled, as he waited to be let in.

Beale's office was located in its own cove of the military complex. His secretary, Urma, sat at the desk outside of it, typing away at the computer. She was a plump middle-aged woman whose glasses forever lived on the bridge of her nose.

The clicking of her keyboard annoyed the hell out of a sleep-deprived Rick. He rubbed at the heaviness under his eyes, hoping to lessen the appearance of the bags. His mind had raced all night trying to figure out Beale's angle. Putting Rick on the protection detail of the woman whose husband he'd killed didn't make sense. Or at least it hadn't until the fifth hour of his contemplation.

The only way Rick would ever find out about Ruther's husband was if he broke the rules. Beale was testing him. And if Rick stormed into his office and demanded a reassignment, like he wanted to, Beale would know.

The phone on Urma's desk rang. Rick watched her pick it up, nod once, and then set it back down. "Go on in, Lieutenant Grimes," she said, with a warm smile.

Rick took a deep breath and walked the short distance to the door at the end of the narrow hallway. The soldier standing guard opened it for him. When he stepped in, he saw Jadis standing in front of Beale's desk.

"Yes, sir. I'll get my men on it," Jadis said, before turning around. She halted at the sight of Rick. Over the past few years, they'd only run into each other a handful of times, but every single time there had been a contentious undertone to their interactions. His feelings toward Jadis were complicated. On one hand, a minuscule part of him was grateful she'd intervened to save his life on that embankment, no matter how selfish the act truly was. But the shit she'd pulled after, putting his family in danger, made it so he couldn't see a world in which he ever forgave her.

"Lieutenant Grimes. Good to see ya."

"Captain Stokes," he bit out.

She raised her chin and gave him a shit-eating grin. "It's Lieutenant Colonel Stokes to you now."

"Congratulations," he said flatly. "Looks like that ambition is taking you far."

He was satisfied when the smile on her face turned to a scowl. She moved past and Rick stepped up to Beale's desk and waited at attention for the man to finish reading the briefing in front of him.

Rick looked to the side, out the floor-to-ceiling window at the group of at least a hundred new recruits lined up in formation in the open field outside Beale's office. Rick had noticed, over the past year, the uptick in the recruitment of soldiers. It had gone from a hundred every six months to that much every month. It felt as if Beale was preparing for something.

Beal shut his file and leaned back in his chair. "You got anything to report?"

"Her daughter had a seizure yesterday afternoon. The hospital was the only deviation from the schedule."

"Saw you took an extra shift last night."

"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "There was a lot going on, I thought it would be easier if I stayed."

Beale rubbed his hand over his beard. "She didn't talk to anyone about what happened at the meeting?"

"No, sir."

Beale watched him for a long moment. "Alright. Keep your ear open for information on Kublek. I need to know what Ruthers' endgame is. And how the hell she found out about Mallick and Graham."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." Beale went back to the files.

Rick turned to walk out the door, but a nagging thought stopped him. He'd kept his head down and worked harder than anyone of his rank. He hadn't made waves or gotten a citation, yet he'd been passed over for the likes of Jadis, whose rise was a conundrum to him. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Beale glanced up. "Granted."

"Sir, I don't understand why you would go through the trouble of keeping me alive just to be a bonafide babysitter."

Beale looked amused. "Way to cut to the chase."

"I don't think I'm best utilized on a protection detail. I'd like to do more for The Republic. I've proven myself. That what was before is in the past."

"That's not how I see it. From where I'm sitting, it looks like you've done the bare minimum. You've shown up when you've been summoned. You've done what's been asked of you, yes, but nothing more." Beale rested his elbows on the desk and laced his hands together. "You see, Rick, what separates you from, say... Stokes, is that she takes initiative. She's not afraid to get her hands dirty for the cause. I kept you alive banking on the fact that you'd one day be an asset worth the investment. But I look at you Rick and I still see a man who's not all here. I've seen what you can do, son, which means I know you're holding back. And it's gonna take a whole helluva lot more than perfect attendance to get you higher in my military. It's like I said Rick, what happens next, it's up to you."

Rick spent the next day as he always did when he was off duty. He started by cleaning the mess he'd spent the work week avoiding. Once his apartment was tidy—enough—he made the five-block trek to the Ward Six grocery store to trade the cash he earned from his military service, for a week of groceries. He stocked up on prepackaged meals he could pop in the microwave after a long work day.

He went for a run through the city center after, pondering Beale's words as he dodged pedestrians and traffic. Beale hadn't said it outright, but Rick could read between the lines and understood what the man was asking of him.

Despite everything, up to this point, Rick had been able to keep the moral high ground. Every objectively bad thing he'd done in The Republic had been either out of self-defense or to protect his family. He always prefaced an action by considering what Michonne would do. And if he couldn't imagine her making a particular choice, then right away he knew it wasn't the right one.

What Beale was asking him to do now, she wouldn't approve.

But this was the only opportunity he'd been given in years to prove himself loyal and he was running out of time, to get himself some real power.

On the way back to his apartment, the decision settled into his mind and when he passed a flower stand on the street, a plan did too.

In Joy's dark room, only lit by the glow-in-the-dark stars covering the ceiling, Yolanda sat on the floor beside her daughter's bed. She smoothed a finger, back and forth, over the baby hairs springing up from her daughter's nighttime twists as Joy drifted off to sleep. They'd been released from the hospital that morning and Joy, exhausted from all the tests, had napped on and off for the rest of the day. Yolanda was thankful her daughter was finally getting some real rest.

Her mommy guilt in overdrive, she hadn't taken her eyes off Joy all day and was loath to leave her now. Maybe she could snuggle up beside her like they used to do. She didn't think she'd get any sleep otherwise.

Yolanda tiptoed out of the room, and across the hall to her bedroom. She quickly slipped into her pajamas, tucked her hair under her satin bonnet, and switched her bedroom light off. Right as she was about to step back into her daughter's room, a knock at the front door startled her. No one stopped over at her house unannounced—or announced, for that matter. She contemplated ignoring it. Maybe they'd just go away.

But she was the damn Mayor. She couldn't very well not answer.

Yolanda padded down the stairs to the front door and the man she saw on the other side was the last person she expected.

L.T. Grimes stood on the top step of the staircase that led to her front door, with a reticent look on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Evening. I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Uh- no." She glanced over his shoulder at the soldier sitting in the SUV parked at her curb. "But should you be here?"

Rick looked behind, then back at her. "Took ten bucks, but he won't say anything."

"Just ten? Good to know," she said, trying to process this lighthearted version of the man she had been around for years now but barely knew. Dressed down in bootcut dark jeans and a black sweatshirt, she thought he looked less intimidating than usual.

"I wanted to stop by and check on Joy." He held out the bouquet of wildflowers from the stand in Ward Six, which she was aware weren't cheap. "These are for her."

Yolanda took them. "She'll love them. Thank you. But she's sleeping now, she had a big day."

"Right. I should have known." He took a backward step. "Tell her Batman told her to feel better, will you?"

Yolanda laughed, despite herself. "Of course. It'll mean a lot to her."

"Alright. Goodnight." He turned to go and the slight disappointment she caught before he did, tugged at a part of her heart that recognized another lonely soul.

She couldn't pinpoint when she'd started to notice his woe, or how it always seemed to crop up when Joy was around. On more than one occasion, she'd wanted to ask if he was okay. But they weren't allowed to talk directly to their protection detail apart from greetings or expressions of gratitude. Another military-imposed rule she had a hard time understanding.

"Hey, L.T.? I was about to put some tea on," she called. "Want a cup?"

Rick stepped in from the cold, into the slender entryway of the compact townhome, and took in all the touches that made this place feel more homey than his bare-bones apartment ever had. School books were on the coffee table, in the living room just off the entryway. There was a cozy-looking couch, with Barbies poking out of the crevices. Photos on the mantel. He looked away when he spotted one of Mayor Ruthers in a loving embrace with the man he recognized from the bus that day.

