God, the song below fits this chapter so perfectly! Please listen while reading. This was a difficult chapter to write; I had to rewrite it twice. There are many developments and movements that will play heavily into future events, all while maintaining the tone of The Walking Dead.

We fight every night for something
When the sun sets, we're both the same
Half in the shadows
Half burned in flames
We can't look back for nothin'
Take what you need, say your goodbyes
I gave you everything
And it's a beautiful crime

Beautiful Crime - Tamer

Chapter 57 - We have to come for them

It's nearly sunset when your front door suddenly bursts open, and Jamie's voice reverberates through the entire house. "Yo, Alie, they're back!" Without a second thought, you spring up from the sofa, leaving behind the book you've barely been reading — you'd been stuck on the same page for what felt like hours — and dash to see for yourself.

The sight of the RV pulling up right in front of your house fills you with a mix of relief and trepidation. As the RV door swings open, Daryl is the first to emerge. You let out an involuntary sigh, watching one by one as the rest of the group begins to unload.

Almost instinctively, you find yourself swiftly descending the front porch steps. "Hey, sweetheart," Daryl greets, but you're already pulling him by his vest into a tight hug.

"God, I've been so worried," you murmur, pulling back slightly to scan his face, fingers petting over him to ensure he's uninjured.

"We're all good," he reassures. But as you're about to respond, you spot Rick, appearing from the driver's side, his shirt stained with dried blood, unexpected heaviness in his expression as he approaches you.

"What is it?" you ask, stepping away from your husband, your voice laced with concern.

"We're gonna have to fight," Rick states gravely.

"Fight?" you repeat, furrowing your brow.

"The Hilltop—they've agreed to help us, give us what we need," Rick elaborates, "but in return, we have to take out some threats for them."

Taken aback, you stare, trying to process his words. But his solemn expression says it all. "And you agreed?" you challenge, your tone sharper than you intended, "Without discussing with me? Without discussing with the team?"

Daryl softly intervenes, "Alie..."

Rick steps closer, speaking in a hushed tone. "That's what I'm doing now," he says reassuringly. "Look, I made the call and secured the food—fresh vegetables, eggs, butter, grains—enough to last us another month, at the very least."

He gives you a look, and the unsaid was clear: You have the food in hand, and you still hold the power to reject their deal if you must. But doing so might jeopardize any potential resource trade or future relations. "But I really think you ought to hear what they have to say first," Rick adds.

Taking a deep breath, your gaze drifts past Rick to see Jesus, leaning casually against the RV, unmistakably eavesdropping. "Get a change of clothes and gather everyone," you direct Rick, your voice steady despite the growing crowd converging around the RV, eager to see the incoming supplies.

As you turn to make your way back to the house, Jesus quickly strides up the steps to follow you. "Dr. Dixon," he began urgently, "I know this isn't what we discussed. But I hope this unexpected turn doesn't jeopardize any potential relationship between The Hilltop and Alexandria. Gregory, he's... shortsighted. He can't see beyond his own interests or beyond what's immediately in front of him."

He trails after you into your home, with Daryl and Jamie close behind. You don't offer a response; instead, you return to the living room and take a seat on the sofa.

Jesus stands in front of you, desperation clear in his tone. "Gregory isn't the leader I would've chosen, but he's what we've got." He pauses, searching for words. "I told him about your community, the potential of what we could build together, what you're working on here, and what all this could mean, but…" He sighs deeply, disappointment weighing down his words. "He sees it as a gamble, not an investment."

"Well, he made his decision, and now it's our turn to make ours," you assert as your home starts to swell with people, forming a makeshift assembly.

Rick walks in wearing a clean shirt, his demeanor reflecting the weight of what's to come. He pushes through the gathered crowd, making a beeline for you. "Tell her. Tell her what you told us," he prompts Jesus. "Tell her who we're up against."

A tense silence hangs for a moment as you shift your gaze between the two men. Finally, Jesus breaks the stillness, "They're called the Saviors, led by a man named Negan."

"Negan?" The name feels ominous as it leaves your mouth.

With a solemn nod, Jesus continues, "The moment our walls were built, the Saviors showed up. They made a lot of demands, even more threats. And they killed one of us—a kid named Rory. They beat him to death right in front of us."

Your mind races to the bikers that Daryl had blown up, the exchange of threats and demands between them—Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham had later recounted to you. Understanding dawns upon you as you piece together the grim puzzle. "And Gregory struck a deal with them," you deduce.

