A Place to Call Home (Full Story Re-upload)

by WorksByThia

An alternate telling of Rick and Michonne's story.

7. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Two Birds One Bat

Timestamp: Season 6 Episode 12 -

Season 7 Episode 3

(—PART I—)

Michonne rapped, just barely, on the bedroom door. Her hand fell away and she glanced back at Denise, who stood just over her shoulder. The other woman pushed her frames up at the center and tightly folded her arms against her chest, as if comforting herself, while she rocked back and forth on the heels of her tennies and up onto her toes.

"Come in," the voice on the other side of the door called.

Michonne twisted the knob and upon stepping into the room, was smacked in the face by the scent of the ever-burning lavender candle that lived on Aoki's dresser. As Aoki had settled into life in Alexandria, Michonne had taken pleasure in watching the young woman's sanctuary take shape over the past few months. The bedroom had been transformed from a sparsely furnished and rather drab guest room into a bohemian paradise fit with a beige knit hammock hanging from the ceiling, which Aoki was currently relaxing on, with a novel open in front of her.

"Hey!" Aoki smiled and bookmarked her page before setting it in her lap. "I didn't think you were gonna stop by tonight with everything going on..." She trailed off when Denise stepped out from behind Michonne and came into view. "Uh... hey, Denise."

Michonne wasn't sure if it was the straight faces the women wore or the fact that Aoki wasn't too far removed from being parented to recognize what two adults approaching her at the same time meant, that caused the young woman's smile to dissolve.

"Hi." Denise waved and followed Michonne to the bed, plopping down on the nearside while Michonne circled to the far side.

Aoki's penetrating gaze panned between the two women in front of her as if trying to telepathically decipher what this drop-by was concerning. "What is this?" She laughed nervously. "An intervention?"

Michonne looked at Denise, who straightened out her posture. "Michonne told me you agreed to go tomorrow, to the satellite station."

"Oh. Uh... yeah." She shrugged. "Rick said they needed as many volunteers as possible."

"Good news is they already have enough people," Denise assured. "So there's no need for you to go."

"Okay... well I already said I was. I'm not going back on my word."

"No need to worry about that," Michonne chimed in. And without thought, she added, "Rick and everyone else understands-"

"What do you mean they understand?"

Michonne cursed herself for the slip of the tongue. Damn it. Denise had told her to let it be Aoki's decision, fearing an authoritative stance might put her on the defensive. But there was no walking it back now. "I told them you weren't going," she admitted.

Aoki's upper lip twitched. "I didn't ask you to do that." Michonne winced at the sharpness of her tone.

"Look," Denise blurted. "Michonne and I both agree we don't feel you going back to that satellite station is a good idea."

"I've killed before."

"It's not about the killing. It's about what happened there. Re-entering the place associated with your trauma is dangerous, especially under the circumstances."

Michonne watched the realization dawn on Aoki. "I'm fine."

"It may feel that way," Denise said in return. "Because of what great progress you've made, but going back there now could undo all the months of work it's taken to get you here. I don't wanna see you throw all that away."

"And I appreciate your concern, but I'm good Denise. I really am. I can handle it."

"Why is it so important that you be there?"

Aoki was quick to reply, "Rick said this is how we eat." But Michonne caught her slight hesitation before answering.

"And he also said we don't all have to kill," Denise retorted.

"Says the woman who's never been outside the walls," Aoki spat back.

Denise flinched at the burn, bristling and shrinking into herself.

"I'm sorry, Denise. I didn't mean-" She sighed. "I'm just trying to do my part."

Michonne didn't think that was true—this wasn't about the deal with the Hilltop. She'd been sitting next to Aoki in that church when Rick explained the plan to attack the satellite station. She'd seen how in a matter of seconds, Aoki's peace had been pushed out by the demons she'd spent months sitting on Denise's "couch" exorcising.

"No," Michonne was careful to keep her tone gentle but firm when she challenged, "that's not why, and I think you know it."

Aoki held Michonne's gaze and she watched the young woman's neutral stare harden into a glare. "So what if it's not." Her voice matched her face. "They deserve whatever's coming to them. It's only fair that I get to be part of it."

And there it was.

"This is not gonna make it better," Denise urged. "I know it seems like it will somehow make you feel-"

"Don't. Don't try to- you have no idea what it feels like. Neither of you do. You keep telling me I control what happens to me now. That I have choices... and I'm sorry but there's nothing you can say to change my mind."

Denise looked over at Michonne; her mouth downturned while her head shook from one side to the other. She'd reached the line in the sand she wouldn't cross, her therapeutic relationship with Aoki of the utmost importance to her. It's why she'd requested Michonne be there.

The relationship Michonne had formed with Aoki leaned more toward that of a friendship—it's what she thought the young woman needed at the time, but in retrospect, she might have been wrong. After all, Aoki was only sixteen. "I'm not letting you go."

"Last time I checked, my mama and papa were still dead, so I can do whatever the hell I want..." She moved off the hammock and stormed away, in the direction of the door.

"Hey!" Michonne struggled off the bed and jogged to stand in front of her. "You may not be my child. But you are still a child."

Weariness washed over Aoki. "I haven't been a child in years, Michonne."

She opened her mouth unsure of what words to even utter in response to that, because... the girl had a point.

And before she could figure out what to say, Aoki took off past her.

---

Rosita, sitting on the closed-lid toilet with her balled-up hands propping up her chin and her elbows resting on her spread-apart knees, stared at the ticking time bomb that sat next to the kitchen timer on the bathroom counter. The box had advised a three-minute wait and the timer had just elapsed the thirty-second mark. Every second magnified the imposing sound of the timer's tick.

Can we do this?