Mayor Ruthers stepped into the living room and picked up a shoe here and a disregarded sock there. "Sorry. I don't get to pick up that often." She said, feverishly trying to clean the already clean room.

"You don't have to do that on my account," he hovered in the entryway and was suddenly unsure of if he should follow her in or wait for an invitation.

Seemingly satisfied, she motioned toward the armchair across from the couch she stood in front of. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Rick tipped his head and moved toward the living room. No sooner had he crossed the threshold than Mayor Ruthers held her hand up.

"Wait."

He froze.

"Can you take your shoes off?"

Uh..."Sure." He stepped back into the entryway.

"My mom always said it was the easiest way to track germs into the house," she explained quickly. "It's nothing against you- I mean you seem... clean."

Rick set his shoes beside the others by the door and bent back up, shooting her an amused grin.

Her tense shoulders dropped and she laughed nervously. "Can you tell I don't have people over?"

He walked to the armchair and lowered down. "You don't have to explain yourself, no one's seen the inside of my apartment since I moved in after basic. Years ago."

"Good to know I'm not alone in the... doesn't play well with others camp. Okay, well, I promised you tea." She fast-walked out of the room.

"Mine was the Fresh Prince." Mayor Ruthers sat crisscross on the couch across from him, cradling what had to be a cold cup of tea by now.

He'd downed his in a few sips, the hot liquid warming his body as he'd eased back into the armchair over the course of the past two hours.

"We lived close enough to the school that my best friend and I could run home just in time to catch the reruns. God." Her eyes rolled to the ceiling as she reminisced. "Those were the days." She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, before making a face and spitting it out. "Ugh, I've been talking so long this shit is cold now." She set the cup on the coffee table. "You should have told me to shut up."

"Ah, don't worry. I'm a better listener than talker."

"Okay, but it's your turn. I gotta know. Favorite 90s show?"

He looked away and waved a dismissive hand. "No, we don't have to go there."

"Oh, now I'm really curious. Come on."

"Blossom," he blurted out.

"Oh my God, I fucking loved Blossom."

"I know, right? There was just something about her. If I'm honest, I had a bit of a crush."

She chuckled, then shook her head. "It's crazy thinking Joy will never know the little things, you know, that made life so special back then. The joy of coming home and watching sitcoms. Or playing outside without a damn platoon of soldiers roaming the streets- no offense."

Rick laughed. "None taken." He ran a finger over the round lid of his mug. "You don't think it could ever be that again?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "It's what I want. But... some people don't want things to change," she said slowly. "Some people have a different agenda."

Rick sat up in his seat, suddenly unnerved by her penetrating gaze. He leaned his forearms onto his thighs, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "I've noticed."

She unfolded her legs and scooted to the edge of the couch, matching his posture, she was at eye level with him now. "What have you noticed?" She was baiting him, or rather, vetting him.

He hoped he passed muster. "A whole platoon was called out to the research facility before it fell. If it was just an electrical fire, why'd they need more soldiers?"

She looked away, contemplating his words, before she turned back. "What else?" she demanded.

"Lieutenant Colonel Stokes was a warrant officer three months ago. She was sent to the research facility for a simple audit. Comes back and now she has Kublek's position and Kublek is in prison. Doesn't add up."

"You know I could report you for talking like this." A dark edge slipped into her voice. It sounded as if she was challenging him, offering him an opportunity to back out of the conversation already in motion toward treasonous territory. "A soldier voicing distrust. Beale would lock you up in the Welfare Complex so fast- "

"But you won't," he shot back at her.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Rick stood. He couldn't look her in the eye when he said what he had to say next. He walked to the front window and leaned against the wall beside it. He stared through the shutter gap at the dark, quiet street. "I lied to you yesterday about my wife. You were right. She's alive out there. She and I were leaders in my community- she was more so than me. We fought for years for our home. And just as I started to get comfortable. When I began to believe that we'd get a few good years to- to raise our little girl..."

He heard Mayor Ruther's soft intake of breath and pressed on, even as the memories tore into him with every word, like reopening a scabbed-over wound. "It all got ripped away from me. There was a massive horde of walkers coming straight for my community, my family." His eyelids felt heavy, weighed down by the water pooling in them. "They were all on a bridge that we'd been building to connect us to other communities. If they'd have gotten past it, it would have taken them straight to our home. We wouldn't have stood a chance. So I did what I had to do. I blew up that bridge, while I was still on it."

"Shit," she whispered.

He wiped his eyes. "Stokes was part of my community. She found me." He looked at Mayor Ruthers. "She traded me for a ticket into The Republic."

"Traded you? What- we don't-"

"You do. The military does. Jadis was working for the CRM, for years before she was in the CR. She abducted people. Handed the strong-willed ones over to the Research facility as test subjects and the more malleable ones as recruits for the military. I was supposed to be a test subject, but she lied and told them I was the other kind. It's how she got them to take me, even in the state I was in."

Mayor Ruthers rose and pressed a hand to her forehead, pacing the small space as she processed. "Test subjects for what?"

"They were experimenting on people to find a cure, I think. I don't know the details."

"My God," she breathed. "They're trafficking people. I've had my suspicions that something shady was going on in that facility, but this." Her eyes fell to his ankle monitor. "You tried to get out didn't you? To get back to your family?"

"A couple of times, yeah. Made it pretty far the second time around."

"What'd they do to you when they found you?" Her face scrunched up, in anticipation of his response, he figured.

"You don't wanna know." Best to spare the gruesome details.

"Right." She dropped back down onto the couch like a sack of potatoes, her body hunched over. "It was Beale who came up with the rule. When the Military took power. We all thought he was just trying to protect this place. He convinced us that communities out there would come for us when they found out what we had. It's why we never even gave up our location to the alliance members. He never said what would happen if we tried to leave, but I think in the back of our minds, we all knew."

Mayor Ruthers stared down at her lap, and fiddled with the ring on her finger.

Rick watched, and waited, as she continued to process everything he'd just dumped on her.

Her head flashed up as if she'd just remembered something she'd forgotten. "Omaha? Portland? Campus Colony? Do you know what really happened?"

"No. I don't have clearance for that."

Mayor Ruthers walked to the wood fireplace and dropped down to reach for a brick that instantly loosened in her grip. After pulling it out, she reached into the hollow opening and when her hand came back out, it held onto a dusty black folder emblemed with military markings on the front. She stood and turned to Rick, handing the folder to him.

With a bit of apprehension, Rick took it, then opened and read. His eyes surveyed over the pages quickly, growing wider with each word he read. They were coded transmissions. Military orders for the transport of walkers, in the thousands, to all three of the communities in the alliance. His eyes shot up to her. "Who'd you get these from?" Only a soldier, with a way higher ranking than him, could get their hands on files this confidential.

She glanced away. "I can't say."

"You've known about this, all this time, and haven't done shit?" He tried to keep his voice down, Joy was sleeping upstairs, but what the hell! She had concrete evidence that Beale had ordered the death of over a hundred thousand innocent people and she was sitting on it.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You're the mayor," he whispered with a harsh tone.

"And I have no real power! Not with the military unwilling to give up control!" she yelled back at him. Her eyes flashed toward the stairs and she lowered her voice. "It's why I want Kublek retried. I knew that Beale would give in to that before he let us win oversight over the military."

Rick's eyebrows knit. "What does Kublek have to do with anything? She's dead in the water."

"Look at page five."

Rick flipped there and clear as day saw Kublek's name on the signature line.

"She was the one who executed these orders under Beale. I can't be certain but I think she turned on him. I think that's what he tried her for and why the records were sealed. Beale wants this place under permanent marshal law, so he can continue doing all this and more, unchecked. If he gets his way, he'll dismantle the council, and any rights the people have now will go out the window. And the people inside these walls have no idea what's going on."

"Then tell them?"