"Yes," Jesus confirms. "Now we work for them. Half of everything—our supplies, our crops, our livestock—it all goes to the Saviors."

"It's a classic protection racket," you observe with a cold edge in your voice. "They 'protect' you from threats, primarily themselves, and in return, you're essentially their slaves."

Rick's determination is palpable as he takes another step forward, his gaze fixed on you. "This is it, Alie," he says with fervor. "This—this is how we feed our people—this is how we sustain this place. We take them out, and that half that's going to them could come here."

You sigh, realizing the situation isn't as black and white as Rick portrays. Defending your community from the Governor, from the Wolves is one thing; initiating a conflict is another.

"This move comes with a price," you counter. "It might cost us a little, or it might cost us everything."

Rick moves even closer, squatting to meet your eye level. "It's a choice we have to make," he murmurs, his voice a blend of softness and resolve. "We don't have enough. We're already stretched thin as it is."

You exhale heavily, closing your eyes for a moment, contemplating the weight of the decision at hand. Maggie is doing her best with her farming efforts, and eventually, it might help, but the crops will take time, and winter is approaching. Your resources are dwindling, and you need a plan before things become desperate.

Rick, interpreting your moment of reflection as a sign, rises to address the gathered crowd. "These Saviors—they almost killed Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham on the road," he begins, locking eyes with you once again for emphasis. "You were there; you saw it."

Rick takes the center of the room, his words resonating with urgency. "This is not a matter of if; it's only a matter of time before they find us, just like those Wolves did, just like Jesus did," he states, sweeping his gaze across everyone present. "Then they'll try to own us, and we'll try to stop them. But in that kind of fight, low on food, the odds are stacked against us. We could lose."

A thick silence follows his words. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. "This is the only path I see," Rick concludes, looking at each face. "If anyone disagrees, here's your chance to say your piece."

Your mind spins, trying to stitch together the pieces of this looming puzzle. "What numbers are we looking at? How big is this group?" you ask, the strategist in you needing to understand the scope of the challenge.

Jesus, who'd been silently observing from a corner, responds, "From what we've gathered, we've seen as many as 20."

"Are we sure we can do it? Defeat 'em?" a voice speaks out, and Morgan steps forward from the crowd.

Rick answers with unwavering resolve, "Considering everything we've been through, what we've learned, and how far we've come—all of us together—yes," he asserts, nodding reassuringly. "We've never shied away from confrontation, and we won't start now."

Morgan, however, takes a different stance. "Then we tell 'em that," he suggests. "Offer 'em a choice, a way out. A way out for us too—a peaceful solution for everyone."

"No," Rick immediately counters, and the two men now stand face to face in a tense standoff. "If we try to talk to them, we give away our location, our safety, our advantage."

Morgan turns away from Rick to face the crowd, his voice soft as he appeals to the community. "There's always another way, a different path. There has to be."

The atmosphere shifts, and you feel the weight of the room's gaze on you, awaiting direction. As you scan the faces, you're reminded that, as the secondary leader, the community looks to you for guidance, especially given this divide between Rick and Morgan's perspectives.

Morgan takes the cue from the room and turns to you, his voice thick with emotion as he pleads, "Doctor Alice, please. We can't just go and wipe out a bunch of folks just 'cause they might be trouble. We owe it to ourselves, and to them, to try and find some kind of peaceful resolution."

Rick steps closer to you, his tone firm. "No, we have to come for them, before they come for us. It's that simple."

Morgan stands his ground. "Newton's third law—like you once said," he reminds you. "'For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction.'" You flinch slightly at his words, letting it sink in.

"We can't leave them alive, Alie. We can't!" Rick says, shaking his head in frustration. "Daryl's out there every day, Jamie, Merle—all of us—are out there every day, going farther and farther to scavenge supplies. If we don't have Hilltop's support, they'll be out there more often, and it's just a matter of time before they find us. We're not just doing this for Hilltop, but for ourselves as well."

Your hand instinctively moves to your bicep, where the small stitching marks the spot where a contraceptive implant once sat just a day ago. You understand the stakes all too well. It's not only your husband's life hanging in the balance, but your brothers', your family's, your community's, your future's. A dream so close you can almost picture it: a future brimming with motherhood and the echoes of children's laughter.

