The Test of Time

by WorksByThia

After nearly losing his life trying to save Alexandria, Rick Grimes finds himself in a precarious circumstance, up against the greatest foe he's ever faced. Rick and Michonne finally reunite in the Civic Republic and must figure out together how to get back home to their children.

2. Chapter 2

The Test of Time

Chapter 2

Michonne had never heard a sound more delightful than the steady thud of Rick's heartbeat against her ear. She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of his hot fingertips gliding up her arm and the warmth of his naked body beneath her.

She thought about how much it had felt like the first time again and not simply because of how wildly graceless they'd both been in their frenzied touches and kisses. Practically ripping each other's clothes off, because they couldn't get to what they had been feening for, for years, fast enough. It was also the fact that the body beneath her was markedly different than what she remembered. The sharper ridges of his abdomen alone had made Michonne do a double take when she'd managed to get his shirt off. But it was the new scars mapping the canvas of his chest that made her stop and stare.

And he'd always been gentle with her in bed, but every movement he'd made that night had an unrestrained edge to it that, even now as she remembered it, made her body tingle.

Michonne squeezed her eyes shut tighter when she felt Rick's hand delve below the thin blanket draped over them, to trail down near the keloid 'x' marked on her back. He didn't touch it, but his fingers ghosted over it on their way to settle on the curve between her lower back and ass. She'd caught his pause when he'd first discovered the scar, in the heat of the moment, and he'd been gracious enough to let it go, but she'd known it would come up again.

"You wanna tell me about it?" His voice was calm, but she felt the steady thuds beneath her ear become more rapid.

Michonne propped her forearms onto his chest and he lowered his chin to look at her. "Can we- just for the next few hours only talk about good things?" she asked. Outside the window, it was still dark. All consequences were on pause until the sun decided to show itself again and Michonne didn't wanna interrupt the rapture of their reunion with reality just yet.

Rick placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he said kindly.

"Okay." Michonne rested her chin on his chest and stared up at the face she was still getting used to looking at. She remembered being little, on Christmas morning, not knowing what to do with the shiny new gift she'd asked for and had gotten. It's what this felt like. On one hand, Rick was very much still the man she knew, but on the other, it was as if she were meeting him for the first time again.

"What are you thinking about?"

Only good things, she reminded herself. "How familiar being on a couch like this feels."

Rick let out a boisterous roar of laughter. He dipped his chin down more and tilted his head to the side, to get a better look at her. "If I recall correctly, we actually made it to the bed the first time."

"Oh, yeah. That's right. Well, the night's still young."

He gave her a sexy, smoldering stare. "It is." He brought her closer to his body and craned his neck to offer a kiss; Michonne met him halfway for a chaste one. When they parted, Rick sighed contentedly. "Will you tell me about Judith?"

Michonne perked up. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everything." He shifted their bodies, propping his back higher on the arm of the couch, and settling in.

Where did she even begin? When Rick had left them Judith was still a precocious toddler and when Michonne had gone out to find him she'd been a kid wise beyond her years. She'd thought about it a lot, how much both her children had to have changed since her departure. She ached to hear their voices and smother them in hugs and kisses. "She's so damn smart, Rick. And she questions everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. And has her own convictions. Even as young as she is, she's strong in her views. I do my best to explain the world to her in a way that doesn't break her spirit..."

Rick nodded; he hung on her every word.

"But I've had to try and find a balance between letting her find her own way in it and protecting her from it."

"How's that?"

Their disagreement about Judith's "friendship" with Negan had been the first thing to come to mind, but she wasn't ready to open that can of worms just yet. "A couple of years ago she wanted me to start teaching her how to use a sword. That of course scared the hell out of me- knowing that one day she'd be in a position where she'd have to use one. But I realized instead of fearing it, I needed to prepare her for it."

"She has a sword?" he asked, with an amused smile.

"And she's so slick with it, it's scary."

"Look at who her mom is."

"And her dad."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"We found your gun out there- well…" She made an apologetic face. "It's not really yours anymore."

"She uses my gun, too?" His voice pitched up, the way she remembered it did when he was puzzled.

"Your daughter's a good shot." She smoothed a hand over his grayed-out beard. "And she never goes anywhere without your hat."

"I thought-" His eyes rolled up to the ceiling and she caught a slight sheen in them. "Maybe she might forget me. She was so young."

"Hey." Michonne guided his chin down until his misty eyes were on her again. "There wasn't a moment that you weren't with us. Not one."

A tear escaped his eye and Michonne knew there would never be a more opportune moment than this one. She had to tell him.

Michonne pushed off his chest and sat up, bringing the blanket up to cover her chest, but still leaving Rick enough to stay warm. He shifted up too, so they were sitting beside each other.

"There's something I need to tell you." She kept her voice even, but still, a flash of what she read as fear crossed his face.

"What is it?"

Michonne reached down for her bra. She dipped her fingers in the gap where the padding lived and pulled out a folded polaroid. She took his hand, set the photo inside, and her eyes flashed up to connect with his.

Rick kept his gaze trained on her until the last possible second when he looked down and unfolded the photo. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "Judith? Is that-" He glanced up at Michonne, but only for a second, before going back to the photo. "Is that her?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." When a tear dripped from his face and onto the plastic, Michonne set a soft, supportive hand on his forearm. "She's so tall," he said, wiping the wetness from his eyes with the back of his thumb.

"I know," Michonne gushed. She watched his face, waiting for him to take in the rest of the photo, in which Michonne was bent down with RJ on one side and Judith on the other. They'd taken it during the fair at what had once been The Kingdom. It was nowhere near an accurate representation of what their kids looked like now, but it was all she'd had.

Michonne watched Rick's eyes scan the rest of the photo and settle on RJ. His eyebrows knitted. "Who's that beside you two?" he asked, not looking away from the photo.

She took a deep, steadying breath. "That's R.J." Gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. "Richard. Grimes. Jr." She said each word with emphasis, her lips trembling with the emotion she was working hard to hold back.

Rick's head lifted slowly. He gaped at her, eyes wide and unblinking, lips parted slightly.

"I- I found out I was pregnant a month after we lost you." He was so still, for a second she was worried he wasn't breathing. "He's your son... he's our son."

Rick's eyes fell on the photo and he stared hard at it, before glancing back at her, like he was trying to piece together what he'd just heard.

Then, as if the implication of R.J.'s existence suddenly dawned on him—everything he'd missed, from the pregnancy to his first step and word—Rick hung his head and his hand went to cover his face.

Michonne was startled and stunned frozen for a moment when she observed him break into a fit of shuddering whimpers, his body vibrating. She scooted as close as she could get and brought him into her arms, her hand guiding the back of his head until she felt his wet face buried against her neck. "It's okay," she whispered in his ear. "It's okay."

He was the most dedicated father she'd ever known. He'd given his life to protect Judith and Carl, everything he'd done since the start had been for them. And she was sure, not being there for his kids—no matter the fact it was out of his control—the weight of it, was what was tearing him apart now. She wanted to make it better for him, to snap her fingers and make this pain go away. "It's okay." She repeated it until Rick's tremor ceased and didn't let go until he was ready.

xXx

They moved to the bed at some point, both emotionally spent and in need of a proper place to rest for the remaining hours, before the sun rose again.

Rick was snuggled in behind Michonne, his chin resting in the crook of her neck. Silently, they both stared at the photo, which was propped on her side's night table.

"He's got his mom's eyes," Rick whispered, his voice sounding hoarse and tired.

She shifted in Rick's arms to face him and saw a soft, tender smile on his face.

"And his dad's everything else. Everyone says he looks like you."

Rick looked past her at the photo. "I could see that," he joked, his chest puffing up a bit. His eyes flicked back to her face. "We have a son." There was still a hint of disbelief in his voice. "We have a son," he said again, as if informing her of something she wasn't already aware of.

Michonne laughed. "I know." She was thankful for the much-needed levity.

"You did that."

"We did that… and all it took was one try."

He snorted a laugh.

She pushed a flop of stray curls away from his face. "Judith and I have told him all about you. He's heard all the stories, many times." She tucked the curls behind his ear and kept her hand there, at the side of his face. "But his favorite story is the one Judith likes to tell. About the Brave Man who saved all his friends from walkers on the bridge."

"The Brave Man?"

"Yeah. It's how they remember you, Rick. Who our kids are- the kind and brave souls they're growing up to be, is as much because of you as it is because of me."

He considered that a beat. "Thank you."

The moment he said the words, with the same reverential tone he'd used the morning of their last day together, she felt her own emotions begin to bubble up. Over the years, she'd played that morning over and over again. Thinking about it now, her mind went to the days after. She wished she could have saved her younger self all the heartache she'd suffered at the prospect of never being in his arms again.