Rosita sniggered. They probably should have thought of that while they were doing it; the peaceful months had led the way to a lot of recreational fun between the sheets and if she was being honest, she and Abe had been reckless.

"You gonna let me in or what?" Abraham's voice boomed through the door, startling her, as he banged on the wood.

"I'm good," she yelled back. "Thanks."

"Let me rephrase the question... open the damn door, woman."

The ticker danced and Rosita rushed to the counter, swiping the test off the granite. She gripped it in the palm of her shaky hand, covering the mini screen.

Get a hold of yourself.

Rosita lifted her eyes to the mirror. "Relax," she whispered to the woman staring back at her. The woman whose face had been pieced together from the framework of all the others before it—her Bisabuela's nose, her Abuelita's lips, and her Mamá's... everything else. Since the start, she'd been shouldering the weight of her entire lineage, and though she was unsure of whether she wanted one or two lines, the thought of it all ending with her tipped the balance in favor of two.

Rosita slid her hand away and stared at the screen, reading the results as she walked to the locked door. She took a deep breath, before opening it. Abraham, who'd been chilling against the wood, nearly fell into her.

He played it off, stretching his lengthy arm to the top of the frame and setting his other hand on his hip, his legs crossing at the ankles. "So?" He thrust his neck out like a turtle, his head wobbling from side to side. "We having a pup or what?"

Rosita held the test up and watched his puffed-out chest deflate. "Oh."

"Yeah." She exhaled and moved past him to sit on the foot of the bed, staring down at the single line on the stick; hoping if she eyed it long enough another one might magically appear. It didn't.

It wasn't like they'd been planning for a kid or anything, she really shouldn't have felt the overwhelming sense of disappointment that made its home in her heart.

Abraham kneeled before her and rubbed up and down her thighs. "You know my swimmers are A-plus plus, right? We can always try again."

A tear escaped and she used a knuckle to push it away. "Again?"

"For the first time," he corrected.

She laughed, but couldn't sustain her mirth, with too much still weighing on her. "Now that we can decide... you'd still wanna do something as big as-" She lifted the test. "This?"

"The table is set for the rest of our lives, Rosie. And I hope those years to be long and fruitful. I see that time before me... and I've been feeling the urge to make some plays... before the great cosmic Pete comes to cut my throat unceremoniously and I gurgle my last breath. Things are gonna go on for a while before that, and that hadn't occurred to me before we got here... well I was taking it check-to-check on that point. But doing something as big as this. Oh, baby, that's living."

She rolled her eyes and set her hands on either side of his face. "I love you," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Abraham grinned. "Could be thirty years for us here. That's still too short, " he replied, with a flourish she'd not only gotten used to but now found endearing.

But sometimes she just needed to hear him say the words, plain and simple. "You know you could just say-"

"I love you too."

She kissed him and when they pulled apart, he purred, "sweet flaming mercy. I suggest we rev up this engine post haste, give fate a little somethin' to work with."

"Yeah, why don't we?" she murmured against his lips.

---

18. Carol sat on the ledge of her bed, staring at the number she'd just written in her journal. On paper, to anyone else, it was just a number but what Carol saw was how many times she'd broken the promise she'd made to herself at the start...

Never take a human life. She'd made the pledge before she'd fully understood the abiding truth of survival in this world: if you care about people, there are people to protect, and there are people that you will kill for.

She sometimes wished she could get a do-over, to go back to the start, and on the long list of things she'd do differently, not making that damn promise was at the very top.

Carol's hand skated over her face, a yawn slipping through her lips. Her eyes ached from all the overtime they'd put in, but she didn't attempt to lay her head on the pillow to seek out sleep that would never come.

Instead, she slammed her journal shut and reached into the nightstand drawer, feeling for her stash of the only thing that brought her relief these days.

Strolling down the sidewalk on her third lap around the silent town, Carol withdrew her fourth cigarette of the evening from out of the carton and stopped to light it.

"You got another one?" Her head jerked up and she saw the young girl, who she'd only had a single-digit number of conversations with, sitting on the porch steps of Rick and Michonne's house.

She commenced lighting the end of the stick and took a puff. "Not for you," she replied, before sitting next to Aoki. "Don't you know these things will kill ya?"

With a harrumph, Aoki dropped her chin onto the folded arms that rested on her knees. "Man... I can't do shit around here."

Carol smirked, recognizing the special brand of attitude only a teenage—or pre-teen—girl could pull off. Even Sophia, as sweet-natured as she'd been, had had her moments. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope."

"Me neither." Anytime she slipped her eyes closed, the ghosts of eighteen souls were waiting to nag at her conscience.

They sat in silence for a spell. Something was wrong, it was written all over the young girls' dejected body language. But Carol didn't know her well enough to guess what, and as shitty a person as it made her, she simply wasn't in the mood to prod.

Her cigarette was on its last light and Carol was preparing to bid Aoki good night when the girl asked, "you going tomorrow?"

"Yeah... heard you were too."

"Michonne doesn't want me to..." She trailed off into a charged silence. When Aoki opened her mouth to speak again, her voice barely registered in Carol's ears. "But I have to do it."

Carol glanced over and caught Aoki staring blankly out into the darkness. She could think of so many occasions when she'd said those exact words to herself right before she'd done something she probably shouldn't have.

Carol stamped her cigarette out on the wood of the steps and flicked it into the street. She massaged her bare ring finger, a nervous habit from the time when she used to slide the titanium on and off, practicing for the moment she'd finally get the courage to chuck it for good. "I killed one of our own," she divulged, voicing the words for the first time.