And you will not let anything stand in your way of that.

You chose to be a leader, you fought your way into this position, and now these people are looking to you not only for guidance but for protection as well.

Your fingers press down on the tender stitching, the sharp sting grounding you to the moment. When you open your eyes, Morgan sees the resolution in your gaze and pleads with you softly. "Alie, please. You gotta see, if we go down this path, we're gonna be no better than them."

Slowly rising from your seat, your voice is steady as you address Morgan and the people gathered in your living room. "In times like these, we have a chance to decide who lives and who dies, or it will be decided for us."

"It don't gotta go down like this," Morgan retorts. "You don't have to make any choices you might regret later. We can always find another way."

You shake your head sadly, feeling the weight of responsibility. "Morgan, a choice must be made, one way or another. Because not making a decision—is a big decision."

With a final determined look, you give Rick a firm nod. "It's settled then," he affirms, the room bracing itself for his next words, "We don't shy away from it. We live... We kill 'em all."

The decision is made, and the fate of Alexandria is sealed.

With that declaration, the meeting concludes, the room filling with hushed murmurs as people begin to leave. You stand there, your shoulders tense, watching as your core group remains behind along with the two Hilltop men.

As Morgan exits, he pauses, placing a hand on your shoulder, "Life—everything that was, that is, and that will be—it's all a circle," he says softly. "Everything. Everything gets a return."

You grasp the underlying message – like a pendulum, everything gets a return. Actions have consequences, and there's a balance in the way events unfold.

Looking around the room, you search for Daryl, finding him leaning against the bookshelf, watching you closely. When you catch his gaze, he gives you a reassuring nod, a gesture that brings you a fleeting sense of comfort.

It seems Daryl isn't the only one who has caught the storm of conflict within you because Rick steps closer, his blue eyes bright as he speaks, his words full of confidence. "We're making the right call," he asserts, his hand cradling the side of your face gently.

"Rick," you whisper, torn. "Logically, I know we must do what's necessary, but my instincts say otherwise... Maybe we should post a lookout, gauge their numbers, observe their movements, find out what this group is really about."

"You once said we have to call each other's bullshit, hold one another accountable. So, here it is," Rick states, reminding you of your shared commitment. "You know as well as I do that a recon is risky. If they spot us, or we get caught, then we're screwed. We have the element of surprise, and that's our advantage."

Knowing there's validity in his argument, you give in with a nod.

"Alright, then. Let's plan," Rick says, stepping back, gesturing toward the other stranger from The Hilltop. "This is Eddie, and he's been inside the compound. He's gonna show us a way in."

With a decisive motion, you guide everyone toward the dining table, ready to strategize. As you move, your fingers unconsciously touch the fresh stitch on your arm again, a physical reminder of what you're fighting for.

You sit on the edge of the bed, eyes cast down, lost in thought, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. The world outside is silent, save for the gentle chirp of crickets that seep through the half-open bedroom window, curtains softly waving against the breeze.

Absent mindedly, your fingers toy with the Cuban cigar, rolling it over and over, feeling the weight and the texture of the aged leaves, as the storm of thoughts whirls in your head.

The plan is set, and tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow, your group will attack the Saviors' satellite station. Rick's strategy is clever, relying on the cover of night, calculated and meticulous. Two guards, one entrance, and the enemy will unsuspectingly be asleep. Yet, as logical as it sounds, doubts gnaw at you. One misstep could spell disaster, potentially costing lives—lives of your friends and family.

The soft creak of the bedroom door breaks your reverie. You look up to see Daryl's familiar silhouette filling the doorway. He pauses as your eyes meet, wordlessly, he steps inside, the quiet understanding between you palpable. Kicking off his shoes and ankle strap, he comes to squat in front of you. His gaze falls on the bandage encircling your arm, fingers delicately reaching for its edge.

"Let me have a look," he murmurs, as he pulls on it, revealing the four small stitches where the contraceptive implant used to be. "Does it hurt?"

You faintly shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, I'm okay. It's just…this was supposed to be a happy time for us. Getting excited over the prospect of starting a family." You sigh, frustration and disappointment weighing on your shoulders. "But the world just never stops throwing us this endless bullshit."

Daryl's calloused fingers tenderly follow the contour of the stitches. "Rick's got it all figured. We'll roll in, deal with it, and get the hell outta there," he offers, attempting to bolster your spirits. "This here's just one more thing we gotta do to make it all happen."