"Thank you for raising them up. Taking care of them and Alexandria."

"It hasn't been perfect," she said. "I've made my fair share of missteps."

"Our kids are okay. Our community is. You did that."

Michonne removed his hand from her hip, when Siddiq's face flashed in her mind, then a montage of all the ones she'd lost most recently. She sat up against the wood-carved headboard, loath to ruin the mood, but the grief hit her so hard she couldn't find the strength to shake it off.

Propped on his arm, Rick stared up at her, concern etched into the lines on his forehead. He set a hand on her thigh and rubbed his thumb across the skin there. He was quiet, but he never took his eyes off her. And waited until she was ready like she'd done for him earlier that night.

"We lost people," she said finally. "Who meant a lot to both of us."

He nodded. "I knew there was a chance." His eyes slipped closed, but he kept his hand on her. "Who?" he whispered.

"Jesus. D.J. Enid. Tara. Henry... Siddiq."

At the last name, Rick sighed deeply. He pushed himself up on the bed and sat against the headboard beside her. She'd known Siddiq would hit different, just like it had for her.

He had been a living, breathing symbol of what their son had wanted. Carl's last hours had been spent ensuring that they extended mercy to a stranger. A stranger who'd become family. "He has a little girl with Rosita." She wiped at the fresh droplet of water that trickled down her cheek, a bit shocked she still had any left. "Her name's Coco."

"I'm so sorry."

She laced her fingers with his, over the covers, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry too." On the road, when Michonne had afforded herself the luxury of hope, she'd envision their first night together. This was a far cry from what she'd wanted for them. But those were daydreams. This was real life and unlike her fantasies, it didn't consist of only good things.

They were quiet, all she could hear was the hush of the windy night outside and Michonne's mind went to where it always did in the silence. All these months on the road, she hadn't allowed herself to legitimize her fear. But Rick's presence alone weakened her already feeble resolve and her mind was taking advantage. Before she could check it, her brain supplied her lips with the words that tumbled out of them. "It's been so long since I've talked to the kids and I keep thinking... what if."

"I know," he drawled. "It's all I did all these years, think about what if. What if something happened to you or Judith-" He gave a snide little laugh. "Didn't even know enough to worry about R.J. too. I kept thinking, what if I didn't make it home in time, or at all?" He turned to look at her as he squeezed her hand. "They're back there. They are. And we're gonna get home. I didn't know if I really could. But I know now that we will. Because you're here."

---

Pearl sat atop her made bed the next morning. Fully dressed and ready to go in her all-black fatigues, she stared at the closed door, trying to figure out how to make a clean getaway. She wasn't prepared to answer to the man who'd insisted on spending the night on her couch. She knew he'd have questions and that he wasn't gonna like the answers, which would no doubt cause him to see her in a new light. She didn't want to be the villain in his story.

It was already seven and she still had to drive thirty minutes out of the way to pick Rick up. So she slipped on those big girl panties and pushed off of her bed, but stopped short when she opened her door.

Antonio moved with ease in front of her stovetop, scraping perfectly scrambled eggs onto a plate already garnished with toast, baked beans, sliced tomatoes, and sausage. Pearl didn't remember having any of that in her fridge. A spoiled bottle of milk, maybe, but all this...

Antonio lifted the plates and turned, startled at the sight of her. He set them down in front of each chair at the small, round table. "I went to the farmer's stand as soon as it opened. Your fridge is..." he shook his head. "How the hell have you managed to survive this long?" His ingrained Italian intonation popped out like it did from time to time. It was one of many things she found sexy about him.

Pearl pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the genuinely concerned look on his face. She was dubious to remind him that it was he who'd single-handedly kept her fed all these years. When she'd sleep over at his house food was always included and when he stayed at hers, he'd bring tupperware. She'd had no need to keep food in her fridge. "You didn't have to do all this."

He sat in one of the seats. "I figured food would help the conversation we need to have."

Dammit, back to that.

He motioned for her to sit across from him and Pearl sighed as she made her way to the table. And a closer look revealed he'd made the sausage just like she liked it—a little burnt on top.

Wordlessly, Antonio set his hand face up in the center of the table and she instinctively placed hers inside of it and bowed her head. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen." Pearl was far from religious, and hadn't been since her days of doodling on the fan in the pew of the Southern Baptist church her parents dragged her to every Sunday. But weirdly, this—his steadfastness in his faith, despite the times—was at the top of the long list of things she found sexy about him.

They dug in; forks and knives clinking against plates was the only sound in the apartment for a while.

"So..." She peeked up at him and saw him sitting back in his chair with crossed arms and a narrowed gaze trained on her. "Do I have to interrogate you or would you like to give up the information of your own volition?"

She rolled her eyes. "We're not in a damn courtroom."

"If we were, you'd definitely be a hostile witness," he shot back. She was thrown by the way the side of his mouth turned up and at the playful undertone of his words.

Pearl took another bite and set her silverware down. "Fire away."

He sat up and propped his elbows on the table. "What happened the night Lieutenant Stokes took you in?"

Jumping right into the deep end, are we? She supposed it was best to start from the beginning. "Two years ago, the CRM's modeling revealed that The Alliance would soon become a drain on The Civic Republic's resources. Omaha, the Campus Colony, Portland... had become too reliant. They'd never be fully self-sustaining. And Beale thought it was only a matter of time before thousands starved. That at best, they would have died a slow death. At worst, disease and conflict would have spread through The Civic Republic itself. You can guess what comes next. So, he-" She looked at her plate, unable to hold his stare. "We chose to end it for them before that could happen, so we'd stand a chance."

"What did you do?" She heard him ask. The accusation which his words were laced with, hurt like hell.

"The scientists at the research facility developed a gas- a chlorine gas... that we used on Campus Colony and Omaha." She let the words settle, before adding, "And we brought the dead in to cover it up."

He was quiet, too quiet. She had to see what was on his face. To her surprise, his face hadn't changed—not one iota. It was stuck in the blank indifferent stare she figured he'd learned in law school.

She soldiered on. "As soon as I signed my name on that order, I knew I'd fucked up, majorly. I tried to figure out for months how to make it right. And when Yolanda started asking questions about what happened, it felt like a chance to do just that. So I gave her the files."

"She knew?"

"Not for long. But as soon as she found out, she tried to do something about it-"

"Kublek," he uttered. "I thought she was just sick of Beale's posturing." He spoke to the table, like he was trying to make it all make sense.

"Beale found out."

"It's why he arrested her."

"Yeah."

"And why didn't he arrest you?"

"He said it was because of what he owed to my father."

He looked to the side. She could see the wheels turning in his brain. "What about Lieutenant Grimes? What do he and Michonne have to do with any of this?"

She'd told Antonio the bare minimum when she'd asked him to harbor Michonne in his cabin—that she was undocumented and no one could find out she was here. "Rick was not a typical rescue. He was... traded into The Republic."

"Traded?"

"Yes. We have- had relationships with a few people in the wasteland who gave us people. They were either sent off to be test subjects at the research facility or they were traded here to become soldiers or hard laborers." Wanting to rip the bandaid off the rest of the way, she spouted the rest quickly. "He's part of a militia working against the military and has been for years I think. I found out and I used Michonne to blackmail him into letting me join."

Antonio shot up. "Fuck, Pearl." He turned his back to her.

"I know. I know. It's- all of it is beyond shitty. I know that. I'm not gonna make any excuses for anything I've done." She stood and went to stand behind him. "I need you to know that it's why I felt I couldn't be with you. I hated lying to you-"

"But you did!" he turned and yelled.

Pearl bristled; never before had he raised his voice at her.

She saw instant regret on his face as he shrunk back. "It's not even about that. You were complicit in the genocide of hundreds of thousands. You kidnapped people and you're holding them captive here. I don't even know who you are."

She felt so exposed, standing in front of him, with everything laid bare. She deserved the vitriol aimed at her, she knew it. Desperately needing some comfort, she hugged herself and her eyes fell to the ground.

"I have to go." He moved around her and picked his keys up off the table on his way to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to tell the other council members about this- all of it."

"That's not a good idea," she said carefully. "We have to be smart about this. If Beale finds out that you all know, it's over. He'll take you out. We need to get organized. The council and the militia."

Seemingly despite himself, Antonio asked, "How?"

"Let me talk to Rick. I have to figure out what all is going on with the militia. He hasn't told me much."

"I'll go with you."

"No. I have to do this on my own."

Antonio huffed out a breath. "Fine."