"And create an unorganized rebellion, that gives him free rein to start shooting people in the streets? The soldiers will follow him, even the ones who wanna stand up against what he's doing. But if they see Kublek, if she shows them that they don't have to blindly trust him, there are soldiers who will follow her. Soldiers who still care about protecting civil liberties."

"But you understand, it's still gonna be a fight. Beale won't go down without one."

"At least it'll be a fairer one."

Damn. This is not what he'd been expecting when he'd come here. Yeah, he figured she'd slip up and say something incriminating, but this... this was a real chance. Realer than any he'd had in years, to get the hell out of this place.

But there were too many what ifs. Too many people to count on. Too many risks. He'd spent years coming up with his plan. He needed to stay focused and follow through with this step of it. "I hate to break it to you, but Beale was never gonna let Kublek step foot in the civilian court."

"What do you mean?"

"He's planning something. And I think requesting Kublek's retrial sped up the timeline."

Her face went slack. "Oh, God."

"Yeah."

"Well, then, we have to get her out. Take her to a place where he can't find her and somehow get her message out to the people." Her words came out fast now, desperation in her gaze. "You have to help me get her out."

"No. I'm not doing that." He handed the file back to her and moved toward the front door.

"Rick." Mayor Ruther's grabbed his arms, stopping him. "This is how you get back to your family. Taking care of Beale means you're free too."

Rick stepped away from her and ran his hands over his face. "If I do it. I can't do it alone. I need help from someone higher up. Someone with the kind of access to get their hands on those files. You have to tell me who gave them to you."

"I can't. They won't do it. They won't get their hands that dirty."

"That there's the deal."

"This person is a friend of mine. I can't-" She rubbed at the back of her neck and thought for a moment. "Let me talk to them first."

"Just give me the name and I'll take care of it. We don't have time."

Another moment of hesitation, before she said, "Okay."

Yolanda stood in front of her kitchen sink. Her absent gaze was fixed on the plate in her hand, which she had been swirling her soapy sponge over for the past five minutes. The radio on the counter played a series of classical tunes on low, her attempt at trying to drown out the worry.

Yolanda had never been good at waiting, especially when she had no idea what the hell she was waiting for. It'd been two days since L.T. Grimes told her he'd "take care of it". Forty-eight painstakingly long hours of bouncing between the care of her couch-ridden daughter and checking out the front window every time she heard a car door slam outside.

Her anxiety only heightened when she'd spotted L.T. Blane on guard during L.T. Grimes' scheduled shift that morning and the day before. Had he done it? Had he broken Kublek out? And if he had, why hadn't he gotten word to her?

It's not something he can radio you about, now is it, her brain rationalized.

She felt helpless. It wasn't a new state of being for her; she hadn't been able to do anything to protect her husband from the column or Joy from her seizures or her city from the nefarious hand of the military's authority. It felt as though everything in her life was out of her control, and she was so damn tired of sitting around bracing for what came next. She needed answers and answers she was gonna get, goddammit.

Yolanda made quick work out of rinsing the rest of the dishes. She stuffed them onto the drying wrack and moved into the living room.

Joy lay propped up against a pillow on the couch, reading the pick-an-adventure story from the stack of books her teacher had brought to tide her over on her doctor-prescribed week off of school.

Yolanda plopped down onto the coffee table, in front of her. "Hi, sweets."

Joy closed her book. "Hey, Mom." Her voice sounded exhausted despite days of rest.

"How do you feel about going on a walk?"

She perked up. "To the park?"

"No, sweetheart. Just a walk down to Memorial Pond. Doctor said you can't play yet. But, it'd be good for us to get some fresh air, yeah?"

Joy shrugged. "Sure."

Some ducks floated in the crystal blue Memorial water and others waddled on the grassy open space around the pond, basking in the late winter's afternoon sun. On weekends, Yolanda and Joy would bring blankets and a picnic basket full of food and spend hours running through the open field chasing the ducklings and enjoying the outdoors. On those days, the park was packed with families doing the same, but with everyone either at work or in school today, Yolanda and Joy had the place to themselves.

Holding hands, they strolled leisurely across the arched bridge fixed over the water. Yolanda stopped in the center and reached into her jacket pocket. She handed Joy a brown paper bag full of stale bread pieces. "You go feed the ducks," she said. "I'm gonna rest here."

Joy snatched the bag and sprinted away.

"Don't run!" she called and kept an eye on Joy until she reached the pond's bank and sat down crisscrossed in the grass.

Yolanda stepped up to the brick wall of the bridge and checked her surroundings, to make certain they hadn't been tailed. An hour earlier, she and Joy had snuck out the side door of the townhouse, where their trash bins lived, and slipped out through the grassy back alleyway behind their home. It wasn't the first time she'd done it; there were days when she just wanted to walk the streets of The Republic without the watchful eyes of Beale's spies. And L.T. Blane was the least perceptive of the protection detail.

She pulled binoculars out of her pocket and brought the glass to her face, aiming it at the buildings just beyond the wooded area that separated the pond from the Military Campus.

Yolanda observed through the lenses that the square was bustling. Groups of grunts running in formation and hundreds of uniformed soldiers and officers walked about. Nothing seemed amiss, but she wouldn't know otherwise. Civilians weren't allowed to step foot on the Military Campus unless they were doing time in the prison or Health and Welfare Complex.

She continued scanning and had to do a double take when Beale walked past her field of view. She found him again and slid her finger over the focus ring on top of her binoculars, pushing it until he was clear in view. She followed Beale, who was bracketed by the four-point protection detail he had at all times, as he walked out of a building. Beside him was another man who, blocked by Beale, she couldn't see. Their heads were tilted toward each other and they seemed to be in deep conversation.

Yolanda's mouth went dry and the binoculars nearly slipped from her hands when Beale stopped in the center of the square, placed a hand on the man's shoulder, and she got a clear look at the person in conversation with him. It was L.T. Grimes.

She stayed focused on them and studied their interaction. It was the way Beale was talking to him, like a father to a son, that had her body quivering at the thought that maybe she'd made a major error in judgment trusting L.T. Grimes.

The realization was a gut punch, it sent her reeling and her mind swirling. Was he well and truly one of them?

Had he played her? The moment she thought it, she knew it was true.

It's why he hadn't shown up for his shift in days. He'd gotten from her what he'd been tasked to get and now... shit.

They hustled back home as fast as Joy's little feet could keep up with. On the way, Yolanda formulated a shoddy plan in her head; get the go-bags and the gun Corey had taught her how to shoot and made her hide before he died. They'd need Joy's medicine too and as much food as they could carry. They could slip out again through the back alleyway. She'd have to steal a car—Corey had taught her how. It'd take them to the unregistered house in the country, on the side of the city no one traveled to, which Corey had found for them just in case. They could hide there until she figured out a better plan.

The planning of her getaway skidded to a screeching halt when Yolanda rounded the corner into the back alleyway of the townhomes on her block.

Soldiers loomed behind her house, searching through her trash bin. One looked up and spotted them. "There she is!" he yelled, running for her and Joy.

Yolanda swiveled around and came face to chest with another soldier.

"Don't try it," he said.

Yolanda gripped her daughter's hand tight as they were escorted into the house. She looked into the living room. It was in utter disarray; the couch was turned upside down, the photos from the mantel were broken on the ground, and Joy's toy box was overturned, with all the contents scattered on the ground. Two rifle-armed soldiers, who she assumed were the culprits of the mess, stood guard on either side of the couch. It wasn't until she saw the brick out of place in her hearth and her elderly next-door neighbor, Pam, shaking like a leaf from where she sat on the sofa, that Yolanda knew just how fucked she was.

"Why'd they do that to our house?" Joy asked, leaning into Yolanda's side.

She let go of her daughter's hand and placed an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, sweets. You don't have to worry."

"Listen to your mother, Joy. She's a smart woman." Beale sauntered down the staircase. "Smarter than even I gave her credit for." He held Corey's gun up for her to see. "You hid this one well."