You meet his gaze, the softness in his blue eyes reminding you of the love, pain, heartbreak, and determination that brought you together. Everything you've been through to get here, from the desert of Iraq to the prison, to here… This is just another thing you gotta do to make it happen. And there is nothing that's going to stand in your way, not when you're this close to having it all. You will fight, you'll protect your future, your dream, the family you have, and the family you will make.

You nod, with steeled resolve, "We will," you vow. "We'll get it done."

"Alie," Daryl sighs, "you know you ain't comin'."

Your brows furrow. "Yes, I am," you insist, confused.

"You don't gotta," he continues, his voice filled with concern. "You're too damn valuable to be out there riskin' your neck." Rising to his feet, he takes a seat on the bed next to you. "What you're doin' here, in the lab, it's bigger than all this mess."

"I think you mean I'm too valuable to you to be out there," you reply with a sad smile. "But the thing is, Daryl, none of it means anything. Not the cure, not the community, none of it, if you don't come back to me safe."

Daryl lets out a deep sigh, as though he's just laid his heart bare at your feet. His hand gently moves to the side of your cheek and pulls you closer, his lips soft as they press against yours. He pulls back just inches, his words brushing against your breath. "I'll be fine, and I'll come back to ya, but right now, I need you to stay safe,"

You shake your head lightly as you pull him back to you, deepening the kiss. When it's your turn to speak, you say it against his lips, your words a promise and a declaration. "I'm coming with you. We promised each other that day, at Beth's funeral. You fight, I fight. You win, I win. You lose, I lose. You hurt, I hurt. And if you die, I die."

"Alie, come on, darlin'," he tries to protest, but you hitch yourself up the bed, pulling him with you, your fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt.

"No, Daryl, I can fight, I have to. It's just another thing we gotta do to make it happen." you say softly, your determination unwavering, as his lips meats yours again. You recline onto the pillows, his strong body pressing against yours, your legs wrapped around him. A content sigh escapes your lips as you deepen the kiss, your tongue meeting his. His hands grip on your hip bone firmly, pressing closer to you. You pull back just enough to push his shirt up, as he tags yours as well.

As your hands move down to his belt, determined to take it off, his lips roam your neck, his tongue flicking sensually all the way up to your earlobes. Without hesitation, you part the fabric of his jeans and touch him, skin to skin, causing him to hiss in pleasure. He pulls back to look at you, his desire evident in his eyes, but his gaze also falls on the bandage around your arm.

"I can't get pregnant right away," you whisper, your breath hot against his ear. "It often takes a few months before the hormones can regulate themselves for that..." Your grip moves up and down on his already hard cock, as you rub him.

He chuckles softly, his voice husky, "Well practice makes perfect, ain't that what they always say." He says, raising up to eagerly yank at the bottom your pants, forcefully tugging them off your ankles, your laughter echoing through the room.

The warm aroma of pancakes wafts through the room as you make your way around the table, frying pan in hand, serving the men their breakfast.

"Well, sweet cheeks, ya really gone and outdone yourself with these here sorghum pancakes," Merle comments, sitting at the head of the table, fork poised and ready. "Who'da thought they could taste this damn good?"

Beside him, Daryl grunts in agreement, his words muffled by a mouthful of food. "Yeah, they're good."

Stopping next to your husband, your face lights up with a pleased grin. "Really?" you question, genuinely surprised by the positive reactions as you spoon scrambled eggs onto his plate. You had woken up early, procured your household share of the Hilltop supplies, and decided to whip up a hearty breakfast for the men.

Jamie, however, makes a face as he chews loudly, "Whatcha talkin' about? This stuff's dry as hell," he declares, eyeing his pancake with disdain.

"Now, now, that ain't no way to appreciate a meal," Merle scolds him gently. "When a lady takes the time to cook for ya, it's the gesture that counts, not just the taste."

You scoff with laughter, unsure if you should even feel insulted, but like Daryl, Merle, who grew up in a neglectful environment, sees your efforts as more than just a meal. The two of them never complain about the food, even when it's barely edible.

Jamie shoots you a playful grin. "Even if she's tryin' to poison us," he jests, and you gasp dramatically and playfully flip him off.

As if on cue, the doorbell chimes throughout the house, momentarily halting the banter. "I'll get it," you offer, placing the pan down and heading to the door.