Pearl stepped into his space. She didn't wanna leave things this way, with him looking at her with narrowly disguised disgust. She reached out to touch his arm, but he whirled to walk out the door before her hand could connect.

xXx

Thirty minutes later, Pearl stood on the porch of Antonio's cabin waiting for someone to answer her knocks. The door creaked open to Michonne, standing in Pearl's robe. She'd told Michonne she was welcome to anything in the drawer designated for the clothes Pearl kept at the cabin, for those rare weekends off she liked to spend alone in the woods with Antonio. Michonne was a few inches taller than her, but seeing as she had no other options, Pearl had figured she'd make it work.

"Hey," Pearl said hesitantly. She was sure Rick had told Michonne about what he'd been through in their time apart and the hand Pearl had in it. So, she'd come with the expectation that Michonne might not see it for her—Pearl couldn't blame her. If the tables were turned, Pearl didn't know if she could stand in front of the person who'd been the catalyst for years of separation from a loved one.

What she hadn't been prepared for was the million-watt smile Michonne gave her. "Hi," she replied.

"Is Rick ready?"

"He's taking a shower. Shouldn't be long, though. You wanna come in?"

"I'll wait in the car."

Pearl turned to go down the stairs but paused when she heard Michonne say, "You sure? I saw some coffee in the cupboard. It looked like the good stuff."

She wanted to say no, she should say no. She didn't think Rick would take too kindly to her sitting down for a cup with his wife. But after the night and morning she'd had, she could really use caffeine. And Michonne was right, Antonio had the good stuff. "Yeah. Okay."

xXx

The compact table Pearl sat at took up much of the space in the open-concept kitchen. She sipped on her cup of coffee thinking about how many times she'd sat at this very table.

What about the many things you've done on that table? She almost did a spit-take at the thought.

"How is it?" Michonne asked, from behind her mug. She sat in the seat across from Pearl. "Haven't made a cup in a long time."

"It's good." Antonio always made it too strong; Michonne had managed to do it just right.

Pearl watched the congenial demeanor Michonne had carried in from the front door slowly fade as she set her cup down and cradled it in her hands, tapping a fingernail against the glass. Like a switch being flipped; Michonne's back straightened, her arms crossed, and her face set in a death stare. "Rick gave me the rundown of everything this morning. About what Beale put him through..." She trailed off, the implication hanging in the air.

Pearl shifted in her seat, all of a sudden on the defensive. Everyone finding out all at once about what she'd done was... fucking exhausting. "Look, I'm not gonna apologize."

"I didn't ask you to-"

"Because I'm sure it wouldn't mean anything to you... all I can do is try to make it right for my city and your family."

Taking another sip, Michonne seemed to consider her words. "Let's hope you can."

They watched each other and allowed the tense silence to settle between them for a few minutes, the groaning shower pipes playing as background music. Looking at Michonne, Pearl thought there was something about her she'd recognized in Rick a long time ago. The two of them were hardened—how they needed to be in this world—but behind both of their eyes, she saw a glint of humanity that many had lost in favor of their primal survival instincts. Pearl couldn't say she saw that same thing in Beale's eyes anymore, or even her own, when she looked in the mirror these days. "Can I ask you a question?"

Michonne nodded.

"How'd you find us?"

"I told you-"

"I didn't buy it then and I don't buy it now. I can count on one hand how many times someone has happened upon us. And with everything I know now, I'm certain it wasn't a coincidence."

Michonne's face softened, she looked amused at Pearl calling her out on the bullshit. "I found something that belonged to Rick some time ago. It's what made me start looking in the first place. Then along the way, I ran into a group making their way to New York from Portland. They were survivors of an attack on their community, by a group they thought they were aligned with."

Pearl bristled. Could it be? She hadn't heard of any survivors from Portland. But then again, the execution of the last "extermination"—as Beale had so disgustingly named it—had been rushed in the wake of everything that had gone down with the research facility and the fact that the gas was destroyed. It had taken them months to rally enough dead to overrun the walled city and because the city was so far from The Republic, they hadn't sent any soldiers in to clean up like they'd done in Omaha and at Campus Colony.

"They told me about what The Civic Republic had done to their people," Michonne went on to say. "One of the guys who survived was a Civic Republic engineer on exchange to Portland for one of their scientists. The boat Rick's things were found on had last been docked at a shipping yard in New Jersey. When I told him the name of it, he recognized it immediately. Told me it was also a fueling station for the group that had killed their people. Said it was most likely where he was. He told me how to get here."

"How many people from Portland survived?"

"Five hundred. Out of eighty thousand."

It was cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless. A speck from the blood covering her hands that she could call washed away. "Where are they now?"

After a moment's hesitation, Michonne shook her head. "They're safe," she said pointedly.

"Right."

Pearl heard the shower shut off and a moment later the washroom door squeaked open. "Michonne!" Rick's voice reverberated through the entire cabin.

"In the kitchen," Michonne called, not taking her eyes off Pearl.

Pearl heard the washroom door close and then Rick's footsteps creaking on the wood planks of the short hallway that separated the bedroom and washroom from the living and kitchen space.

"Hey, what happened?" he asked, lazily and still out of view. His voice sounded lighter and more pleasant than she'd ever heard it. "I thought you were gonna join-" Rick's words cut off when he rounded the corner, in a towel, and spotted Pearl. The smile on his face—the first she'd ever seen from him—vanished instantaneously.

Pearl's eyes panned down to his still wet chest and a shiver ran through her body at the defacements to his otherwise smooth skin. She hadn't partaken in his long string of enhanced interrogations. No, once again you stood by in the face of brutality. But she'd read the reports and she remembered wondering how the man had managed to survive the worst of her comrades' brutal assaults.

Her eyes traveled back up to his face and at the confronting look on it, Pearl popped up from her seat. "I'll meet you in the car," she mumbled. "Thanks for the coffee," she called on her way out, not waiting for a reply before hurrying out the door.

xXx

Michonne leaned against the doorframe of the cabin's bedroom, watching Rick dress in his military uniform. Slipping his pants on, Rick's gaze was set in a hard stare, trained on the bed. He seemed to be thinking—overthinking—about something. She figured it had to do with the woman who'd just left them.

They'd only slept a couple of hours before the alarm Rick had set buzzed, but it had been enough to renew their spirits. They'd laid in bed that morning, talking through the things they'd put off the night before; Rick downloading her on the group he was a part of—the resistance—and the plan that was their ticket out of this place, and Michonne explaining the details of how she'd found The Republic. The newness of one another was beginning to wear off and they were slowly slipping back into the rhythm of being Rick and Michonne again.

Michonne had invited Pearl in to get a better read on her, to see if the woman who'd done everything to Rick he'd told her about, was for real. She wasn't sure she knew the answer to that just yet.

Tucking his shirt into his pants, Rick glanced over at her. "Do we trust her?"

"You should be careful. There's something there I don't fully buy."

Rick clasped his belt and slipped on his black wool trench coat. "Yeah. Okay." Fully dressed, he set his hands on his waist. Sighed and stared at the unmade bed again, before looking back up at her.

She recognized the anxious look on his face, from earlier when he'd filled her in on his former years in The Republic; his escape attempts, the torture, and accepting Beales' deal to protect their family and Alexandria. "What is it?" she asked.

He made his way over and dropped his hands onto her hips. "There are things I still have to tell you- things I've done that I- I'm not proud of. But I don't want any secrets between us."

She read the look of guilt on his face and was quick to push up on her toes slightly to close the space between them. She kept the kiss tender, not inciting anything. "After all this time, I didn't know if I'd recognize the man I found," she said when they parted. "But you're still... you." Michonne had known it the moment he'd stepped through the door the night before, and their eyes had connected. She'd recognized the fire in them, from all the way back at the prison fence, that zeal for life he'd carried even in his darkest days. "I know you, Rick. Whatever you had to do, I know why you did it."

He studied her intently, his eyes searching her face.

For what? Michonne wasn't certain, but she knew her words weren't enough this time. The need to make it better for him rose in her again. "Years ago, someone took Judith."

"What?" His eyebrows were drawn together, his face frozen in horror.

"This..." Without looking away from him, she reached down and took his hand away from her hip, guided it up to the hem of her shirt, then nudged it underneath. She set it on the scar marked on her back. "This happened when I went to go get her back. And what I had to do, it's the worst thing I've ever done in my life. But I can't say I wouldn't do it again, if it was the only choice I had to protect our daughter." She left his hands there and her own traveled up the length of his arms to rest at the sides of his neck. "So... tell me when you're ready, but I don't want you to feel a single ounce of guilt for any of it."

Rick nodded slowly, then leaned down to kiss her lips.

He pulled back and when his eyes flicked up to her forehead, hers slipped closed and she savored the feel of his lips there—oh how she'd missed those forehead kisses.

Rick separated from her and went to grab his pistol from the nightstand. "What happened to your sword?"

"I had to surrender it at intake."

"I'll see if Pearl can get it back." He handed her the gun. "Take this."