Her jaw clenched, watching Beale and the man who descended the stairs behind him. A shiver ran down her spine at the blank, cold look on L.T. Grimes' face. How had she made such a huge miscalculation? She'd looked him in the eye and saw the raw ache in his face when he'd talked about his family.

It had been that, his family, which had sold her. Her gut had told her to believe him. Her gut had never steered her wrong before. And now she wondered if it had all been a lie; subterfuge to get her to drop her guard and trust him enough to jeopardize everything.

Beale stepped up to her with a wide maniacal smile that made her skin crawl. "I'll admit, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Please don't do this in front of her," she pleaded, pissed with herself at the quiver in her voice.

Beale looked into the living room, waved Pam over, and took a step back. "Take a minute."

Yolanda lowered onto a knee in front of Joy and on the way down she swallowed her emotions away, and pasted on a smile. "Hey, sweets."

Joy's scared eyes skidded away from Yolanda's face and up to the soldiers over her shoulder.

Yolanda set a hand on Joy's cheek and guided her attention back to her. "Don't worry about them, okay?"

Joy nodded.

"I love you so much, baby. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"And you know that anytime we're not together, I'm still with you." She tapped on the spot where her heart was. "Always right here, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good." She looked at Pam, who gave her an encouraging smile. "You're gonna go with Mrs. Pam. She's gonna take care of you. And I'm sure she'll make you some lemon squares if you ask nicely."

"Where are you going?"

Joy wouldn't understand the truth, but Yolanda couldn't lie to her. "I... I made a mistake, baby. And I have to make up for it. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I want you to know I'm always thinking of you."

"Can't you just say sorry, instead?"

"I wish it were that simple."

"Maybe you can try?"

God, Yolanda couldn't take any more of this. She placed a lingering kiss on Joy's forehead. "I'm sorry, baby." She stepped away to make room for Pam to walk over and take her daughter's hand.

"Come on, Joy-Anne," Pam said.

She watched the two of them walk away and when her daughter turned back to look at her with puppy dog-wide and watery eyes, Yolanda's heart fractured.

"She's a resilient kid," Beale said, behind her. "She'll get through this."

Yolanda kept her eyes on her daughter, even as hands grabbed her wrists and cuffed them together and Beale's muffled voice played in the background of her mind. "Yolanda Ruthers you are hereby remanded to the Health and Welfare Complex until which time you will be tried for..."

She blocked him out completely, not wanting his words to taint the last memory of her daughter.

It was the dead of night when Pearl Thorne stirred. She pushed off the rock-hard chest of the man she shared her bed with four nights a week now, and rolled onto her side. It wasn't anything against Antonio, but tonight was one of those nights she wished he'd gone home after they'd fucked. She never could sleep well when he was there.

Which was why she could never marry the guy, not that she wanted to in the first place. Her alone time was something she'd never compromise. Man, she wished she could let him go, set him free to find a woman who wanted kids and a family too, but the sex was too damn good.

Pearl felt the bed dip behind her when he scooted over to her side and draped his arm across her middle.

Ugh. She rolled her eyes when all two hundred and fifty pounds of his six-five naked frame settled onto her already hot body. She pushed his arms away and scooted to the edge of the bed. And a few seconds later, there he was, inching back toward her body.

Okay, no. Pearl had to be up in four hours for a debriefing with Stokes and she wasn't about to walk in there with bags under her eyes. "Antonio." She shook him when he didn't wake. "Hey. Tony."

Antonio stirred and lifted his head off the pillow. His ordinarily slicked back, but presently unruly, jet-black hair flopped in his face. He ran his hand through it, pushing it back. "Huh?"

"You gotta go. You can sleep on the couch if you want or go home. I don't care, but I need my bed tonight."

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "What-" And looked back at the nightstand clock behind him. "It's two in the morning."

"I'm sorry. But I'm not gonna get any sleep if you're next to me."

His tired eyes settled on her face. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. Whatever." He rolled off the bed and stepped into his clothing which was strewn on the floor.

When he was out the door, Pearl settled into the center of the bed and before long, she was fast asleep.

"Pearl. Pearl, babe. Pearl!"

She swam up from the black of her dreams, toward the deep voice calling to her. Her eyes flashed open to Antonio, who kneeled beside her bed.

"You gotta get up." He looked worried.

"What is it?" She heard banging at the door and looked at the clock. She'd only been asleep an hour. "Who is that?"

"There's a bunch of soldiers outside your door, I saw 'em through the peephole. I think something's going on."

She pushed her covers back. Grabbing her robe on the way out of her bedroom, she registered Antonio following behind her and was about to turn and tell him to wait in her room—they'd agreed to keep things on the low. Dating—sleeping with—the City Attorney was not a good look, considering the state of relations between the council and the military.

But the pounding on the door became more demanding, drawing her attention. She rushed to the door and when she pulled it open, Jadis stood there, with two Privates behind her.

"Lieutenant Colonel," Pearl greeted. "What's going on?"

"I'm following orders." Jadis lifted a hand and waved the Privates forward. The two of them moved into the house. One stepped in beside her and grabbed her arm, while the other went behind and handcuffed her wrists together.

"Jadis, what the fuck!?"

"You can't take her without telling us what she's accused of." Antonio stepped in between Pearl and the private who was handcuffing her and pushed him away. "Tell us what this is about."

The other soldier grabbed her baton and whacked the side of Antonio's head, sending him flailing to the ground.

"Hey!" Pearl body-checked the woman, who was recoiling to go for another blow at her man, and sent her flying into the wall. Pearl rushed to Antonio and knelt down beside him. "You okay?"

He touched the bleeding wound on his forehead and then examined the blood in his hand. "I'm fine."

"Get her up," Jadis ordered.

Forceful hands grabbed both her arms, yanking and pushing her back into place in front of Jadis, who stood unmoved by the commotion.

"Lieutenant Colonel," Jadis said. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Beale would like a word with you."

"About what?" she gritted out.

Jadis raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I think you know."

The entire ten-minute walk across campus square, from the officer's apartment buildings to the military offices, Pearl's body trembled in the bitter cold made even chillier by the prospect that Beale had someway, somehow figured out what she'd done.

When the Privates pushed her into Beale's office, a quick scan of it revealed Lieutenant Grimes standing at attention in the corner of the room. She didn't have time enough to process the man's presence before Beale spoke.

"Thank you, Jadis."

"Yes, sir." Jadis stepped back into the empty corner of the room, opposite Grimes. The Privates exited the room and Pearl stood lonely in the center feeling naked in her nightwear, in a room full of her uniformed comrades and a superior.

She watched Beale walk around to stand in front of his desk. He leaned back against it and crossed his legs at the ankles, before crossing his arms. He stared at her and studied her face, and it felt as if he was reading into her soul.

Pearl knew what he was doing, he'd taught the tactic to her; stay quiet, let the silence be your interrogator. And, shit, it was working. She started wondering if she should get in front of things, plead her case, and for her life. Maybe he'd go easy on her.

Her lips wanted so badly to part, but she fought against it. Beale respected mental fortitude more than almost anything. If she gave in this early, she wouldn't be doing herself any favors.

"It seems our esteemed Mayor has been busy," Beale finally said. "Seems you have been too. I don't put anything past anyone. But, you, I can honestly say you were the only person in my book who was above reproach. You're family, Pearl." There was a hitch in his voice. "Your father-"

"You don't get to talk about him," she hissed. "What you did to all those people, my father would have never. He stood for justice. He believed every life was worth saving."

"And that's the very reason he's dead." Beale pushed off of the desk and stepped toward her, until he was only inches away, staring down at her. "Your father was weak. He never understood what it meant to be a leader. He couldn't do the hard things."

Her body shook; she felt like she might vibrate right out of her skin. She was thankful she was handcuffed, otherwise, she might have swung on him.

"But, he was also my friend. My brother. I promised him that I would take care of you. And I won't let you make a liar out of me."

He looked back at Jadis and nodded.

She walked over and uncuffed Pearl's hands.