Opening it, your upbeat demeanor shifts when you see the young woman standing before you. "Rosita?" Your voice is a hushed murmur in concern, catching her puffy red eyes and the suitcase by her side.

"Jamie!" you call out instinctively, gravitating towards Rosita, trying to read the myriad of emotions playing out on her face. "Are you okay?"

Rosita forces a fake smile as she nods, but her eyes betray the turmoil within. "Yeah, I'm all good." she responds quietly, "Do you think I can stay with you guys?"

"Of course, please come in. There is a spare bedroom—" you're interrupted by Jamie's booming voice from behind you.

"What's up, chica?!" He begins jovially, but his expression changes the moment he sees Rosita's face, and he quickly moves past you, pulling her into a bear hug. It becomes evident that he understands something you don't because the moment he spots her suitcase, his entire demeanor shifts. "Oh hell, to the motherfucking no—that fucking ginger!" he swears as he pulls back from her. And the next thing you know, in one swift determined move, he's off the front porch, leaping down the three steps.

Panic sets in as Rosita yells, "NO! JAMIE! STOP!" and she is off after him.

"Daryl! Merle!" You shout for backup, anxiety rising, before sprinting in their direction. You piece it together as you run – this is about Abraham, and you dread the fallout.

You don't get far before Daryl catches up with you, concern etched on his face. "What the hell's goin' on?!"

"It's Jamie—go stop him before he does anything stupid," you urge your husband forward, hoping he can intervene before things escalate. Already, you hear the distant shouts and commotion signaling a brewing conflict.

Daryl dashes ahead, and you turn into the main street just in time to witness the confrontation unfolding at the gate. From your viewpoint, Jamie launches himself at Abraham, sending both men crashing to the ground. They grapple in the dirt, fists flying, matching each other in build, strength, and rage.

"STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU! STOP!" Rosita's frantic cries pierce the air. She tries desperately to intervene, narrowly avoiding the flailing fists. A crowd gathers around the fight, with limbs flying and punches thrown as the two men attempt to pin each other down. Daryl manages to get a grip on Jamie and tries to drag him away. At that moment, Rick bursts onto the scene, trying to restrain Abraham.

"GET OFF ME!" Jamie bellows, blood streaming from his nose, as he strains against Daryl's grip. "You ginger bastard, after everything you've been through, you toss her aside like trash!"

Abraham's face is red, blood running from a cut above his eye, his face twisted with anger. Rosita stands between them, her hands on Jamie's chest keeping him at bay, while cussing strings of expletives in Spanish. Seeing an opportunity, you step in, using your weight to push Abraham back too, hoping he'll yield for you. Abraham spits to the side, touching his face, his fingers coming back red. "Mother of Dick!" He swears, anger renewed, "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"Knock it off! We've got enough problems as it is!" Rick admonishes, doing his best to de-escalate the volatile situation, though tension and tempers are running high.

Jamie pants heavily, pointing at Abraham, voice shaking with fury, "If I even catch you lookin' her direction, I'm gonna—"

"You'll do WHAT exactly?!" Abraham taunts, ready to go back at it.

"Come on, man, just cool it off," Daryl huffs, straining to keep Jamie back.

Abraham, chest puffed with arrogance, laughs and attempts to break from Rick's grip. "Now, what the fuck do you reckon you know 'bout my relationship, huh?! You've been sniffin' her ass like she a goddamn dog in heat! Well, she's her own woman now. So go ahead and knock yourself out!"

With a roar, Jamie lunges again, only to be stopped by Rosita as she shoves him back, hard, which triggers Abraham to attempt an attack. Profanities and screams get thrown, everyone yelling over each other, the sound drawing walkers as they begin to gather at the gate, their growls adding to the chaos.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" you scream, trying to regain control of the situation. "Both of you, just let it go! It's done! It's over! We have bigger enemies to fight instead of each other!" It doesn't take a genius to understand that Abraham had dumped Rosita, and Jamie is enraged by it.

Sasha emerges from the crowd, her calming voice cutting through the chaos. "Come on, Abraham. Just let it be," she urges, gently tugging at his arm. "You're bleeding; let me take a look."

Seizing the moment, Rosita grabs Jamie by the front of his shirt, hauling him away with visible anger, muttering heated words in Spanish. He allows her to lead him, casting one last spiteful glance at Abraham before spitting on the ground.