She felt Aoki's eyes on the side of her face but didn't let it unnerve her. "She was sick. I thought she'd- they'd- there were two. But I didn't know the guy well. Anyways, I thought she'd kill more people... that's what I told myself. But honestly, I had no way of really knowing that. It was a while back, but I still think about her every day."

Carol finally looked at Aoki. "I don't know why you feel like you have to... but what I do know is, what we're doing tomorrow, that shit stains. So be sure you can live with what comes after."

---

"We need someone on the perimeter," Michonne, perched on her bed lathering her arms with lotion, mused aloud. "That would be safe... safer..."

She could only see the shadow of Rick's strong side profile from where he was bent over in front of his nightstand unlatching his timepiece, but from the way his shoulders lifted and dropped down and the fact he'd said nothing in response, she could tell he didn't agree.

"She's going whether I want her to or not," Michonne argued. "But if I go, I think I can get her to keep watch with me."

"We agreed you were staying back," Rick said, yanking his t-shirt off.

On the drive home from the Hilltop, Rick—knowing her propensity for trying to do too much—had wasted no time letting Michonne know he didn't want her anywhere near the satellite outpost and she'd acquiesced without pushback, but... "I can't have her going inside there. I can't."

Rick wandered over to Michonne's side and she folded her legs up, giving him room. Sitting on the edge of the bed he stared at the wall, gathering his thoughts, before giving her his attention. "How 'bout I assign her to the perimeter with Rosita or Carol—they can keep an eye on her."

She thought about it and concluded that given the task, either woman would make damn sure Aoki didn't step foot inside that satellite station. Yeah, she could live with that. "Alright."

Rick took hold of one of her legs and then the other, setting them on his lap. He grabbed the cocoa butter cream and began lotioning her legs, as was their nightly routine since Michonne had lost the war against her belly—now unable to reach her ankles without great effort.

If his eyes had been laser beams, he would have stared holes straight through Michonne's legs, as he massaged the cream into her skin, on autopilot.

Delighting in his firm touch, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, giving him time alone with his thoughts.

And when Rick was finished with her legs, he carefully folded them back up and inched closer, lifting the edge of her tank top to access her belly. Really, she could lotion her own stomach, but Rick insisted and no one would catch her protesting.

When she felt he'd had sufficient time to stew, Michonne opened her eyes, reached out, and squeezed his shoulder. "What's on your mind?"

Rick kept his eyes on her belly and the task at hand. "Thinkin' about the plan."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No." Rick's voice was low, with a steely edge to it. "They almost killed Daryl, Glenn, and Jessie on the road. Sooner or later, they would've found us, just like those Wolves did. They woulda killed someone or some of us. And we would try to stop them. But by then, in that kind of fight, low on food, we could lose. This is the only way to be sure, as sure as we can get, that we win-" His hand stilled on her belly at the exact instant Michonne felt in her womb the familiar sensation of one of her babies kicking.

Rick beamed up at her. "Which one do you think it is?" His eyebrows wagged like the answer was a piece of piping-hot gossip.

Michonne laughed. "I have no idea."

"Two babies..." There was so much wonder in his voice. "I still can't believe it."

"Right?" She sighed. "God, that condom wasn't worth a damn, was it?"

"No." Rick chuckled. "It was not... I'm glad we got to see 'em."

And following the ultrasound—and subsequent celebration of the news—Dr. Carson had sat Rick and Michonne down to discuss the details of what two babies instead of one meant for them.

During the ride back from the Hilltop and staring at her belly now, Michonne hadn't meant to dwell on just the negative, but out of everything Dr. Carson said she could only recall verbatim the words that induced alarm. High-risk. Premature. Gestational diabetes. Cord entanglement. Post-partum hemorrhaging.

She knew Dr. Carson had only been trying to keep them abreast of all the risks associated with a multiple birth and pregnancy, but he'd unknowingly unlocked a slew of all-new fears for her.

"What is it?" Michonne heard Rick ask. "What's that frown?"

She was quick to turn it upside down."Nothing," she replied, making her voice light as she tried for cheery, but even to her ears it sounded put-on. "Let's go to bed." Michonne swung off the edge and peeled the covers back to slide under, switching her light off before laying her head on the pillow. And when Rick followed suit, she thought she might be off the hook.

But, staring up at the ceiling, she felt the heat of Rick's gaze on the side of her face.

He's not gonna let this go, is he? She turned her head and found him watching her with narrowed eyes. No, he was most certainly not.

"What's got you worried?"

Michonne's eyes went back to the ceiling—stayed trained there. "I don't know... I'm happy. I am..." she took her time, scrutinizing her words before they had a chance to escape her lips. "I wanna enjoy this pregnancy... I want you to enjoy this. I want moments like this to be filled with nothing but joy. But..." She dragged her gaze back over to him.

Rick now sat up on his forearm. Concern was etched into the creases of his forehead and his baby blues were focused intently on her face. See, this was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. She hated that she was ruining this for him.

"You can tell me anything."

"... I guess... when we thought it was just one, I thought- okay, we can do this. I've done it before. I knew what to expect. And the rest, we'll figure it out. We'll get through it somehow... but when I saw them both on that screen. It hit me that this is twice as dangerous now... the way things are, there's no room for complications. Either everything goes perfectly or..."

Rick leaned over her. He set his hand on the side of her face, his thumb ghosting the shape of her lips as he stared into her eyes. He lowered down, to press his lips onto hers. Once he pulled back, he stayed close. "I'm not losing you," Rick affirmed, his voice deep and resounding. "So, don't even think it."

"Rick... you don't know-"

"No. I don't," he croaked. "But we still have each other, right? Right here. Right now... we're together. That's all we've ever been promised, so maybe we just forget about what could happen and focus on what is."