"What about you?"

"I've got another in my apartment."

His apartment. It sounded peculiar to her ears and she wasn't sure why. Obviously, he had to have a place to lay his head. Perhaps it was the fact that she hadn't seen this place or that there was a whole life he'd lived that she hadn't been there to witness, once again. Back in Alexandria, they'd learned everything about each other's before lives. There'd been many a night when they'd lost sleep in favor of knowing each other better.

Now, again, there was a large chunk of his life that preceded her.

"I'll be back at five," he said.

"Okay."

Rick gave her a quick peck on the lips. "I love you."

"Love you too."

His gaze lingered on her a second longer before he padded toward the door. He paused in the doorway, his eyes caught on her side's nightstand. She followed his gaze to the Polaroid still propped against the lamp base and watched him walk over and pick it up.

Rick regarded it, before glancing at her. "Can I take this with me?"

"Of course. It's yours."

He slipped it into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and gave her a nod, before walking out of the room.

---

Rick peered through the side window of Thorne's SUV, at the burnt orange fall foliage floating through the air and slapping against the window. He spotted the veins that cracked the otherwise smooth landscape of the leaves and the holes from where insects had taken bites out of them. He couldn't say he'd noticed these things before; his vision was so much clearer today. His world was brighter somehow too, as if it had been shaded in black and white before Michonne had entered back into the picture and now everything was painted with hues of renewed hope.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the Polaroid. An unconscious small smile spread across his lips.

Judith. My sweet girl. In his mind, she'd been frozen in time. He wouldn't have recognized the preteen with the beautiful smile, as his daughter, had Michonne not been in the photo right beside her.

R.J. My son. Rick was still in awe, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the handsome boy on the other side of Michonne was his. But the more Rick looked at his face, the more familiar he became. He was a perfect melding of the both of them and, jeez, almost as tall as Judith.

"Those your kids?" Pearl asked.

Rick glanced out of the corner of his eye and caught her peeking at the photo. Without saying a word, he slid it back into his pocket.

He heard Pearl's exasperated sigh before she swerved, veered the SUV off the empty road, and then proceeded to cut the engine. She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted to face him. "Come on. Let me have it. Yell at me. Cuss me out. Whatever you need to do. I don't care, just fucking speak! We've been driving twenty minutes and you haven't said a single word to me."

He kept his eyes aimed at the windshield.

"I held up my end of the deal, now it's your turn."

His jaw clenched. It was all he could do to not rage at the woman who'd been the catalyst for the separation from his family. Seeing Michonne again, knowing that Pearl had a hand in him not being able to sleep next to her—make love to her—all these years, had just about done him in. Sitting in the same car with the woman was killing him and the thought of having to work with her made his entire body tense. "Tell me why I should trust you."

"I just proved-"

"I'm putting my life..." He snapped his head in her direction. "The life of my wife, in your hands." He could feel his anger growing and it pissed him off even more she was ruining the little bit of joy he'd felt in years. "And considering our history, I think it's fair that I'm still apprehensive."

She relaxed back in her seat and looked out through the windshield. "Okay, well... I told Antonio. Everything. What I did to the people in The Alliance and why I asked him to take Michonne in." She turned her head to look out the window on her side, he saw her hand go up to wipe at her cheek. Heard the tremble in her voice when she said, "The look he gave me. I don't think he'll ever forgive me." She took a moment to collect herself before turning to look at him, but the red tint was a dead giveaway of the tears that had been there. "He was all I had. And I flushed any chance that we could be together again down the drain by telling him, because... it's not about me. He's a good man, I knew he wouldn't wanna sit by and do nothing."

"What are you saying?"
"He wants to help. He's not making any moves, don't worry. I told him to wait until I talked to you first. Rick, I need to know what's going on."

Well, that was something, he guessed. And she was right he'd made her a promise; he wanted to start being a man of his word again. He sighed and began. "I wasn't the only one from my community Jadis traded. There was another guy. Heath. We ran into each other a couple of months after I was released from the hospital. I asked him for help getting out, but he wouldn't do it. He had a life here, and he didn't wanna jeopardize that. I won't say I blame him, he didn't have anyone back home- I mean he had people, but not family. But he said he could help get me a gun, for old times' sake I guess. He knew a guy who had a stash."

She pursed her lips and shook her head slightly as if to say, "I knew it".

"The guy's name is Dougie, he's who you saw me with in the alleyway. When I integrated back in after basic, Dougie found me and told me he was part of something bigger. A like-minded group whose main objective was to free the people. He said they could use someone inside the military for what they were planning. I was at my lowest and had nothing to lose back then. It's why I joined, but now I'm doing it for my family, my people. Because as long as Beale's got control over this place, they're not safe."

Pearl took a moment to process what he'd told her before she nodded as if accepting it. "So, what's the plan? How can I help?"

The Resistance was built on secrecy, it's how they'd managed to go undetected all these years. Bringing someone in, this someone especially, was strictly against The Resistance's protocol. "I can't read you in until I get the okay from the man in charge."

"Then let's go see him."

"It doesn't work like that. I've never met him. He lives underground. Someplace unregistered. Completely off-grid."

"He's undocumented?

"Yeah."

"That means he can't move freely. How does that work?"

"He's got Lieutenants close to him. Former military and ex-cops he recruited early on. They all work in sanitation. That's how messages are passed between people in the network. And he's got a few intermediaries like Dougie, who communicate face to face with the citizens on his behalf."

"How many people are in the network?"

"Last Dougie told me, a hundred. People like me who were traded in. And some who lost family members in the fall of Omaha and Campus Colony."

"They know what happened, with the gas?"

"No. Some suspect, but most are just angry their family members weren't given a choice in The Alliance exchange program."

"Any other soldiers?"

"No. Just me."

She ran a hand over her slicked-back hair. "Okay. What happens next?"

"I'll signal Dougie for a meetup... in a few days."

"Why not now?"

"He's working on something for me."

"It has to do with Ruthers doesn't it?"

"Yeah. That takes priority."

"Alright." She stuck the key into the ignition. "We better get going."

---

Michonne stepped out of the cabin's tiny shower and grabbed the towel off of the rack, which was still damp from when Rick had used it only an hour earlier. It was the best shower she'd had in months. The migrant camp she and the members of the Portland group had been forced to set up when the snowy days turned to weeks and then months, had her bathing in a frigid cold solar shower tent. At least the water had been warm.

She thought about those people now. They'd taken her in after she'd helped an injured member of their community, who'd wandered away from their group. Offered her a place in their caravan, as they'd been going in the same direction—her to Jersey and them to Ithaca. They were trekking toward an underground mall, which survivors from Campus Colony had made a home and had been hiding in since they'd picked a fight with The Civic Republic's military at their research facility.

She thought about the tearful story a widowed mother, clutching the only of her four children who'd survived, had told over a campfire. About the night their walls had been demolished and thousands of walkers had descended upon their city. Michonne hadn't known then, that that woman's family had been ripped away from her by the same insidious threat which had taken Rick from her. Only, there was no coming back from the dead for those people's loved ones.

Staring at her reflection in the foggy mirror, Michonne rubbed her hands over her face. She took solace in knowing they were safe in the underground mall, for now. She'd traveled out of her way to make sure of that, even before she'd known they'd had the vital information she needed to find Rick. Once The Republic was free, Michonne resolved to do everything in her power to make sure they had a home here, before she and Rick went back to theirs.

Michonne uncoiled her locks from the bundle on top of her head and shook out the water droplets they'd caught in the shower. Stepping into the bedroom, she went to the drawer in which Pearl's clothes were neatly folded. The woman was a little shorter than her but fortunately the same size. She took out a pair of black yoga pants, bypassed the gray t-shirt with The Civic Republic's three-ring logo on the breast, and instead went for a plain black one. Then she slipped on the pair of women's sneakers from the closet, before stepping out through the back door of the cabin, onto the deck. Michonne surveyed the trail, at the bottom of the deep, grassy-sloped hill she'd spotted through the window as she'd been cleaning up breakfast earlier. She could neither hear nor see a soul for miles. Not a single car passed on the road in the distance down below.

Michonne jogged down the hill, dodging the trees in her path on the way to the trail.

---

The room Rick stood in had floor-to-ceiling concrete. He hadn't even known it existed inside the military complex. He'd traversed four flights of stairs and followed behind Beale, as he'd badged them through three different doors labeled 'high clearance personnel only'. They then traveled down a long and narrow hallway and badged in once more, to the room they were now in.

Officers ranked much higher than Rick, the ones who stayed planted in their ivory towers on the daily, were already settling into their seats around the conference table.