Abraham paces momentarily, like a caged beast, before, he too, allows Sasha to guide him away. And just like that, as quickly as it began, it's over.

Rick catches your gaze, and you offer a helpless shrug. Taking the cue, he addresses the onlookers. "Alright, everyone, that's enough excitement for one day. Let's get back to work." He swiftly starts assigning responsibilities, "Spencer, take Sasha's spot on watch. Daryl, come with me; we need to clear those walkers before they become a bigger problem."

As Rick springs into action, you turn to head back to your half-finished breakfast, only to catch Merle, who had been observing the drama unfold from the sideline. He catches your eye, a smirk dancing on his lips. "You asshole—you could've stepped in, you know," you comment with a mock glare, giving his arm a light swat.

He chuckles, an arm looping around your shoulders, pulling you close. "Let 'em sort it out themselves. Brooklyn's just standin' up for his lady's honor. It's a good ol' fashioned man-to-man thing."

You roll your eyes, leaning into his embrace, aware Jamie deeply cares for Rosita. "We already have a fight ahead of us, we don't need any rift among the team."

Merle squeezes you reassuringly. "We'll be just fine. You stick to me, and you don't leave my sight, ya hear?"

You nod, reassured by his words. "Yeah, I hear you. Now let's go finish those 'dry-as-hell' pancakes."

The car's atmosphere is light with playful jabs as Daryl eases the SUV to a stop, following behind the RV. Jamie and Merle's familiar banter emanates from the back seat, the pair trading light-hearted barbs, especially after Jamie's recent scuffle with Abraham.

"I held my own," Jamie retorts defensively, though the bruises on his face tell a different tale.

Merle throws his head back, laughing at the soldier's pout. "You keep tellin' yourself that, boy. Maybe one day, you'll actually believe it," he playfully pokes at Jamie's bruised face, earning an annoyed swat in return.

You roll your eyes at the duo as you exit the passenger seat, and they follow suit, slamming their respective doors.

"You know, for a guy with only one hand, you sure talk a lot with both," Jamie quips, eliciting another bout of laughter from the elder Dixon.

"Ooh, feisty! I like that," Merle quickly sidles up to Jamie, throwing his prosthetic arm over his shoulder. "But not as much as I like seein' you with them raccoon eyes."

You observe the two men. Perhaps it's their shared military background, but unlike you, they seem ready for what's to come. You, on the other hand, the reality of the upcoming mission settles heavily, weighing on you more than you'd like to admit. You step forward anxiously, your rifle slung over your shoulder, as the group gathers around the RV.

Rick steps up, addressing everyone. "Y'all know the plan. They want Gregory's head, so that's what we'll give them. We need to find a walker that looks enough like him, under the cover of night."

He turns to the two Hilltop men, Eddie and Jesus. "You two have the best idea of what he looks like, so you'll take the lead on this." With that, the group disperses, pairing up as they venture into the woods flanking the road to lure out walkers.

You glance to your left, expecting to see Jamie by your side, but instead, it's Gabriel who stands next to you, visible tension lining his face. "You okay?" you whisper.

"Yeah…" he nods, though the hesitation in his eyes betrays him. "I'm just... you know... I've never done anything like this."

You move closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You don't have to do this."

"I have to. I've been fortunate up to this point," Gabriel's voice is low, brimming with determination. "But I have to contribute. I have to get my hands dirty like everyone else. It can't just be you guys."

You nod, your mind drifting back to the day you confronted him in the church, recounting the story of the drowning man. "Alright," you murmur, a small smile forming on your lips. He had expressed his desire to make amends and truly integrate into the group, and if this was his way of doing so, who were you to stand in his way?

With that, he departs from your side, but this time, you notice a change in his posture – less burdened, more resolute. He'd made his decision, just as you had.

"Alie!" Suddenly, you hear your name being called out.

You turn to find Maggie approaching you with a radiant smile. "Hey, I wanted to show you something," she announces, reaching into her back pocket to retrieve a folded piece of paper.

Confused, you accept the paper, curiosity piqued by her expression, but the moment you unveil its contents, your breath catches in your throat. It's an ultrasound scan – the fuzzy outline of a tiny life forming in Maggie's womb. "Hilltop's doctor, Dr. Carson, is an OBGYN," she explains, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Lucky, huh?"