It was the conviction dripping from each word he spoke that prompted her to nod in agreement. And she wanted to leave it at that, knew Rick did too, but she couldn't. This wasn't a topic they talked about much—their mortality—and she feared once they put a lid on it, they'd never speak of it again.

But the babies wouldn't stay in her womb forever, and before that time came, she needed them on the same page."If it comes to it. If there's a choice that needs to be made and I can't- if you have to make a choice, promise me... you'll choose them."

Rick withdrew his hand and gaze from her, and his face tensed.

She snatched his chin and forced him to look at her. "If something goes wrong. They are the priority..."

The upper half of Rick's face scrunched up, pronouncing the wrinkles on his forehead. He licked his dry lips and pressed them together. "I can't..." he quavered.

"This is what I want. Please, promise me." She needed to hear him say it because Rick was a man of his word.

He shook his head, wordlessly reiterating his stance on the issue, before he said the words, "I promise."

"And if something happens to me, you keep going. You keep fighting..."

A brief pause, before Rick gave a single nod.

Michonne jerked up and seized his mouth—fierce but loving—hoping the kiss conveyed what she felt deep down; that not only did she love him to death, but she'd fight like hell to stay right there beside him.

She pulled away, gasping for air, and only glimpsed the heat in his gaze for a single moment, before Rick leaned in and connected their lips again with a purposeful grind into her side. There was no mistaking what he was after.

Michonne cradled his face, steadying the efforts of his tongue seeking hers out.

Her body tingled when his hand swept over the cleft of her breasts, trailed over her stomach, and ventured further down to the drawstring of her shorts.

With a flick of the wrist, he undid the tie, pushing past the band. His hand was at the edge of her underwear, about to dive in, when they heard knocking. Rick froze. Their eyes went to the door which, of course, they'd forgotten to lock. "Yeah?" he called, over his shoulder, not making a move to part from her. "Who is it?"

"Aoki," an unsure voice replied.

Rick shot Michonne a surprised look but still made no move to disengage. She nudged him off and snickered at the sigh and eye roll he gave as he rotated away. "Yeah. Just hold on," he yelled back, reaching for the t-shirt on the nightstand.

While he pulled it on, Michonne adjusted whatever was out of place and made herself presentable—or at least looking less like they'd been about to get it on. Once Rick was safely under the covers again she said, "come in."

Aoki pushed the door open and tentatively stepped inside, but only just a little. "Uh... hey, guys- did I wake you? I'm sorry-"

"It's alright," Rick assured.

"No need to apologize," Michonne said at the same time. "What's up? You okay?"

"Yeah." She looked down at the ground and when her eyes lifted, they were on Rick. "I'm sorry... but I... I won't be able to go tomorrow. I wanted to tell you that... since I gave you my word that I would."

Rick cleared his throat. "I understand. And I appreciate you letting me know."

"Okay. Cool." Aoki walked to the door and paused. She looked over her shoulder at Michonne. "Night, 'Chonne," she said, the expression on her face was that of remorse.

Michonne gave her a reassuring smile. "See you in the morning."

---

(—PART II—)

12 days later

The intense tightening of Michonne's stomach roused her from sleep. Laying on her side, she stared into space and concentrated on taking slow, even breaths—in through her nose and out past her pursed lips—as Dr. Carson had instructed her. Had she not already experienced the unmistakable pain of birthing a baby, she might have misconstrued the uncomfortable feeling of the Braxton Hicks contractions as preterm labor.

Michonne's body relaxed when the pressure eased and her stretched-out middle softened again. She reached under the covers, bypassed Rick's hand which was resting there, and tickled her belly. "Good morning," she whispered and as if returning the greeting, her baby boy kicked her hard in the pelvis. "Oof."

During his visit to Alexandria, Dr. Carson had determined the residing position of each fetus; no more guessing which one was using the wall of her womb as a trampoline at any given moment. Well, he'd also advised that the babies were still small enough to switch positions in there but that was too much for her foggy pregnant brain to try and keep track of, so she made it up in her mind that her perfect little angels kept to their respective corners of her uterus.

Michonne lifted her eyes to check the time and smiled when they landed on a shiny red apple sitting on the nightstand.

She'd already been asleep when Rick had stumbled his way back into their bed after a late-night guard shift, of which he'd been pulling extra duty since he'd locked Alexandria down in the wake of Daryl, Rosita, and Denise's run-in with the Saviors.

Her chest tightened at the thought of the woman who she'd come to count on—as not only her physician but friend—having been mercilessly slain by the group they'd clearly underestimated.

Michonne reached out and her hand froze on the piece of fruit—the amazement of it superseded by the diamonds attached to the band on her finger, glinting from the rays peeking through the window.

Ummm… nowadays, she'd been a bit absentminded, but she could have sworn the rock hadn't been there when she'd gone to sleep the night before.

Eyes fixed on the ring, Michonne retracted her hand from the apple. She punched her palm toward the ceiling and from afar studied the gold-banded, diamond-encrusted oval, with blossoming moss agate at the center, before bringing it in closer for a zoomed-in look. Her scrutinizing eyes squinted like an old folk trying to read the fine print of the Sunday paper.

"You like it?" she heard Rick ask, his voice groggy.

She couldn't take her eyes off the thing. "What is this?"

"Daryl and I came across an antique shop." He yawned. "I saw it in the window and it looked like somethin' you might like to wear. I've been, um... I've been waiting to give it to you."

Michonne's eyes welled. "Rick..." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Is it okay?"

Michonne shifted in Rick's arms, to face him. She'd never asked him for a ring—never even hinted at wanting one—because she'd never desired one. She'd already said yes to Rick, back at Gabriel's church. They'd already made their promises to each other and the ring on her finger was only a representation of that. But damn, it meant the absolute world to her that he'd thought it significant that she wear a token of their love.