Rick didn't know much about why he was there. He'd arrived at his office fifteen minutes ago after Thorne had dropped him off a few blocks from Campus. Beale had been sitting behind Rick's desk, leisurely reading that month's iteration of The Civic Republic Tribune—marked with a headline that read, 'Majority of CRC Members Call for Oversight of CRM'. For a split second Rick had thought Thorne had double-crossed him and in the span of two point five seconds, he'd formulated a plan to get out of the office alive and get to Michonne before anyone else could.

He'd been relieved when Beale folded the paper up and stood. "You got a meeting in ten."

"Sir, I don't have one on my schedule."

"I know. Let's go."

Rick counted six others around the table, as he sat on one side of Beale, who stood at the head. None of them seemed to notice, or care, that he was there. This type of gathering seemed old hat for the lot.

A soldier he recognized from Beale's detail handed out thick black padfolios with "Level Ten Clearance" etched into the leather front, while Beale picked up a remote from the table and aimed it at the projector box on the ceiling. A screen descended, in front of the wall at the other end of the table.

Beale lowered into his seat. "Let's get started. If you'll open your folders..."

Rick unlatched the magnet closure and flipped it open. It read, 'Phase Four: Mid-Atlantic, New England, and East North Central'. His gaze went to the screen when it lit up to display a map of the United States, marked all over with names he didn't recognize, except for one. The label 'Alexandria' hovered over Virginia. Rick worked overtime to keep his face in check.

"There's a new face in the room. So forgive any redundancy of information.'' Beale said, looking around the table until his gaze settled on Rick for a brief moment. "The requisition team came back from an extensive three-week-long scouting mission of the Mid-Atlantic, New England, and East North Central. We were able to identify twenty communities in the region. From our observations, only one of those communities is a candidate for elimination at this time."

Jesus. Rick looked around the table, not a single person so much as flinched.

"The criteria of our selection was chiefly based on size and probability of them becoming a threat to us soon." Beale aimed a laser pointer at the screen. "Many of these communities weren't bigger than a few hundred and they were barely getting by. Nothing we couldn't handle if it were to come to that, and it'd be a waste of resources if we tried to take care of them now, seeing as they do not know us. Those communities are listed on page two."

Rick felt Beale's eyes on him and squelched the propensity to quickly flip the page. Instead, he studied the map on the screen a minute longer and then took his time to turn the page.

He scanned the list and relaxed when his eyes settled on 'Alexandria'. But it wasn't complete relief he felt, because the annihilation of thousands was a matter still at hand.

Beale circled the pointer around Ohio. "Here is where I want us to focus today. This community here is called The Commonwealth. You may recognize them from Project Votus. Years ago, Kublek intercepted communication from this community and began a relationship with one of their leaders, Lance Hornsby."

Rick turned his page again and saw a picture of a man with a red deceased label stamped over him. Beside him was a picture of another woman—older and vaguely recognizable, though he couldn't remember where he knew her face from.

"Over the years he supplied us with eighty percent of our test subjects, from within their walls. And we continued the relationship under the stipulation that he did not let anyone in his community know about us. Six months ago, communication from our source ceased. We learned soon after that our contact had died. Around that same time, the communication center received a message from their Governor, Milton. The daughter of former U.S. President, William Milton. She was asking for military reinforcements in some kind of civil uprising within their community. Which means he broke the agreement."

Beale set the pointer down and teepeed his hands in front of his mouth. "This is a community of fifty thousand. They have infrastructure. An army. And the technology to track us down if they tried hard enough. I don't think I need to tell you all whatthat means."

"How do we get this done without the gas?" An older man, whose name patch read 'Smith', asked. "It was destroyed in the research facility fiasco."

Another one raised a finger. "Before anyone suggests a column. It took us weeks to gather the columns for the extermination of the Three. Doing that again is not feasible any time soon."

A lull fell over the room as Beale stared at the map and considered the options.

Rick's heart began to race as soon as he felt the need to speak up. He cleared his throat. "What about explosives?"

All eyes went to him, but Beale's were the only ones he cared to focus on.

"I know it's an out-of-the-box idea and admittedly, I wouldn't even know where we'd get them, but there has got to be some left over from the military's incursion at the start, right? It'd be much quicker, more efficient, that's for sure."

Rick tried not to cower under Beale's inquisitive stare.

Beale broke out into a wide grin. "I like it. Quick and easy. I mean, we won't get to reclaim much, if anything at all, but it's a small price to pay."

"A community that size…" Smith spoke up again. "It'll take the entirety of our reserve."

"There's a reserve?" Rick asked. "You mean we already have the explosives here?"

"Well not here," he deadpanned. "Keeping them inside the walls is too risky. Can't have the wrong people getting their hands on them."

"Where are they?" Rick hoped he didn't come off as keen as he was for the information.

"Outside the walls two cities over." Beale turned his attention to Smith. "Get a team together, start making plans. I want this to happen by the end of the week. Before our hands are tied with-"

"Sir," Rick interrupted. He waited for Beale to look at him. "I'd like to take the lead on this." He was careful to keep his tone neutral, even as his heart pounded. If Beale used those explosives on The Commonwealth, the resistance's plan was fucked. It all hinged on those explosives. "It was my idea, I wanna see it through."

Beale furrowed his eyebrows at Rick. "Give us the room," he said to the others, not looking away from him. He held his gaze as the rest of the room stood in one accord. Beale didn't speak again until the door closed. "What is this?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Excuse me?"

"You want to lead this mission, why?"

"They're a threat to us, they need to be taken care of. I'm just tryna do my part."

"You really believe what you're saying right now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alexandria won't be harmed."

"I wasn't- that's not why-"

"You don't have to bullshit me, Rick. This." He waved his hand between them. "Will only work if we shoot straight with each other."

"Well..." Rick nodded slowly. "Then... thank you."

"You forget I'm a father. I know you'll never fully let go of them. But the choices you made for them? You can rest assured knowing that you saved them. Because the time will come when even the ones who aren't a threat need to go, but I'm a man of my word, Rick. I made a promise to you a long time ago. You've upheld your end of that deal and so will I. As long as I'm in command, Alexandria remains unharmed."

"I appreciate that."

He leaned forward. "So, where we at with Ruthers?"

"She said she needed to think about it."

His face scrunched up. "She needs to think about it?"

"She has a lot at stake. But I gave her a clock. Told her I needed to know in three days. You'll have an answer by the time you get back from your scouting mission."

"Good. Stay on it." He studied Rick, measured him, and apparently approved whatever it was he saw on his face. He opened his folio and jotted something down. Ripped the piece of paper out and handed it to Rick. "I'm giving you complete autonomy on how it gets done. You choose your men. These are the coordinates where the explosives are being kept. You don't share this with anyone, not even your team. You ensure they don't know where this place is until you get there." He leaned around the table to look down at Rick's ankle monitor. "Go by command central on your way home. They'll take that thing off- I'll give them a heads up you're coming."

"Thank you, sir."

He slapped his hand onto Rick's shoulder. "You've earned it. All I ask is that you take care of Ruthers first. You're the only one she trusts. That means you don't leave on the mission until she gives me what I want."

"Yes, sir."

"There's something else... what I'm about to tell you, only a handful in my inner circle know. The command won't go out to the ranks until the day of. In a week, when I get back, I'll be broadcasting to the entire city, announcing the demolition of the civilian government and enacting martial law."

Fuck.

"It means no more hiding. The people will know what we've done for them, and what we will continue to do until The Republic is the Last light of the world. That's why I need to know where my opposition lies. Stamp it out so they have no chance of thwarting my plans. And I fully anticipate there will be a few foolish citizens who think they can rise up against what I'm trying to do here... I want you to get Ruthers to agree to stand by me on that day, to set an example for the people."

"In all honesty, I don't know that she would agree to that."

"Well, that'd be a real shame, because if she doesn't then I'll just have to go with plan 'B'."

"Plan 'B'?"

"Eliminate some to traumatize the many."

"How will that work?"

"Every single remaining member of the civilian government will be executed on that broadcast. And anyone who comes against the military takeover will have the same fate. But I don't wanna have to do that, Rick. I'd like for this to be as peaceful as possible."

Knocking at the door drew their attention.

"Yeah," Beale called.

A soldier from his detail poked his head in. "Sir, we need to get going. The ship's ready and waiting."

Beale gathered his things. "I won't be reachable until I get back. I'm leaving Jadis in command."

Rick groaned.

"Tell me how you really feel." Beale chuckled. "I know you two don't see eye to eye, but she's effective. Lean on her. She's done a lot of work out there. She'll be an asset in your preparation for your first mission at The Commonwealth.

"Yes, sir."