"Very," you reply, looking down at the picture. The thought crosses your mind that OBGYN services might soon be in your future as well. Perhaps someday soon a picture like this will resemble your own.

However, when you look back up at Maggie, your eyebrows furrow, and your expression changes. "I just don't understand, Maggie," you confess quietly. "First the NIH mission, and now this. You keep volunteering for these missions, putting yourself in harm's way when you should be somewhere safe."

"I could say the same thing about you," she counters.

"You're pregnant," you stress, gesturing towards the ultrasound image. "Carrying a child—something that big should come before everything and everyone."

"And you hold the potential cure," she retorts, reaching forward and gently taking the picture. "You know, I'm beginnin' to wonder if you truly understand what you mean to us."

"Maggie," you start, but she cuts you off.

"No, I see now, you don't get it," she shakes her head. "You're the beacon of hope for our community, for this whole darn world. The kind of hope folks hold onto when they're scared out here. It's the hope that, maybe, just maybe, you'll find a way to crack this cure. The hope that my child might someday have a shot at a normal life. The kind of hope that folks are ready to give up everything, even their lives for. But here you are, risking it all. Why? What's got you out here, too?"

You simply stare at her, unable to find an answer, your mind going to the eight lives lost trying to get Eugene and his cure to DC.

But you don't need to answer, because Maggie does it for you. "You're out here 'cause you're fighting for a future, for the people you love, ain't you? You won't let anything jeopardize that, right?" At your nod, her smile returns. "Well, that's what I'm doin' too."

The determination in her eyes is unmistakable. Your mind drifts back to the night after the Wolves' attack, with both of you standing side by side, perched atop the lookout post. Below, a horde of walkers amassed at your gate, and the fate of your respective husbands hung in the balance. You understand her, perhaps more than anyone. She has so much to protect, so much to lose.

Drawing closer, she takes your hand. "Alie," she begins, "I want you to know I believe in you."

"Oh, Maggie…" you sigh, pulling her into a hug. You gently rub her back, a smile tugging at your lips. Given that you're both fighting for the dream of a normal life, you can only imagine how strongly she must feel about it, being so close to reaching that dream. "Just stay safe."

Pulling away, you share a lingering look as she nods. With a pat on your arm, she walks away. You watch with fondness as she makes her way over to Tara, still holding the ultrasound picture. Your smile widens as you see Tara's excitement when she takes the picture from Maggie.

Turning back to the cars, your attention is diverted as you catch sight of Daryl, lounging casually on the hood of the truck. His gaze is fixed intently on you, and for a fleeting moment, memories of your younger days flood back — moments spent together, seated on the hood of your old BMW, overlooking the cliff.

You approach him, your eyes soft. "Hey, sweetheart," he greets you the moment you reach him.

"Hey to you too," you reply, reaching to intertwine your fingers with his, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but the moment is interrupted when Merle strides over.

"What in the hell is that boy doin'?" Merle remarks, a bemused expression on his face. Both you and Daryl follow his line of sight to see Jamie and Rosita a few cars away. You can't help but chuckle as Jamie breaks into an animated dance, much to Rosita's amusement.

"You know, it's the Soulja Boy dance," you explain to Merle, trying to replicate a move for clarity. "The Superman..." you add, demonstrating. Your gaze flits between Daryl and Merle, amusement bubbling up at their bewildered expressions.

"He's like a goddamn peacock," Merle observes Jamie for another moment, shaking his head. "But I gotta admit, the kid's got some moves," he concedes. Even with his large frame, Jamie has rhythm and grace for sure.

Rosita laughs and smacks Jamie's arm, only for him to sling his arm over her shoulder and pull her into a side hug. You know it's only a matter of time before the two of them officially get together; after all, it's been months in the making.

Glancing up at Daryl, you playfully nudge him. "If those two become a thing," you tease, "we'll definitely have to up our game."

As you cautiously tread down the dim corridor of the satellite station, following Rick and Daryl, your heart pounds in your chest, and adrenaline courses through your veins. Every beat echoes like the tick of a clock, marking the seconds of anticipation and suspense, punctuated only by the muffled rhythm of your group's collective breathing.

Your rifle feels cold and solid in your grip; your senses heighten to the slightest noise or movement. Everyone has been paired off, and like your mission during the governor's attack, Merle stands by your side. His feet move in sync with yours, his rifle resting on his prosthetic arm, mirroring your tense posture.