Michonne combed her fingers through his wild bedhead and settled her hand at the base of his jawline. "I love it." She leaned into his space and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

And when she pulled back, she playfully swatted at his bare shoulder. "Why would you do this now?" she scoffed, wiping at the tears that trickled down her cheek.

"What?!"

"You know my hormones are fucked up right now."

"I'm sorry." Rick laughed. "I came in here last night and you were sleeping so peacefully." He traced a hand down the outline of her face. "So beautiful. It just felt right."

Michonne sniffed. "Thank you…"She reached back, grabbed the fruit, and took a bite. "And the babies and I thank you for the apple." She set the unbitten side on Rick's lips and watched him sink his teeth into it. "Mmmm… Jesus came through."

"Oh, they all did," he said through his mouthful. "And they're all gonna keep coming through."

She looked back at her clock and grumbled when she read the time. "I asked Lori and Tyreese to help me put up more bins and watch posts."

Rick groaned, pulling her closer. "Stay." He buried his scruffy face in her neck, kissing and nipping at the skin of it. "Andre's still sleeping."

Their son acted as their alarm clock; he came calling, banging on the door, asking for breakfast at an ungodly hour each morning. But the night before, they'd let him stay up with Carl and Aoki, who'd discovered—in the recesses of the pantry—a box with a DVD player and a bunch of movies.

The responsible side of Michonne's brain knew that Andre could still wake up at any moment and Tyreese and Lori were waiting on her.

But... the other side was cowering under the heat of Rick's sexy, squinty stare. "C'mon."

What the hell? "Okay."

Afterward, when Michonne swam back up from beneath the haze of Rick's love, she kissed his cheek and threw the covers back, swinging her legs off the bed to stand.

Michonne was merely halfway up when she stumbled back onto the bed. She clenched the edge, using it as her anchor, the world spinning around her.

"What's wrong?" Rick asked.

"Nothing. I just stood up a little too quickly."

"You sure? Maybe you should take the day. You haven't in a long while." She suspected his worry also had something to do with the spill she'd taken while chasing after Andre during their cardboard sword fight the day before.

"I'm fine..." She glanced over her shoulder. "We have to get this place ready for what might happen."

"You're worried about an attack."

"After what happened to Denise and Eugene, yeah."

"If they come for us, we'll end it, the whole thing. This won't be like before. We're putting everything in place and these people know what to do now."

"Yeah..."

Rick scooted closer to her until his chest was against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You rest today. I'll take over with Tyreese and Lori."

"You promised Andre you'd teach him how to ride his bike today, remember?"

"Oh... yeah."

"And after the horses, that'd be strike two, daddy. And you know that kid keeps a record."

"Alright, but at least take a nap this afternoon?"

She patted his cheek. "I will."

---

Michonne clicked a magazine into the pistol in her hand and set it in the trash bin filled to the brim with loaded firearms."We'll make sure everyone is armed, but I also wanna keep some hidden," she said to Lori and Tyreese, who were standing across from her on the grassy area near the gate doing the same work. "Just in case anyone gets in."

Tyreese smiled. "Even if they do, we'll handle it." His warm eyes held her gaze until Michonne nodded in agreement.

The revving of a motorcycle engine drew her attention and when Michonne looked, she saw Daryl cruising up to the gate on his chopper. The determined-looking man pushed past Rosita, who was on duty, to open the gate.

"Oh, no," Michonne groused, watching him zoom away.

Denise had been killed under Daryl's supervision—with his crossbow—and ever since, the man had been on edge. She'd thought it only a matter of time before he did something rash—Daryl wasn't the sit-and-wait type—but she'd foolishly held out hope that his better nature would win out this time.

"Dammit, Daryl," Lori whispered as the two women watched Tyreese, with Abraham and Rosita in tow, drive away after him.

---

Rick wiped at the gravel on Andre's scraped-up kneecaps, his son wailing above him. He sighed at the sight of no blood. "See! It's not even bleeding, bud."

"But it still hurts!" Andre swiped at the wetness on his cheeks with the back of his hand, before crossing his arms and pouting down at Rick, who sat back on his heels. "You promised you'd hold on."

Shit, strike two.

"I know... but it looked like you had it," he explained. It's how he'd taught Carl to ride his bike: wait for the right moment to let go when he least expected it, so he learned he could do it on his own. Carl had toppled over a time or two, but scraped knees and bruised egos were all part of the process. Rick had learned, though, that Andre was markedly more sensitive than Carl had ever been. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, bud. You alright?"

Andre looked away. "No."

Rick let his head fall forward, hiding his laugh. Like mother, like son, he thought. Stubborn. "Ya know, if I had to guess I'd say Auntie Carol probably has a whole batch of those cookies you like so much, just lying around somewhere..." he began.

Out of the corner of his eye, Andre looked at Rick; not quite ready to let go of his irritation, but still interested.

"What do you say you and I go see if she'll give us a couple?"

Andre huffed and dropped his arms, shrugging his shoulders. "Okay."

Hand in hand, they moved out of the street and onto the sidewalk, strolling over to the house next door. His mouth watered at the thought of a first bite into one of Carol's masterpieces.

All the dairy and sorghum flour they'd been getting from the Hilltop had translated into a regular delivery of fresh baked goods from Carol—which his household pulverized in a matter of days. Upon returning from their mission at the satellite station, the woman had traded in her guard duty role for that of the resident baker. At first, Rick had found it odd, seeing as she'd dropped the whole damsel in distress act ever since the old way of Alexandria had fallen by the wayside, but thinking deeper, he figured it had something to do with what had occurred on the mission.