---

Truett squeezed his hand into a fist, doing his best to conceal its tremors, when he brought it up to the door of Lieutenant Colonel Stokes' office. She'd radioed him as soon as he'd stepped through the door of the sub-basement and commanded him to report to her. The woman scared the bejeezus out of him, with her bowl cut and the unfriendly expression that seemed a permanent fixture on her face.

"Come in," he heard her say from the other side.

He pushed into the room and dallied in the doorway when he saw her leaning back behind her desk. She watched him with a keener eye than a lion scoping out its prey.

Stop overreacting, it could be something good, he thought. You haven't done anything wrong… that you know of. He quieted his brain. "You wanted to see me, ma'am."

"Yes, have a seat."

Truett shut the door and went to sit in one of the two chairs in front of her desk. The instant his butt hit the cushion, his eyes began to blink in quick succession. He pushed his eyes open wide, fighting against the tic he'd adopted at a very young age, which only popped up during moments like this one.

"You look nervous. Do you have something to be nervous about?"

"Uh- no. I mean, no ma'am."

"Good. Because I'm pleased with the work you've been doing in intake and I know Major General Beale is too."

Major General Beale knows my name? He'd never been in the same room with the man, who rarely showed his face to the citizens. To them, he was a sort of mythical being and among the ranks, his mere presence was a prize worth striving for. "Really? He knows who I am?" Truett regretted the eager tone of his voice when the Lieutenant Colonel's lip curled up in what he read as annoyance. "I mean, thank you... ma'am. It's an honor to serve The Republic."

"It is an honor, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am. The highest." He'd been nine when the world ended and seeing the men and women come together to defend the city from the dead had inspired him to wanna take up arms as soon as he was eligible, despite the fact he was scrawny with thick bifocals and not what a typical soldier looked like. He'd been a bit disappointed when they stuck him in intake and not on the front lines—on the wall, patrolling the city, or out in the wasteland—but he'd taken it in stride.

"And you wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your service to The Republic, would you?"

"No ma'am."

"Yeah, it's what I thought. You seem smart." He was thrown by the turn of softness in the tone of her voice. "So maybe you can help me out with a problem I've run into."

"Of course, ma'am."

"Every night I get two reports, among many. One from the Border Patrol Lead and one from Intake. The border patrol report tells me of any occurrence at the wall the previous day. And the one from intake is a detailed report of newly processed citizens."

She paused and stared at him as if it was his turn to talk. But unsure where she was going, Truett simply nodded, as confirmation he was tracking with her. Even though he had no idea where she was going with this. Granted, this was all information he knew; basic protocol they'd briefed him on when he'd been assigned the position.

"Last night," she continued. "Those reports didn't match up. The border report says there were two new citizens brought into the city yesterday, but the intake report only has one listed. I reached out to the Border Patrol Lead and he assured me it was an error on your end. According to his men on duty yesterday, there was a man and woman brought in."

"He is correct. That was the case, ma'am. I- I don't know what happened. It could be a computer error."

"I thought so. So I went in to check the backup files. And that-" There was an inquisitive hitch to her voice. "Is where things get interesting. It seems all intake files for that woman alone were deleted from the database. See, I'm able to see previous actions but I can't see that file anymore. Once it's deleted, it's gone."

"I didn't know deleting case files was even a possibility, ma'am."

"No, you wouldn't. Only someone who has- or had high-level clearance would know how to do that."

Private Thorne. His eyes fluttered. Though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on, he felt an impending sense of doom.

"Do you have any idea why Thorne would want to hide an intake case file from us?"

"No, ma'am."

"You notice anything since she's joined you in intake? Not following protocol, stuff like that?"

"No, ma'am." That was a lie. "I- I mean apart from the fact that she plays Tetris on company time, Private Thorne is excellent at her job, Ma'am. She's good with people and generally fastidious about data entry. I think it might have been an accident."

"If it was an accident, then why was the video footage from the intake tank also missing for that day alone?" Any good nature he'd sensed in her voice was now gone and, to his dismay, replaced with a rush of impatient words. "And why does housing have no record of the woman's placement?"

A slow realization settled in his brain, she thinks I'm in on whatever it is Private Thorne did. That's why she brought me in. "I don't know what's going on," he said quickly. "Whatever it is, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it."

"I believe you. But I'm having a difficult time buying that you don't know anything about the missing case file, seeing as you work in such close proximity to Thorne."

Had Thorne done something to this woman? Had she been up to something when she'd requested to interview the woman? He'd heard rumblings from other privates, speculation about why Thorne had been demoted. But they'd just been rumors, and wanting to give her the benefit of a clean slate with him, he'd tuned them out. And when he'd met her, he decided he liked her. Yeah she was rough around the edges and played fast and loose with the rules, but he could tell Thorne was committed to The Republic.

"I was at the hospital all day interviewing and processing the man- Perry Lotten. I didn't return to the basement until after Private Thorne had closed out her shift for the day. I mean I noticed that the woman in question was gone, but I didn't think anything of it. I figured Thorne had expedited her through to housing."

"Can you remember a name?"

Truett racked his brain. He'd taken in so much information yesterday, between his ongoing study of the military code of conduct and his interview with Perry. But he remembered thinking that it had been a beautiful name. Something foreign. He thought hard for a moment, but nothing registered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I really wish I could help. Perhaps you could ask the soldiers who filled in the initial intake form."

She sighed. "Already did. Rolz and Norwood wouldn't remember their last names if they weren't stitched onto their uniforms."

He'd roomed with Rolz during basic and had taken enough shit from Norwood to know that was indeed an accurate estimation of his fellow Privates. "How about... asking Private Thorne what happened?" he asked the question with caution; the suggestion felt like dangerous grounds to tread on. "I'm sure she'll be able to clear it up for you."

"I'll take that under advisement. You're dismissed, Private."

Truett stood. "Thank you, ma'am." He moved to the door and his eyes caught on the framed maps lined up on her wall. There was one of the United States and one of France. In an instant, the name flashed large on the big black screen in his mind. "Michonne," he murmured, staring at the map. When he'd read the name the day before, he'd thought about how it sounded French and remembered wondering what it meant. "Her name was Michonne," he turned and said.

Lieutenant Colonel Stokes shot out of her seat. "Are you absolutely sure that's what it was?"

"Yeah. Uh-" He thought for a moment. "Yes. I'm sure."

She snatched the walkie-talkie from her desk. "Beyers come in."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get me a reading on Captain Grimes' ankle monitor. I wanna know all his comings and goings in the past twenty-four hours. I need a truck pulled up out front. And I want you to station men outside of intake to apprehend Private Thorne when she arrives."

Truett still had no earthly idea what was going on, but he couldn't fight the nagging feeling he'd just made a major fuck up and that he needed to give Pearl a heads-up.

---

Feels so damn good. It's what Michonne thought, doubled over and heart trotting at the speed of a prize horse. She'd pushed herself, for hours, through the brush and trees until her sweat-soaked body couldn't go any longer. Her need to not sit and stew on... everything, had fueled her for miles. The release was much needed and for now, the ever-present tightness in her chest and throat had eased a little.

She limped back into the cabin and poured herself a glass of filtered water from the fridge, leaned back against the counter, and guzzled it. She paused mid-drink at the distinguishable crackles of rocks and sticks underneath car tires, coming from the front yard.

Michonne looked at the clock on the wall. Half past three. It's not Rick. He said he'd be back at five. The only other option had Michonne's pulse ticking up as she set the glass on the counter and moved to the front window, to peek through a shutter.

Outside, all four doors of a black humvee—with the three interlocked rings marked on the side—opened. Soldiers in the same uniform Rick had left the house in, stepped out with their pistols drawn. The one who caught her eye was the woman who stepped out of the front passenger seat. Jadis.

Michonne crept away from the window and rushed to the bedroom. She grabbed the gun from the nightstand and made a beeline for the back door.

"Fan out!" she heard from outside. It was Jadis' voice.

She cracked the door open and cleared the back area with her eyes, before she dashed across the deck and down the steps, speeding unfettered down the steep hill. The moment she felt herself begin to fall, she tried to pump the brakes, to no avail. Her feet were moving too fast under her legs to break.

Her knees buckled and pitched her to the side; all she could do was shield her head, her arms went up to cover it a split second before her body began its tumbling descent the rest of the way down.

Michonne felt the gun slip from her grasp as she hit the gravel of the trail.

Her body, absorbing the shock of its collision with the ground, froze for a moment.

Get up! She tried to push herself up and sucked in a sharp breath at the gravel-covered bloody skid mark wounds that stung her arms.

Michonne grappled to stand, groaning at the sudden ache that shot through her body. When she was upright, she reached down for the gun. A bullet pierced the ground where it lay.

Shit. She retracted her hand and her head popped up. For a frozen moment in time, her eyes connected with Jadis. She stood at the top of the hill, her gun pointed down at Michonne and a smile on her face.