Jamie and Rosita move just behind, their steps soft yet determined, their eyes darting in all directions. Soon, you approach a series of doors, with each pair standing before one, presumably the sleeping quarters of the Saviors. You glance over at Rick across the corridor, waiting for his signal. Nearby, Michonne and Aaron are in position, their stances taut with anticipation.

With a flick of his hand, Rick gives the signal. Merle and Jamie enter the rooms holding the Saviors, the slight shine of their blades glinting in the dim light for a moment before they disappear into the shadows. You exchange a determined glance with Rosita, who waits outside one of the doors next to you.

There's a moment of eerie calm, and for a brief instant, you believe the plan is unfolding seamlessly. But then, the illusion shatters as an alarm blares through the building, tearing through the silence. Gunfire erupts, and instinctively, you drop down, seeking cover, your heart racing.

Bullets whiz past you, and you scramble into the room Merle had entered. Your eyes momentarily lock onto the lifeless forms of two Saviors before Merle pulls you up, giving you a quick once-over. "I'm fine, I'm fine," you assure him, catching your breath.

"Come on, ya got my back, and I gotchu, right?" He reminds you with a swift nod, his familiar bravado surfacing. "Let's stir shit up."

This time when you step back out, you stand back-to-back with Merle, rifles blazing. The world around you narrows to a blur of movement and noise, distilled to the figures you target and the recoil of your rifle, moving with a fluidity you hadn't realized you possessed.

Amidst the chaos, Rick's urgent shouts cut through the air, and Daryl suddenly appears by your side, his familiar presence a welcome relief. Gunfire still echoes, and you, Daryl, and Merle push forward, sprinting through the corridor, firing shot after shot.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything stops. The alarms go silent, and the gunfire ceases. You stand amidst the aftermath, breathing heavily, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling your nostrils, trying to process the brief but intense firefight you've just endured. The silence feels almost as deafening as the noise that came before it.

Rick's voice rings out from down the hall, sharp and commanding. "Check every room; some could still be hiding." You nod in acknowledgment to the Dixon brothers, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The corridor stretches out, lined with doors waiting to be checked. Each of you picks a room, moving with purpose, aware that danger might lurk behind any door.

Three rooms in, you enter just like the ones before: rifle raised, kicking the door open. The room is cold, and as you scan the space, all you find are lifeless bodies lying still on the beds, their faces peaceful in death. However, as you turn to leave, a morbid gallery displayed on the wall next to one of the beds catches your attention, making your stomach churn.

Wide-eyed, you step closer— dozens of Polaroid pictures, pinned haphazardly, reveal a haunting narrative. Each picture features a person, not walkers, but actual people, their faces unrecognizable, heads crushed in a gruesome and macabre manner. You can't tear your gaze away from the horrifying brutality captured in each image, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

As you stare, a distant memory floats to the surface. A younger you, out hunting with Daryl in the Georgia woods. Your playful banter with him, marching through the woods like you knew what you were doing. "So, what are we hunting today? Deer, elk, maybe a moose?" you had teased.

You remember Daryl scoffing at you, "The hell you tryin' to do with a moose—keep its head as a trophy hunt?"

This is what it was. A human trophy wall displayed before you, like animal heads hanging in a hunter's home.

Who were these Saviors, and what kind of twisted individuals could create such a horrifying collection? You feel the weight of each Polaroid pulling you deeper into the dark abyss of the Saviors' psyche. Each face tells a silent story, the horror of their last moments forever captured in a still frame. The grotesque sight of crushed skulls and twisted, faceless figures contrasts jarringly with the seemingly mundane background of the photos.

Your mind thinks back to The Wolves, trying to draw parallels, but for all their insanity, they seemed almost primal in comparison. This? This was systematic. Deliberate. Each photo is a statement.

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears, and a wave of anger surges within. Anger at these monsters, anger at a world that allows such cruelty to persist. Rick was right; this was the right choice—to end them.

"Alie, we gotta move!" Daryl's voice snaps you out of your grim contemplation. Shaking off the heavy feelings, you leave the room, thoughts still swirling. The organized nature of their actions only deepens the mystery, leaving you with more questions than answers as you rejoin your group.

The first rays of sunrise greet you as you finally exit the back of the satellite station, marking the end of a harrowing night. It's over. Now, perhaps, dawn will bring new hope.