"I've thought long and hard about what to do with you," he said. "Thought about all the options. Then something occurred to me when I was looking over the file you stole. Your signature was missing from all those pages. I mean I get it. Those files get out, it's not just my head on a stake the people would be after."

She lowered her eyes. No use in denying it; she'd been terrified giving those files to Yolanda. Redacting her signature had been a last-ditch effort to save her own ass, while still trying to do the right thing.

"You may not have pulled the trigger, but your signature is right next to mine on that order. There's no erasing that. What do you think your father would say about what you did?" Beale looked up to the corner of the room and thought for a moment. "Something about silence being the same as consent. On that, I have to agree. Your hands aren't clean Pearl. You don't want to admit it, but you are more like me than you ever were like him. It's why you tried to pass it off to someone else, instead of going forward on your own."

She hated that Beale was right. Her father would have been ashamed that she hadn't spoken up in the room the day the orders had been given, and that she'd cowered and signed her name for the genocide of hundreds of thousands. Then she'd failed him again with her half-assed attempt to make it right.

"I'm offering you a second chance here Pearl. But I need to know I don't have anything to worry about as it concerns you."

She looked up at him through her lashes. "So... your- you're just gonna let me go? Like nothing happened?"

"It won't be that easy. You broke my trust. That takes time to rebuild. Until you can do that, I need you somewhere you can do no harm. So, you will from now on be working intake, under the watchful eye of Corporal Truett. He's a real stickler for the rules, I hear. That right, Jadis?"

"Yes, sir. A real ass kisser."

He walked back around to his desk and sat down. "Don't pull this shit again. You won't be this lucky next time."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"You're dismissed... Private."

She left the room and hurried out into the quiet, cold.

Pearl staggered through the front door of her apartment and halted in the frame when she spotted Antonio sitting on the edge of the couch, knee jittering uncontrollably, as he stared a hole into the coffee table. She hadn't considered he'd still be there, which was foolish in retrospect, because that was the type of man he was. He was there, always.

He shot up at the sound of the door slamming, his face more worried than she'd ever seen it as he rushed to pull her against his chest. "God, I was so worried." He held her tight. "I've been radioing the other council members trying to figure out what the hell was going on. No one knew anything."

Pearl kept her hands at her side, her body too numb to make a move to accept the affection. He deserved better than her. Apart from her father, she'd never met a man so good. He worked tirelessly to defend not just the interest of The Republic, but its citizens too. She shuddered at the thought of him finding out what she'd done.

He pulled back and examined her face. "What happened? Why'd they take you in?"

She stepped out of his hold and walked the short distance to the kitchen. Without regard for him behind her, Pearl reached into the cupboard for the single shot glass sat next to the half-empty vodka bottle.

She threw her head back as she downed the shot. The burn of the liquid heat felt good, on entry, and even better when it settled in her stomach. But it wasn't enough. She slammed the glass onto the counter before pouring another, and then another.

The weight of her interaction with Beale finally settling onto her body, Pearl placed her palms on the counter and hung her head. Antonio's barely there footsteps on the carpet were loud in her ears, as he approached her. She bristled when his hot hands touched her cool skin and slid up to rest on her shoulders.

"Amoré, what is it?"

"Don't call me that." She shrugged his hands off her arms.

"What did they do to you?"

"You need to go."

"Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out-"

"I need you to leave."

"You can tell me." He came closer. She could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. "Whatever it is." The tender tenor of his voice was too much. She was so close to caving; turning into his arms and letting him hold her through the pain.

"We'll get through it-"

She whirled around to face him. "I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!" she shouted.

Antonio flinched and his face contorted as if she'd physically assaulted him.

"And don't come back."

The quiet that grew between them was deafening. They had been here before, but this was where she always backtracked. She'd rage, he'd calm her, then they'd make up with words and then their bodies. But in four years, never had she put a permanent bookend on their relationship.

"This isn't- I never wanted to be in a relationship. I've been telling you for years, but you don't listen."

"I'm not holding you hostage," he bit out. "You could have left at any time."

"It's what I'm doing now."

"I love you," Antonio whispered. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Pearl looked at the ground, unable to hold his stare, when she said, "No."

The next thing she heard was her front door opening and closing. Pearl slid down the cupboard onto her ass and made no effort to stop the tears from falling.

The stacks of files on the desk of Rick's new office grew higher with each passing day of the next week. Every brief was chock full of mundane information a newly appointed Captain needed to be privy to, he assumed; protocols, military codes, and a bunch of other shit that didn't matter to him.

Rick rubbed at his tired eyes with the bottom center of his palm. Shutting the flap of the file he'd been reading, he rested his head against his clasped hands and closed his eyes.

He didn't think it a coincidence that the last full night of sleep he'd gotten had been the day before he'd stood in the Ruther's house, watching the mother and daughter be ripped apart. In the days that had followed, Rick had racked his brain, wondering if there could have been another way. If what he'd done to Yolanda had truly been his only option.

He raised his head at a knock on the door. "Yeah. Come in."

The door opened to Jadis.

Great, he thought snidely. A bad day made worse by the woman whose office was right next door.

She stepped into the room and appraised the bare-bones space. "It's been a week, Rick. You know you're allowed to decorate in here. Put some pictures on the wall. A plant here or there."

He had no desire to put a personal touch on the space. "What do you need, Jadis?"

She sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk and crossed her legs. "Beale wanted me to keep an eye on you, make sure you were settling in okay. Getting up to speed."

"Mm-hmm. It's exciting stuff," he said flatly.

"Yeah." She smiled. "Every new officer has to do it, You are not the exception, Grimes."

"Well." He reached for a file from the stack. "I have a lot to get through." He went back to work, dropping his eyes, and waited for her to take the hint to exit.

She didn't move; out of his upper peripheral vision, he saw her staring at him through a narrowed gaze.

He looked up. "Was there something else?"

"I didn't think you had it in you."

"Excuse me?"

"The Rick I knew back in Alexandria would have never done what you did to the good Mayor."

"Look, I'm busy. I don't have the time-"

She held her hands up. "Hey, I'm not condemning you. In fact, I admire what you did.

You probably won't believe this, but I've never had ill will toward you. The way you took me in when no one else wanted me, I have a lot of respect for that. And I've always seen the potential in you. The Republic is lucky to have you."

Jadis was an enigma to Rick, every time he thought he got a hold of who she was, she proved to him he had no idea who this woman truly was. He'd been burned by her way too many times, to take her words at face value. And the praise did nothing for him. "Well, thank you," he said.

Jadis stood. "Wanna grab some lunch?"

A 'no' was on the tip of his tongue, but the door opening and Beale stepping into the room saved him.

They both stood at attention.

"At ease," he said, lazily walking around to sit in the seat across from Rick. "Give us the room, Jadis." He picked at the non-existent lint on his cargo pants.

"Yes, sir." She moved out of the room.

Rick eased down into his seat, unsure how to be. First, he sat with a ramrod straight back, then he leaned forward with his hands laced on the desk, before deciding to settle back in his seat. It felt odd, being the one in the power seat in a room with the most powerful man in The Republic.

"I need you to do something for me. It concerns Ruthers."

Rick shifted in his seat, his interest piqued. He'd wanted to ask Beale what his plan for her was but concerned the man might take his inquiry the wrong way he'd kept quiet. Rick knew Ruthers would be tried before the tribunal since her offense was against the military, and that what happened to her was squarely in Beale's hands. "What do you need?"

"You got close to Ruthers once. She trusted you at one point, enough to share the documents. You think you can do it again."

"She doesn't let people in easily, I don't see how I could."

Beale thought for a moment. "You have a rapport with her. You're the best person to do it."

"Do what?"

"For years there's been rumblings of an anti-military group working under the radar. Waiting for their chance to strike and establish a foothold for a rebellion. If it's true, they're good, haven't slipped up yet."

Rick squirmed, he gripped the chair's armrest.

"It's possible Ruthers could have been working with them and that you weren't the only one she showed those files to."