More bullets flying broke the stare, and the other soldiers appeared from around the sides of the cabin firing indiscriminately at her.

Michonne left her gun behind. Lurched forward, for the tree a few feet in front of her and ducked behind pressed her back into the trunk and took steadying breaths.

The raucous noise of gunfire stopped, all at once, and gave Michonne a moment to gather her thoughts. She glanced all over the forest, blinking. No matter which way she ran, they'd have a clear line of sight—a clean shot. She zeroed in on the road she could see through the trees. There. It was the only option. If she got to the street, she could cross to the other side's denser tree cover. And she'd keep going until she was safe.

Michonne panted, listened, and waited.

Only a few seconds passed, but it was a few seconds too long considering the quiet that cloaked the woods.

She poked her head out from behind the tree, then promptly shrunk back when a bullet zipped past, from a gun of the soldiers she caught steadily advancing down the hill toward her. She was a sitting duck; she needed to move.

"It doesn't have to end badly for you, Michonne," Jadis said. "Surrender now and we'll take you in unharmed. We'll catch up. It'll be more fun if you're alive."

"Stop shooting at me and I might consider it."

"Quit running and I will."

Get to the road. Just get to the road.

Michonne could hear them closing in on her. She pushed off the tree trunk and sprinted in an uneven line. Her eyes never left the road, even as bullets whizzed past her and the sound of footsteps barreling behind was loud in her ears. She was tempted to look back, her fight instinct kicking against the flight, but she stayed focused.

Michonne was a few feet from hitting the pavement when an SUV swerved to a stop in front of her. She skidded but caught herself before toppling forward.

The door to the SUV opened.

Pearl stepped out with a rifle pointed at her and the gunfire behind Michonne ceased momentarily. "Get in!" Pearl shouted.

Ducking out of the way, Michonne darted around the back of the car to the front passenger side.

"Fall back!" she heard Jadis yell, then the cracking of steady rounds from Pearl's rifle and the reply fire of the soldier's pistols tinting the SUV's aluminum as she jumped into the front passenger's seat.

"Let's go!" she yelled at Pearl.

Pearl fired off a few more rounds, hopped into the driver's seat, and threw the rifle to Michonne, before pressing the gas of the idling car. Bullets sprayed the back window as the car screeched off and sped down the road.

Pearl glanced at her. "You okay?" she huffed out.

"I'm good," Michonne panted back. She was about to ask her the same when her eyes fell on Pearl's middle. Blood darkened the black of her striped uniform top, where it seeped through the hole in it. Maybe it was adrenaline, but Michonne didn't think Pearl had noticed. "Pearl!"

She cut her eyes away from the road and looked at Michonne, then followed her gaze down. "Oh, fuck."

---

Exterminate The Commonwealth... eliminate some to traumatize the many... take care of Ruthers… exterminate The Commonwealth... eliminate some to traumatize the many... take care of Ruthers...

Rick's brain went a mile a minute, every word Beale had spoken in the meeting played on a loop in his mind from the moment he'd stepped out of the conference room and had gone to command to get the damn bracelet cut off his ankle until he stepped back through the door of his apartment. The coordinates to the explosives cache felt like a literal bomb in his pocket.

Impatient to get back to the cabin, Rick fast walked through his living room to the bedroom. Inside, he pulled out the duffle bag from beneath his bed and stuffed clothes in with no regard for order.

He wasn't expected to come in on the weekend. It meant he had two days to catch his breath and figure things out with Michonne. He packed enough for a few days and threw in some shirts he knew Michonne could wear too.

In a week... marshal law... demolish the civilian government… He needed to talk to Arthur—the leader of The Resistance—face to face. He'd stop by Dougie's before heading out to the cabin and get him to set up a meeting with the ghost.

He'd been by Dougie's only twice over the years and never without signaling first—a red bandana tied to the trash bin in front of the abandoned high-rise in the deserted tenth ward, the day before he wanted to meet.

Rick zipped his duffel and lifted it off of the bed. When the walkie-talkie on his belt buzzed with static, he dropped the bag and unclipped it.

"Brave man, come in." Rick heard a voice he could pick out of a stadium filled with thousands.

"I'm here," he answered quickly.

"Switch to twenty-seven hundred." Her out-of-breath and frazzled voice made his body tense. "Privacy code is the month and day of our youngest's date of birth."

He was quick to flip the channel and punch in RJ's birthday; he remembered Michonne telling him that morning. "Michonne," he said into the radio. "You there? What's going on?" He released the button and listened.

"I'm here," her shaky voice said. "Jadis found me."

He gripped the walkie-talkie tighter. "Where are you now? Are you okay?"

"Pearl was tipped off and she came to help. She got shot, getting me out."

"Are you okay?" he repeated, needing to know the answer to that, above all else.

"I'm fine. But Pearl's not. I stopped the bleeding. But she needs medical attention."

"You can't go to the hospital. It's the first place Jadis will look."

"She needs a doctor, Rick."

He picked up his duffel bag and moved out of the room. "Where are you now?"

"Parked in an alleyway in Ward Ten. Pearl said it was the best place to hide out."

"Good. You're close. My contact for The Resistance lives on the top floor of an abandoned building there. Ditch the car and look for a gray high-rise across from the central park. Apartment twenty oh four. Tell him I sent you. His name's Dougie." He got to the door and his hand froze on the knob as he spouted out the rest. "Jadis won't look there. I know a doctor we can trust- she's one of us. I'll send her over. I'm on my way too. Be safe."

"You two. I'll see you soon. Out."

Rick opened his door and when he caught sight of Jadis and four other soldiers rounding the corner at the end of his hall, he swiftly shut it again. He snapped the lock, backtracked into his bedroom, and hurried to the window.

Rick pushed the edge up and glanced over his shoulder when he heard banging on the door.

He hurried his efforts. Climbed onto the fire escape balcony, slid the window back down, and hustled down the stairs.

---

Michonne draped Pearl's rifle over her shoulder. She grabbed the pistol and flashlight from the middle console and ran around the front of the SUV to the passenger's side, checking over her shoulder before opening the door. Pearl sat with her head against the headrest, eyes closed and face contorted in agony.

Michonne's gaze went down to the wound Pearl's hand covered. Blood was beginning to seep through again. "We gotta move," she said.

Pearl grimaced down at her. "No." Her voice was strained, her breathing labored. "I can't- I can't move. It hurts like a motherfucker." She groaned.

"We can't stay out here. I'm gonna take you somewhere safe, get you help."

Pearl regarded her, looking like she was trying to make her mind up.

"All you have to do is lean on me." Michonne gave her a wavering smile. "I'll do all the work."

Pearl nodded. "Okay."

Michonne pressed her side into the cushion of the seat and set Pearl's arm over her shoulder. "Nice and slow." She took the weight of the woman, draped her arm around Pearl's waist, and guided her from the seat onto the cement.

Pearl winced and settled firmly into Michonne's side when her boots hit the ground.

They hobbled through to the end of the alley and she peeked around the corner, at the desolate streets of Ward Ten. "Which way?"

"Left." Pearl struggled to keep her head up.

Michonne kept her eyes on the swivel, surveying every inch of the burnt buildings—some only rubble and others hanging on by their frames—as they walked along the sidewalk. She dodged the cracked earth piled all around. "What happened here?" she asked, half curious and half trying to keep Pearl, whose head was beginning to droop, awake.

"Back at the start..." Michonne caught, out of the corner of her eye, Pearl lifting her head and looking over the destroyed scene in front of them. "When we first got the walls up, a gas pipeline exploded."

She stopped and adjusted Pearl on her shoulder. "You never tried to rebuild?"

"The people voted against it. We lost a lot of people that day. Easier to close it off. Forget."

Michonne saw water bubbling at the rim of her lids. "Did you lose someone?"

"My father. He was on patrol here that day."

Michonne was startled at the admission, but let it go, and made a mental note to question Rick about it later.

She spotted the park, with its playground pieces piled on the ground, and looked away when her eyes caught on a little kid's burnt shoe on the ground. Jesus. She settled her eyes on the gray highrise—the only intact building in the vicinity. There were no signs of life, no lights on or anything, and the top floor was... Twenty. Stories. Up! "Any chance the elevator still works?" Michonne joked dryly.

"You think we'd be that lucky?" Pearl said, a hint of humor in the tone of her voice, even despite the fact she sounded like she might pass out at any second.

"Yeah, no."

xXx

The flashlight in Michonne's mouth was all that lit the path up the high-rise's pitch-black stairwell. They reached the landing of floor ten. Halfway there. Michonne paused, catching her breath. She glanced at Pearl. Her eyes were shut; her head rested on Michonne's shoulder.