The ambush had gone as planned. They'd taken out the group terrorizing the Hilltop and made it out of the satellite station without any casualties on their side. But they hadn't known just how wrong things had gone until it was all over. They were standing outside, having just apprehended the lone survivor, when a woman's nasally voice came through the man's walkie-talkie informing them that they had Carol and Lori and wanted to trade them for their man.

When Rick and the others had arrived to rescue Carol and Lori at a slaughterhouse nearby—he wasn't sure what had gone on in there—but the two women were the only ones who remained alive. Lori seemed fine, but Carol... he couldn't put his finger on it, he just knew something was different.

After a few minutes of waiting, Rick opened the front door and they stepped into the foyer of the quiet house. "Carol," he called, knowing she'd be the only one home: Lori and Tyreese were out helping Michonne, Abraham and Rosita were on guard duty, and Glenn was still on his run. No answer.

"Let's go see if there's any on the counter," he said to Andre.

They turned into the kitchen and Rick immediately caught sight of the piece of paper, with goodbye written on the outside, that was tented on the otherwise spotless counter.

Rick snatched it up and scanned the words:I wish it didn't have to end, not this way. It was never my intention to hurt you all, but it's how it has to be...His eyes moved so quickly over the words, he was afraid he might miss something. I love you all here, I do, and I'd have to kill for you. And I can't. I won't. No, this couldn't be... Rick sent me away and I wasn't ever gonna come back, but everything happened and I wound up staying. But I can't anymore. I can't love anyone because I can't kill for anyone. So I'm going like I always should have. Don't come after me, please. Carol.

"Shit," Rick whispered. He lifted Andre and sprinted out of the house.

---

Michonne slogged down the hallway toward Aoki's room when a pulse of pain rippled down her spine. She stopped and placed a hand at the base of her back and with the other, she held herself up against the wall and bent forward to ease the strain, pressing her eyes together as she breathed...

She'd woken from her nap to the contractions, which at the time had been at least ten minutes apart. Throughout the rest of the day, they'd sprouted up more frequently.

Once the current onslaught subsided and it was safe to stand, Michonne righted herself, but the tightness in her pelvis remained as she shuffled her feet against the hardwood and walked through Aoki's open door.

Aoki sat on her bed with a Diagnosing Your Health Symptoms for Dummies book out in front of her, highlighting feverishly. When she caught sight of Michonne, she closed her book. "Oh my god, you won't believe what I just- wait, what's wrong?"

Michonne eased back onto the bed. "I don't know. Feels like really bad cramps." She felt around at the base of her belly. "My stomach's super tight too."

"Is it Braxton Hicks?"

"I don't think so, they don't usually hurt like this."

"Wanna go to the infirmary, we have some heating pads."

"No. I think I just need to take a shower and go to bed... how was your day?"

"Fine. Carl and I went through the stuff Dr. Carson brought."

"Good stuff?"

"Yeah. And Jesus found more antibiotics. They gave us half… oh!" She smiled. "Did I tell you Dr. Carson said he'd stay a little longer next time to teach me about cauterizing a wound?" A brightness that seemed to always appear in Aoki's eyes when she talked about anything medical-related, overtook her entire face.

Michonne didn't realize she'd been staring, until Aoki asked, "what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's nothing... I'm just proud of you. That's all." Aoki, who'd taken over the infirmary after Denise's death, so far had only had to contend with a few cases of the common cold and a couple of minor stitches. And Dr. Carson had only visited once, but he'd spent the day giving Aoki a crash course in doctoring, with a promise to have her thoroughly trained over the next year. She was stepping up in a major way, but some days Michonne still worried that without Denise, the nightmares and tremors that plagued Aoki when she'd first arrived, would return.

"Michonne!" At the unease in her voice, Michonne shook her mind from its reverie and fixed her gaze on Aoki's face.

She followed the young woman's eyes down to her jeans, where blood was pooling.

Michonne sat up but didn't have time enough to process her bleeding before a pain that rivaled any before overtook her lower half. "Ah!" she screamed and doubled over off the bed and onto her knees, catching herself with one arm, while the other held onto her belly.

"Michonne!" she vaguely heard Aoki cry, the pain blinding her to anything else.

"Ah!" she bellowed at another surge that shot through her pelvis and spine.

---

Rushing down the front porch stairs of his house, with a packed bag, Rick hustled around the front of the RV to the open door trying his damndest to maintain his composure.

He'd arrived at the gate the night before, after his failed attempt at tracking Carol, and had been informed by Lori that Michonne was in the infirmary.

When he'd stepped into the sickroom, his eyes had scanned the scene: his wife, ashen and drenched from cold chills, was laid out on a cot with an IV in her arm that was attached to the one in Aaron's, blood streaming from his body to hers through the connecting tube.

Aoki had spotted him in the doorway and made a beeline, rambling out the details: the bleeding had stopped, but she'd lost a significant amount and she needed a transfusion. Aaron was the same blood type. She'd been giving Michonne pain meds every hour but nothing had changed, and she didn't know what else to do for her.

He had held Michonne's hand the entire night, helpless to do a goddamn thing, as he'd listened to and watched her groan in agony. And when the sun cast a light through the windows of the infirmary, Rick couldn't take it anymore—he'd pulled the trigger on making the journey to the Hilltop.

"Any change?" Lori asked. She and Carl were walking over to Rick as he threw the duffel bag into the van.

Rick sighed deeply. "She's getting worse."

"Smart taking the RV, dad."

"I thought she'd be more comfortable."

"Means you have more room... those Saviors are out there," Carl said. "So I'm gonna be out there with you and Michonne." He looked up at his mother. "We are."