"Sir, with respect, I protected her for years. I saw no one interact with her outside of council members. If you ask the other soldiers on her detail they'll say the same. She always left doors open, and no one came or went from her house."

"Right. And none of you saw the exchange between her and Pearl either. Clearly, she outwitted you on that front."

And then bam! Rick got a flash of inspiration. Beale was unwittingly presenting him with a way to right the wrong he'd done to Ruthers. "If she is working with them, the only way she'll talk is if we give her something worthwhile."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I think we need to offer her clemency," he said carefully.

"A pardon?"

"No. But if we take the death penalty off the table and… offer her weekly visits with her daughter, I think she'll talk."

"Alright. Get it done."

Yolanda sat in the corner of her cell, her heavy eyes staring at the tightly made bed she hadn't touched in the five days since she'd been forced to strip out of her clothing and wear the blue prison jumpsuit with the CRM emblem etched into the back. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing she'd slept in the bed they confined her to. But the cold, hard floor didn't do anything for her act of defiance.

Sleep eluded her anyway, thoughts of Joy consumed her every waking hour—outside of when she replayed her every interaction with the backstabbing asshole who'd put her in here. She'd never been apart from her baby girl for more than a single school day.

That night as her body settled on the concrete under the weight of her exhaustion, she whispered, "Mommy loves you, sweets," hoping the echo of the words would somehow reach her daughter's ears.

At midnight, the streets of The Republic's city center were always desolate, just how Pearl liked it. She slid her headphones on and pressed play on her iPod. Radio Head—courtesy of whoever had owned the device before—blared. Not her taste, but whatever, anything to drown out the soundtrack of the quiet night and keep her from pondering how shit her life had become overnight. She had done it to herself, all of it.

It's never too late to do the right thing, she heard her father's voice say. He'd said it when she'd stolen a tube of lipstick from the mall. When he'd found out, he'd given her the choice of what to do next. I won't always be there to make the decision for you. I trust you to make the right choice.

Pearl slowed her steady pace along the sidewalk of a high rise, her thoughts too loud to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. She yanked her headphones off and hooked them around her neck. Her laced hands went to the top of her head, as she caught her breath.

I don't know what the right thing here is, Dad, she thought. I need a little help with this one. Beale had cut her off, he'd thrown her in a basement and stripped away her title. Her hands were tied.

Pearl began to jog again but stopped right before she passed the opening of an alley, when she heard raised voices.

"This is not part of the plan."

She peeked around the edge of the brick wall. Two figures stood in front of one another below the dimly lit, twitching overhead street lamp. She squinted, but couldn't make out their side profiles. One's face was completely hidden by his hoodie. It wasn't until she heard the other man spit back, "I'm the one putting my ass on the line," that she knew just who it was.

Lieutenant Grime's southern twang was too distinct not to recognize. "If I wanna change the damn plan I can."

"It's too risky, and for what? She can't do anything for us anymore."

Grimes leaned in. "She's the reason I'm in this position. We've been trying for years to get this kind of power. We owe this to her."

"You did this. You get her out."

"I can't do it alone. If I get caught, then it's over. We're back to square one. And you really believe you can follow through with the plan without me? Go ahead, try to find another soldier stupid enough to risk what I have."

The hooded guy huffed. "When?"

"Four days. Beale's going out on a scouting trip. Best not to do it while he's here."

"How do we pull it off?"

"The power lines for the military complex are kept underground. I got my hands on the map leading to it. Damn paperwork I've been knee-deep in proved to be good for something. If the power goes out in the prison, all the doors automatically open."

"Even the cell doors?"

"Yeah. Your guys are good in the dark, right?"

"Yup. They're not gonna like this, though. "

"Well, it's time you all do your part."

"Fine. I'll arrange it. Hey, you figure out where they're keeping the explosives yet?"

"No. I'm working on it."

"Alright."

"Something's brewing. There's been talks of a military takeover. I don't know the logistics yet. But, if we don't make this happen soon, I don't think it'll be possible after."

"I'll get the word out."

Pearl ducked back behind the brick wall when the hooded guy turned to leave. She slipped her headphones back on and sprinted away.

"What's up, Truett?" Pearl sipped on her tall cup of java as she walked through the door of the sub-basement control room—the intake tank. The room was small, with floor-to-ceiling cement. The new recruit—a baby-faced kid who always showed up an hour early—sat at his computer workstation already hard at it. Pearl sat down beside him at her own station and clicked the computer on.

"Morning, ma'am."

She cut him a sideways glance. "I told you not to call me that. We're the same rank."

He frowned. "Doesn't feel right."

Word of her demotion had spread quickly through the ranks. Beale had kept the details quiet, for selfish reasons she was certain. Walking through the military complex, that week, she'd gotten a lot of stares and judgemental glares.

"Sorry, ma- Pearl."

She shook her head, turned back to the powered-up screen, and punched in the password. "We got any live ones this morning?"

"Yes. Two came in overnight." Truett said, his tone too chipper for the early hour.

"Really?" She asked that same question every morning and every morning the answer was the same—no. The Republic was so well hidden within the tapestry of the destroyed city that no one dared to wade through the dead that bordered it, to get close enough to their walls. That's why they didn't attempt to clear the city beyond the wall. But occasionally the soldiers posted on the perimeter ran into some brave souls. If they were non-combative, then they brought them into The Republic for processing, otherwise, they shot them on sight.

Sometimes they got rescues. People soldiers found out there. But new faces were few and far between. Thus, most of her work on the day-to-day involved playing Tetris on her computer while Truett read the military manual from cover to cover.

"What brand?" she asked.

"A border lurker and a rescue. A man and a woman. One for each of us."

She clicked into the database and looked over the intake forms from the soldiers who'd brought them in.

Name: Perry Loton.

Gender: Male.

Age: Twenties.

Location: Wasteland.

Injured: Yes.

Holding: Republic Hospital.

She clicked to the next page.

Name: Michonne Hawthorne.

Gender: Female.

Age: Forties.

Location: Border.

Injured: No.

Holding: Intake Cell.

It was the second name that gave her pause. Where do I know that name from? She searched her brain but came up short. "Hey, what room is Hawthorne in?" she asked Truett.

"Two," he said without looking away from his computer.

She picked up the remote, pointed it at the second monitor in the row of mounted ones on the wall above them, and switched it on.

Inside the room, a black woman with dreadlocks paced. Holy shit. She knew exactly who this woman was. She'd seen her photo years ago, but her look was too distinct to forget. "I'll take her." She grabbed her intake clipboard and stood, not waiting for Truett's response.

Yolanda was jousted out of sleep by the clinking of her cell door sliding open. She scrambled off of the floor and pressed her back into the wall as a stoic guard approached her. Wordlessly, he handcuffed and escorted her out of the cell.

The guard herded her through the corridor and badged out of the cell block. He nudged her to the left and down a wider hallway, stopping in front of the door at the end. She read the placard on the wall labeled 'visitation room', while he swiped his keycard in front of the electronic pad and propped the door open.

The guard unlocked her handcuffs and stepped back. She looked at him, confused.

"Go in," he said.

Yolanda hesitantly pushed the door open wider and when she stepped in, she saw her daughter, alone in the room, sitting at the square table in the center.

"Mommy!" Joy hopped out of the chair and ran to her.

Yolanda dropped down to her knees and held her arms out, welcoming her little girl into them. She cradled the back of her head with her hand and closed her eyes, savoring the moment. "Oh, my baby. I missed you so much, sweets."

"I missed you too."

Yolanda pulled back and held Joy's hands. "Are you okay?" Her voice broke. "Everything okay at Mrs. Pam's?"

She shrugged. "It's alright, I guess. Her house kinda stinks."

Yolanda slapped her hand over her mouth, covering her laugh. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Baby that's rude."

"I haven't said it to her face," she said, as if it should definitely count for something.

Yolanda gave her a pointed look. "Let's keep it that way."

"Yes ma'am."