"Hey." Michonne shook her. "You can't fall asleep on me. I need your help getting up the rest of the way. Okay?"

Pearl's head jerked up and she nodded drowsily. "Thought..." She took in a deep, shallow breath. "You said you'd do all the work."

Michonne adjusted her arm and pushed ahead. "I lied."

By the time they reached the top floor, she'd given up on trying to wake Pearl; she was knocked out, heavy against Michonne's frame. She pushed them through the door leading into the top-floor hallway and limped ahead, dragging Pearl alongside her to twenty oh four.

Michonne tapped her fist on the wood of the door. "Dougie? Rick Grimes sent us. We're friends of his." She waited a beat, then knocked again.

There was movement on the other side of the door. The slender window's curtain was pushed aside a little but retracted back before Michonne could get a look at the eyes peeking through it.

"He said you'd help us. Please, she's bleeding out."

Another beat and... nothing.

Michonne raised her hand to knock again.

A young-sounding voice booming through the door stopped her. "Names."

"Michonne. Pearl."

"You one of them too? You don't got a uniform on."

"No... I'm..." This man knew Rick, it's possible he also knew what he'd lost. "I'm his wife."

Michonne heard the lock unclick, then the door opened slowly. She dragged Pearl back when a pistol poked through the crack. "Drop the guns."

She threw the pistol in her hand to the ground, then maneuvered Pearl's rifle off her shoulder and set it there too.

The door opened wider, with a lanky young black man in ripped jeans and glasses standing in the frame. This guy was a leader in the resistance? She wasn't sure he even knew what to do with that gun his limp-wristed handheld. She could take him if it came to that.

He grabbed the guns and looked Pearl over. "What happened to her?"

"Some soldiers shot her."

"They follow you here?"

"No."

He surprised Michonne when he moved to the other side of Pearl, slung her arm over his shoulder, and guided them into the condo.

xXx

A doctor showed up minutes after they set Pearl on the california queen of the expansive guest bedroom, backdropped by floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city. The Doctor was kind and efficient, and upon seeing the state of Pearl, she wasted no time puncturing a needle, attached to a bag of blood, into Pearl's arm.

Michonne hovered at the door frame, unaware of what needed to be done for the ashen, blood-soaked woman lying there lifeless. But she felt the need to watch over it all, make sure she was being taken care of.

It was only when she heard a knock at the door that she moved off of the frame. Even before she rounded the corner into the wide open space of the penthouse living room she heard

Rick's voice. "Where are they?"

"Can we first talk about how you're breaking all kinds of protocols sending them here," Dougie said.

"I asked you a question," Rick growled. It was clear his patience was at zero.

Michonne hurried into the living room before things could escalate. "Rick."

Pushing past Dougie, he strode toward her, bringing her in for a tight hug. "You okay?" he asked into her ear.

"I'm fine."

Seemingly needing to confirm that for himself, Rick pulled back and examined her with his eyes, his gaze stuttering on the dried blood-covered cuts on her arms. He looked up at her with tender concern.

"I fell. They're just cuts. I'm fine."

"Where's Pearl?" a voice that wasn't Dougie's said from behind Rick.

Her eyes shot up to Antonio standing there with a face more worried than Rick's. She glanced back at Rick.

"I thought he should be here," Rick replied to her silent question.

"Right," Dougie snapped, shutting the door. "What's one more fucking person?"

She ignored him. "Down the hallway, last room on the left."

"Thank you." Antonio rushed past them.

Rick intertwined their hands and moved to stand beside her, before Dougie. "I need to see Arthur. Can you get him here?"

"You know he doesn't-"

"It's important."

"Tell me and I'll pass it along."

Rick's jaw clenched. He let go of her hand and advanced toward Dougie. The guy stumbled backward into the wall, to get away. "No more of this cloak and daggers bullshit."

The low growl of Rick's voice had Dougie gulping.

"There's no time for it anymore. I got the coordinates for the explosives. I know Beale's plan. And I think he'd like to know Pearl's here."

"Alright." Dougie held his hands up. "You don't gotta get like that. I'll get him here."

---

"Got some things to take care of those cuts," Rick murmured as he walked into the dimly lit bedroom Dougie had given to him and Michonne.

Michonne had her back to him staring at the cityscape, which was illuminated in the dark of night, on the other side of the expansive wall of windows. She was fresh from a shower, in her underwear, pulling on one of his t-shirts.

His eyes held on the scar at her lower back and a chill ran through his body. He'd been unsettled seeing it the night before and knowing the context made him sick to his stomach.

She turned around and moved in his direction.

Thankfully, thinking about how sexy she looked staggering toward him in just his t-shirt, brought Rick's mood up a few notches.

Michonne set a soft kiss on his lips and grabbed the ointment and gauze from his hands. "Thank you." She dropped down to sit at the foot of the large bed and closed her eyes, rolling her neck and rubbing at it. "How's Pearl?"

"Stable. Doc says she's gonna be alright." Rick sat beside her. "Here. Let me." He kneaded at the knot at the base of her neck and took solace in the soft moan she let out as he worked.

"Did you tell her about Arthur when you talked to her earlier?"

Rick's hand stopped. His gaze bore into her neck. "No. It wasn't the time."

"You didn't tell me that she thought he was dead." He'd let Michonne know that morning who Arthur was and what he was to Pearl, but there'd been no time to go into the details. "What happened? Why does she think he's dead, Rick?"

"That explosion that killed all those people here in Ward Ten right after the start... the people were told it was a pipeline. That it happened because of a leak. It's what Beale wanted everyone to believe. Truth is, he planted those explosives for the same reason he killed the members of The Alliance. For the same reason he wants to eliminate this community in Ohio."

"How does Arthur fit into this?"

"Arthur was Beale's right hand. He was the one who was supposed to execute the orders. He couldn't do it. He tried to stop it and Beale went after him, tried to kill him. He got away and went into hiding. I think he thought Pearl would be safer away from him, in the ranks. That Beale would watch over her."

"You think he'll show, now?"

"I don't know." He went back to rubbing at her neck. "Either way, we gotta figure a way to get those explosives. It can't be me anymore. When Jadis tells Beale you're here, there's no way he'll trust me. He'll be looking for me too."

"Maybe that's a good thing. If he thinks we're trapped in here, he won't even bother looking for us out there." She turned to fully face him. "The man who told me how to get here said there was a way to get out that no one knows about. It was my plan for us before I knew everything. There's a tunnel system below city hall that goes under the wall. He found it when he was doing work on the sewage system and kept it to himself. If we can get out, we can get to those explosives, while Arthur and the others are putting things in place here."

A selfish, savage thought crept into Rick's mind and despite knowing what her answer would be and deep down what his was too, he said it aloud. "You wouldn't wanna just go home? This isn't our fight. We could take Judith and R.J. and everyone else and run. Find someplace else that's safe. Where he can't get to us."

Rick braced for a look of judgment from her, but it never came. She instead gave him a knowing smile. "You wouldn't even be able to follow through with that. We'd be halfway home and you'd wanna turn around and come back."

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah."

"And you're wrong. This is our fight. The fight for what's right will always be our fight."

---

Pearl's world pieced back in fragmented snatches. A cacophony of out-of-sequence sights and sounds floated through her subconscious. She worked hard to fit them together, but it was as if she only had the wrong pieces of a puzzle.

And the water rushes underlining it all, had her convinced she was drowning. The surface, where the light was, taunted her. It beckoned for her to break through, even as it moved further and further away.

She kept pushing, kept swimming through the darkness and the closer she got to the light the more the sounds morphed into something familiar. Her name. It was her name. A familiar voice yelling her name. Chanting it like it was cheering her on. Pearl. Pearl. Pearl.

She was all of a sudden aware of her face—her heavy eyelids then her dry lips. And as if someone was forming her from dust, the heaviness of her body returned in a cascade from her head to her toes. She was even closer to the light now.

"Pearl." The voice was fuller and sounded less like an echo. "Pearl. Baby girl."

She used all the strength of her feeble body to push her crusted eyelids apart, at the nickname she'd only heard from one person.

Pearl blinked through the harsh light of day and her fuzzy view focused on the gray-bearded smiling face of the black man standing above her. It was an apparition, it had to be. Which meant, fuck, she was dead.

But then why'd the hand on her arm feel so warm? And if she was dead, she wouldn't feel the water seeping from her eyes or the hand pressing into her forearm.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping maybe he'd go away. She wasn't ready to die, she needed to make things right first.

When she opened her eyes again, he was there still.

"I'm here," he said. "It's real." It was the sound of his voice, the deep baritone that even God couldn't replicate that sold her.

Pearl pushed her lips apart and practiced speaking a few times—her mouth moving with nothing coming out—before she found what little voice she had. "Dad?"