"Yeah." Lori threw her arm around Carl's shoulder. "Package deal."

Rick moved aside, making way for them to step into the RV.

Eugene tried to board behind them, but Rick cut him off. "Look, it's a long trip, and you're just getting over-"

"It's a superficial graze, proteins are binding, plus we need to discuss ammunition production and manufacture, so let's roll."

"Eugene-"

"I know I can be of some help. Now's the time and here's the place. Don't shine me. I'll be your anchorman. Yes, I damn will." Eugene pushed past him and into the vehicle before Rick could challenge him any further.

Rick turned to follow him in and just as he was about to climb the stairs, he heard Aaron yell, "Rick!"

"No," he barked, before facing Aaron. "We can't have half our people on the road with the Saviors still a threat to this place... not to mention, you gave a lot of blood last night."

"And I wanna be there if she needs more. We're ready to protect this place and the Saviors know it. That's why they grabbed Eugene."

"Look. I appreciate it, I do, but it's not up for discussion."

Aaron dropped his eyes and Rick watched him contemplate before he looked back up at him with a defiant spark in his eyes. "Then you're just gonna have to punch me in the face and tie me up again. 'Cause, that's what it's gonna take to stop me."

Rick breathed out through his nostrils. Arguing, when every wasted second was another Michonne's condition worsened, felt futile. He jerked his head in the direction of the RV. "Go on."

Gabriel, who'd appeared out of nowhere, stepped up to him. God, not another one.

"We have 24-hour shifts set up on each of the watchtowers," the man began. "Each one of them is fully supplied and ready. In the event that we're incurred upon, we have drivers assigned, evacuation and distraction, and the rendezvous we discussed. In the case of any emergency, my first priority is Andre. I will not fail you or Michonne... are you comfortable leaving me in charge of Alexandria's defense?"

A while back he'd most certainly answer "no" to that question. But Gabriel had stepped up the night the walkers had invaded Alexandria. He'd become a valuable member of the community and had even gone on a few runs with Glenn. "Yeah. I am."

Rick strode back to the door of the RV.

"Hey, Rick." He turned and saw Spencer. "If the Saviors do show up… I don't know, I'm thinking, if it's not too late, should we try and make some kind of deal?"

"Tell them to wait for me. I got a deal for those assholes."

---

The rocking of the RV woke Michonne from the few minutes of sleep she'd managed to steal. Her body was spent from being up all night but the persisting pain made rest impossible, and the meds Aoki had been making her swallow every few hours had only reduced the hurt from agonizing to excruciating. The intense pressure all over her body felt as if she were a wet rag someone was trying to squeeze every drop of water out of, and every time she tried to form a coherent thought the sharp stabbing in her spine interrupted.

So she stopped trying to think and instead focused on not allowing her shaky, weak hand to fall away from her belly like it wanted to. Whatever was going on inside her womb, whatever her babies were enduring, she wanted them to feel that their mama was there—fighting with and for them.

Michonne heard footsteps and lifted her eyes to Rick standing in the narrow hallway connecting the bedroom and living area.

Oh, God. Rick had come to check on her every chance he got and every time, he'd managed to keep his expression and tone hopeful, not clueing her into the severity of the situation. But from the tight line his lips were set in and the thumb tapping incessantly at his side, and the fact he couldn't be bothered to hide it, she knew things must be bleak.

"Aoki, give us the room?" he asked, his voice as serious as she'd ever heard it.

Michonne looked up at the girl who she hadn't even noticed was sitting in the room with her. Aoki glanced her way, before moving out of the room as quietly as she had been sitting there.

Rick kneeled next to Michonne, taking her free hand and resting it against his chest, so close to his heart that she could feel its rapid beats.

"Are we close?" she panted.

"Yeah, we're- we're getting there. We are- we're gonna get you there."

"I know."

He tightened his grip on her hand. "And the babies are gonna be okay."

"I believe it," Michonne said, trying a smile but it fell off her lips before it even finished forming. She hated lying to Rick, but in truth, she didn't know if she could really believe everything he was saying, like deep down in her soul. What she was feeling at that moment superseded everything else. Because what she was feeling was concrete, it was imposing and visceral, and his words... they were just words. But because she knew Rick was fighting his own battle beyond that bedroom—fighting for her and their babies—she felt the pull to be there for him even in her pain.

Rick nodded and a tear dripped from the overflow of the well in the lid of his eye. "Eugene agreed to drive the van as a decoy. We're gonna have to go the rest of the way on foot. It's our only option. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

He watched her a moment and she could tell there was more he wanted to say, but when the RV stopped, they were both aware there was no time left.

---

They crept through the woods, Aoki clearing the path as she ruthlessly sliced any walker who dared get in the way, with the power and efficiency of the woman she reminded Rick of. He marched in stride with the rest, carrying Michonne on a makeshift stretcher. His head on the swivel, he kept a vigilant eye out for more than just walkers.

"Rick," Michonne squealed from below, squeezing his forearm, which she'd been holding on to since they'd stepped out of the RV.

He dropped his eyes.

"Just let me walk it," she pleaded, from underneath the blanket Lori had placed over her.

"Relax, baby," he whispered. "Just a few more miles, now. Close your eyes."

A slight hesitation, before Michonne shut them. He could see her form quivering beneath the blanket and heard her teeth chattering and it broke his heart that he couldn't do anything to ease the pain she'd been subjected to for almost twenty-four hours now. "Hey."

"Hmmm?"

"You think of any names yet?" he asked.

Michonne's lip turned up slightly on one side and she opened her eyes. "Yeah, just one so far," she breathed.

"Yeah? For who?"

"Him."