"But everything else is okay. You're taking your medicine and minding your manners?"

"Yes ma'am."

She pinched her daughter's chin. "I knew you would."

Joy looked down at the floor and Yolanda knew instantly, from years of knowing her, that there was something her daughter was scared to say.

Yolanda ducked her head and caught Joy's gaze. Her stomach plummeted when she saw the well of water brimming at the surface of her eyelids. "What is it?"

"People at school, some older kids, say that you did something really bad."

Yolanda's lip twitched.

"They said that- that I was gonna be one of those kids who didn't have any parents. Because- because they were gonna kill you."

She suspected those kids were just regurgitating what they'd heard their parents say about her at home. This meant news of her arrest had spread around the city and Beale was spinning the story, painting her as a traitor to The Republic. She wasn't the first person who'd been arrested for alleged crimes against The Republic. Over the lifespan of the city, hundreds had been tried for it. She wished she would have dug deeper, because now she suspected their crimes may have been trumped up too. But crimes against The Republic were most often punished by death, so there was no way of knowing now.

"I don't care what you hear," she said fiercely. "Don't believe a word they say, you understand me? I would never leave you. Never. I did what I did to protect you and everybody here and some people we don't know. But they're important too, Okay?"

"Okay."

The door opened and the guard from before stepped inside. "Time's up."

Yolanda turned back to Joy and didn't bother wiping at the tear that spilled over onto her cheeks. She clutched her daughter's forearms. "You are so strong and so brave. And I'm so proud of you. Never forget that." She pulled her daughter in for one last hug and stood. "I love you so much." Not wanting to draw it out any longer, she walked to the door, but the soldier held his hand up.

"You stay. There's someone else here to see you. Her guardian is waiting outside."

Joy looked at her.

Yolanda nodded. "You can go with him." She turned her back to the door, unable to watch her baby leave again. But she heard her small steps and then the door shut.

She was only in the room alone for a second before she heard it open again.

"Can I come in?" a voice asked.

Her body tensed, rage coursing from head to toe when she turned around to L.T. Grimes standing in the doorframe. She was thrown by the question. Guards had carted her here or there with no regard for what she wanted. She hadn't been offered a choice in days and she was sure he still wasn't offering her one now. Yolanda nodded and backed up to the far corner of the room.

L.T. Grimes stepped in. He sat and motioned for her to take the seat across from him.

"I'm fine here."

"I understand." He looked down at the table. "I want you to know that I never-"

"Don't fucking say it."

His eyes shot up to her and she bit down on her curiosity at the genuinely contrite look on his face. "I don't wanna hear it. Every word out of your mouth- it was all a goddamn lie." Her voice trembled, every word teeming with her not-so-thinly-veiled rage.

"You're right. But, not all of it was." L.T. Grimes' eyes lowered to the table again. He tapped his finger on the metal, a steady pattering, and bit down on his bottom lip. Seemingly contemplating his next words.

Probably teeing up for another lie, she thought snidely.

"My wife, that wasn't a lie. I met her at the start. And since then, she's always been my compass, even before we were together. Every time I had a tough choice to make, I'd glance at her and with just a look I knew what needed to be done. I'm a better man when I'm with her," he said as if reminding himself of the fact. "Since the day I got here, my only goal has been to get back to her. It still is. Everything I've done has been in service to that. Even the worst, most vile things, I know she'd understand. But, this... if I ever make it home, how do I tell her what I did to you and Joy?" His woeful eyes dragged up to her. "Please, let me help you. Let me make this right."

Her eyebrows knitted together as she searched his face for a tell; a sign she'd missed before when she'd blindly trusted his sob story. Maybe there had been one before, but she couldn't see one now. Was this real? She didn't trust her judgment any longer.

"Sit. Please."

But she had nothing left to lose and the man before her seemed like he had something to give. So, she moved to the chair across from him.

"Beale wants me to offer you clemency. He's gonna take the death penalty off the table. It'll probably be a life sentence instead. But he's willing to allow you to see Joy regularly."

"That's why you brought her."

"Yeah."

"And what do I have to do?"

"He wants you to give up who you're working with, who else you showed those files to."

"I didn't- I'm not working with anybody."

"Yeah, I know," he drew out. "That offer was the only way I could come here without raising suspicion, though. I know you don't trust me, and rightfully so, but I need you to give me your hand."

"What?"

Without moving his head, L.T. Grimes' eyes shot to the corner of the ceiling and when Yolanda followed his gaze, she saw a camera she hadn't seen there before.

"It's just video. No sound," he assured. "Give me your hand. Just do it. I promise you this is real."

Yolanda studied the blue eyes that were squarely trained on her. And maybe it was her desperation, but she felt the coldness of the despair inside her melting into a warmth, a hope. She slid her shaky hand across the table and he set his on top of it. She felt a piece of paper between their palms.

L.T. Grimes leaned forward. "Don't look until you get back to your cell."

He removed his hand and she immediately closed hers into a fist when she slid it back toward herself.

"I'll tell Beale that you need time to think about his offer," he said before he stood and walked out of the room.

When the guard came back in, Yolanda stuffed the piece of paper into her pocket and stood.

It took her a long time to finally pull it out once she got back to her cell.

It said, 'In three days when the lights go out, run'.

Rick stepped into his dark apartment later that night and turned his back to the living room to shut and lock the door. His fingers touched the light switch and froze on the pad, when he heard, "Hey, Rick."

He reached for the firearm at his side but stopped dead when he heard the clicking of a gun's slide racking.

"Oh, don't do that," the voice said, sounding slightly amused to his ears. "Put it on the ground and turn around slowly."

He popped the pistol out of the holder and bent down, setting it next to his feet, before raising his hands and turning. Pearl sat in the end chair directly across from the door, her legs crossed and her gun pointed at his head. "Anything else on you?" she asked.

"Just my knife."

"Put it on the floor too."

He pulled it out of the pouch at the side of his boot and threw it to the ground. "What is this?" he asked when he stood back up. "Payback?"

She laughed. "Nah. You saw an opportunity and you took it. Can't fault you for that."

"You betrayed The Republic, I was just doing my job."

With a scrutinizing gaze, she appraised his face for a moment. "You know, you're really good at that." She waved the gun in a circle aimed at him. "You got Beale convinced. Hell, I was starting to believe it too."

"I don't know what you're going on about."

"How long have you been part of the militia?"

"I don't-"

"-know what I'm talking about. Right." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "I'd really love to skip past this and get to the meat of things. I'll start. I saw you last night. Heard you talking to some guy in the alleyway. I heard it all."

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. They'd checked and double-checked that they were alone. "You're here and not in Beale's office. Why's that?"

"I won't lie, going to Beale was my first thought. It'd be the easiest way to get things back to the way they were. Intake fucking sucks. Eight hours sitting in a dingy basement all day and don't get me started on-"

"What do you want?" he said, cutting her off. His patience was waning.

"Really?" Her eyebrows raised. "You're gonna make it that easy?"

"Stop the games and tell me what you want."

Thorne lowered her gun. "Whatever you have going on, I wanna be part of it. If it means taking Beale down, I want in."

Rick dropped his raised arms and set his hands on his hips. He tilted his head to the side. "How am I supposed to believe that? How do I know you haven't gone to Beale already? That this isn't part of a play to get me to show my hand?"

"If you were a friend asking for advice, I'd tell you not to trust me." Thorne reached behind for a black envelope and threw it to the end of the coffee table. "But my father always said never to trust a person's character by what they say, only what they do."

Rick stared at the envelope.

"Before you open that, just know that I could have gone to Beale with this too."

He picked it up and pulled out the small piece of photo paper from inside. When he flipped it over, it felt like there was a hand inside of his chest squeezing the life out of his heart. Rick had to sit down, his head so light he was afraid he might keel over. It was Michonne, but not as he'd left her. Her hair was different, cut off on one side with gray flecks that hadn't been there before. There were subtle hints of the years gone by marked on her face.

"She showed up at intake today. I processed her in and then deleted her from the records when Truett wasn't looking."

No. There was no way. Thorne had somehow doctored the photo.

"I found a safe place to keep her. Where Beale or Jadis can't find her. I can take you to her, if you let me in."

He shot up and stormed the short distance to stand above her. "You're lying!"

Thorne didn't move, she simply stared up at him. "I thought you might feel that way." She reached into her pocket and held a necklace up to him. A ring dangled from it.

Rick grabbed it and cradled it in the palm of his hand. It was the ring he'd taken off, back in Alexandria. He knew immediately when he saw the chipped metal on the edge of the band.

Rick closed his fist around the ring. "Where is she?"

"She's safe." Thorne stood. "I'll take you to her, but not until you read me in on what's going on."

"No. I wanna see her first. It's the only way I'll know you're not bullshitting me."

Rick kept a hand on his pistol the entire thirty-minute ride out of the city and through the backroad woodlands. Pearl wouldn't tell him where they were going and though everything in him wanted this to be real, there was still a part of him that couldn't let go of the thought that this was a set-up. How could Michonne be here?

And then, fuck, if she was here that meant she was in danger now too. Questions swirled in his mind as the SUV Pearl drove crawled over the gravel and sticks and emerged through the tall pine trees. The headlights illuminated a small rustic cottage house.

Pearl parked the car in front of it and cut off the engine. She flashed the headlights twice and settled back into her seat. "It belongs to... a friend. Don't worry. It's not registered."

Antonio stepped out of the cabin and onto the porch, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his jeans and a not-so-welcoming look on his face.

"He doesn't look too happy to see us," Rick noted.

She sighed and moved to step out of the vehicle. "Come on."

Rick followed her, making sure to stay a few steps behind, his hand never leaving his gun.

Pearl stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Thank you for doing this," she said to Antonio.

"That's how it works, right? You need me and I come running."

"Wow. You don't have to be an asshole about it."

"Me? The asshole?" he scoffed. "You asked me for a favor, an illegal one at that, days after you kicked me out of your apartment-"

"You could have said no."

What the hell is going on here? When Antonio opened his mouth to rebut, Rick cut him off by clearing his throat loudly.

Antonio leaned around Pearl. "Sorry. She's inside. Go on in. We'll give you two some space." He said it so casually. Like the love of Rick's life, who he'd thought—more times than he was comfortable admitting—he'd never see again wasn't on the other side of that wall.

Rick gave a single nod and hurried up the steps. The pounding of his heart was so loud, that it was all he could focus on. He welcomed the distraction, it took the edge off of the frenzied rush of emotion battling inside of him.

When he pushed the door open, the warmth and smell of burning wood hit him first. He halted in the doorway when his eyes settled on her. She sat at the end of the sofa nearest to the crackling fire, staring into it.

Rick opened his mouth to say her name, but he couldn't find his voice. He made another attempt at the same moment her head turned, her dark brown eyes sparkling in the glow of the firelight made him incapable of doing anything but staring.

Michonne shot up. "Rick." She said his name like it was a prayer.

"How?" It was all Rick was able to get out. His brain was misfiring, he couldn't form a full sentence.

When Michonne opened her mouth to answer, he realized it didn't matter at all. She was alive and well and right there in front of him and how was she not in his arms yet? What the hell was wrong with him?

Rick took a few long strides. A man on a mission, he deftly dodged the furniture in his way.

Michonne rushed to meet him and they collided. At first, it was hands desperately clutching and pulling closer, tighter. Then they both froze and held on to each other as if the other would float away should they let go.

It felt like a dream and Rick was terrified that at any moment he'd wake and be proven right, that this wasn't real. But the sound of her soft crying in his ears brought him back down to earth. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, trying his best to soothe her, even as his own tears flowed.

He tried to pull away, needing to see her face. Needing to look into her eyes as a final reassurance that this wasn't his imagination run amuck. But it was more than that.

Michonne had never stopped being his "one", there'd never even been thought of another. But it was different for her, she grieved him. And he hadn't let himself dwell on it, because it hurt too much, but the idea that she'd moved on was a very real possibility. If he could look into her eyes, see how she was looking back at him, he'd know. He needed to know.

Michonne wouldn't let go, though. "No. Not yet."

He smiled. "As long as you need," he said into her ear; his voice was barely there.

When she finally loosened her grip on him and they separated, Rick's hands ghosted up her arms and settled at the sides of her face. His eyes darted around every inch of it, his feeble attempt at remembering her didn't hold a candle to her flawless beauty. The only imperfection was the tears tracking down her cheeks. He slid his thumbs over her skin to wipe them away.

Then his gaze traveled up to her eyes and the look of love she gave back was as potent as the day they parted. They stayed there, penetrating each other's souls with their hot stares for… hell, he couldn't tell how long. Time had stopped the moment he'd stepped into the cabin.

Rick broke the stare, only when he couldn't ignore her lips calling to him any longer. He pressed his mouth to hers, savoring the electricity of the initial touch.

Rick felt her hand slide to the nape of his neck. Her fingers combed up into his hair and he felt a tingling sensation run down his spine when her tongue slipped into his mouth. Their tongues danced, desperation creeping into every push and pull of their mouths, bodies, and hands.

With a gasp, Michonne pulled back and he was grateful. He would have sooner suffocated before separating from her at that moment.

A knock at the door broke the spell. Rick reluctantly tore his eyes away from Michonne and stepped aside, keeping a hand on her lower back.

Pearl stepped in. "Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Antonio and I are heading out. I'll be back in the morning to pick you up. We gotta go in tomorrow, act like everything's normal."

He cleared his throat. "Alright."

"Thank you," Michonne said. "For everything you did."

"You're welcome." Pearl looked back at Rick.

He was sure Michonne didn't know the other half, that Pearl hadn't done it out of the kindness of her heart. "Yeah, thanks. We'll talk on the way back in."

Seemingly satisfied, Pearl said, "Okay. Night."

The door closed and once again they were alone. Rick stepped back in front of Michonne.

She gave a soft laugh and shook her head, then dropped her forehead against his. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

"No, not at all." His eyes slipped closed as he leaned into her touch. "How are you here? How'd you-" He lifted his head. "Judith? Is she okay?"

"She is." Michonne looked down. "She has to be."

"You don't know?" he asked gently.

"It's been months since I've been able to reach her. Finding you took a lot."

"You've been out there this whole time?"

She nodded.

"How'd you know to come looking?"

"I never stopped. After the bridge, when we couldn't find your body." Her voice broke and his heart squeezed. "I kept looking." A fresh tear slipped from her eye and she lifted her hand to wipe it, but he got there first.

He shuddered, thinking of what she'd been through in the wake of what she'd thought had been his death. She'd had to go it alone for six years, all while picking up the pieces of a broken life.

"And I had to..." she glanced away quickly, then back at him. "I had to go for supplies for Alexandria. And I ended up on an Island. I found your boots and a cell phone with a picture of Judith and me on a boat. I found the travel log for where the boat had been. I didn't know if it would lead me to you, but I had to try."

Rick's hand went to his mouth. Unbelief was an inadequate word to describe the feeling of the moment. The boots and the phone had been in his bag when he'd escaped the first time. He'd ditched them, had thrown them into a docked boat in the shipping yard before he'd been captured. But he'd never imagined they'd find their way to her.

With no real way of knowing he was alive, not only had she waited for him, but she'd come after him. Rick set his hand on her cheek again. "I tried to get away," he said with all the conviction he could muster. "I need you to know I tried. I'm still trying. I never gave up on getting back to you and Judith."

"I know. I know. I love you."

The rush of pleasure he felt at those three simple words, almost assuaged the guilt he also felt at not having said it first. "I love you so much." Tenderly, he kissed her, soft and sweet at first. But it wasn't long before it grew hungrier; they were both greedy for each other's love.

All rational thought went out the window when Michonne reached for his belt. His need took over and he steered her toward the couch.