"Oh? You wanna tell me?"

"Okay... I was thinking we could name him-"

Rick's head whipped up when he heard a synchronized chorus of whistling, coming from every corner of the woods... it sounded close.

The Saviors.

"Go!" He shouted and took off running. The others matched Rick's stride, following his lead as he proceeded in the general direction of the Hilltop.

They raced through the trees, the whistles growing louder with each footfall.

The sound was most imposing when they reached a large clearing, of which they were halfway on the other side when Rick halted at the flash of blinding headlights flickering on in front of them.

He rotated the group around and geared up to run the other way, but stopped when from within the woods, an army of what had to be at least forty men with rifles marched toward them. Rick wheezed, his eyes taking everything in as he looked for a way out. It was only when his gaze landed on Eugene, kneeling on the ground with a busted-up face, that he realized not only had they been bested, but all day, these people had been ready and waiting for this very moment.

"Good. You made it." The man from the roadblock earlier that day sauntered out from within a dark spot, between the lined-up trucks, with a thousand-watt smile on his face. The words he'd spoken on the road now echoed in Rick's mind, and with hindsight, they were all the more poignant: plenty of ways to get where you're going... what if it's the last day on earth for you? For someone you love?

"Welcome to where you're going. We'll take your weapons." When none of them moved. He pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Carl. "Now!"

Rick flinched and felt Michonne's hands tighten around his forearm. "We can talk about-"

"We're done talking. Time to listen." He lifted his hand and waved it forward, signaling his men, who closed in, stripping them of all of their firearms and knives.

As they ripped Rick's rifle off his neck, he kept a tight grip on the bar of the stretcher.

"Okay." The man clasped his hands together, all but gushing, and clearly getting off on this. "Let's get her down and get you all on your knees. Lots to cover."

Men advanced toward the stretcher.

"Hold up," Rick spat at them. "We got it."

The man in charge held his hand up. "Sure, sure."

Rick made eye contact with the others and nodded, signaling for them to lower Michonne down gently. The stretcher hit the ground and Michonne sat up, struggling to stand on her own, but Rick and Aaron took either side of her arm and guided her shaking body up and onto her knees.

"Now the rest of you. On your knees."

Rick looked around, searching one last time for a way out. But gazing upon the wall of men, he knew that the only way out now was through.

"On your motherfucking knees!" the man in charge yelled.

Rick dropped down slowly, onto one knee and then the other.

He glanced over and caught Michonne struggling to keep herself upright, her eyes trained on the ground, with both hands cradling the undercarriage of her belly. She shouldn't be out here, is what he thought, as he stared at her; sweat droplets stinging his eyes as they dripped from the ends of his hair.

"Dwight!" he heard the man in charge yell.

And then an unfamiliar voice answered, "yeah."

"Chop-chop."

Footsteps. A truck door opening. Feet shuffling.

He looked up and saw Daryl, Tyreese, Abraham, and Rosita being herded toward them. They were lined up alongside them and pushed to the ground.

The man in charge walked along the lineup, staring at them each as individuals. "All right! We got a full boat." He stepped back to look at the group as a whole. Then he went to their RV, which was parked directly in front of them, and banged on the door.

He spun back around to face them and with a huge grin on his face, yelled, "let's meet the man!"

---

(—PART III—)

3 days later

The world was blurry, Michonne's head as foggy as a windshield on a wintery night, when she cracked her eyes open. She blinked the crust away and focused on the glass of water sitting on the nightstand until it was brought into focus.

She was at the Hilltop, she had to be; that's where they'd been going. But she didn't recognize this room.

And the pain, where had it gone? She flinched at the remembrance of the mind-numbing ache, that was no longer present. Did that mean she was gonna live?

The babies. Michonne touched her belly, it was still there. She felt around for any sign that they were okay. It felt like normal, but what the hell did she know?

"Welcome back."

Michonne searched the room, trying to locate the owner of the deep, oddly comforting voice. Her eyes panned past the kitchenette, the sparse living room with a television, over a medical cart and IV pole next to her bed, and up to settle on the woman who stood next to it.

It wasn't the black woman's bright brown eyes that prompted Michonne's sharp intake of breath, but rather the curdled, charred skin on one side of her face.

Under the scrutiny of Michonne's intrusive stare, the woman's smile faltered as she shifted her weight and bent her head, cupping her hands in front of herself.

"Do you remember me?" She asked, lifting her head again, her smile now drawn into a tight line."You were pretty out of it when you arrived. I'm Dr. Jackson. But you can call me Jada. You're at the Sanctuary. You've been asleep for a while. You suffered from the condition, abruptio placentae. It's a separation of the placenta from the uterus- it's rare, but twice as likely to occur in a multiple pregnancy. It's most often caused by trauma..."

Michonne sunk back onto the bed and closed her eyes. All the words the woman said sounded like she was teeing up to deliver bad news. "Are they-"

"They're fine. The abruption was mild and both babies' heart rates were normal. Here listen…" Michonne kept her eyes shut but heard Jada rummaging around, inside the medical cart, she presumed. "Pull your shirt up for me?"

Michonne slid the hem of her shirt up and over her belly, then felt a cold metal settle on it before Jada glided it around the lower half, and only stopped when they heard a steady beating. "There's baby "A"."

She let out half a breath, holding in the other while Jada moved the wand to the top of her uterus, and when she heard the second beating, she breathed, "oh, thank God."

"I did an ultrasound when you first arrived. They both look good." Jada wound the cords up and placed the device back inside the medical cart. "The three of you got here just in time."

Here? Where the hell was here? "You said this place was called the Sanctuary? What- why am I here?"

Jada paused, before turning back to Michonne. "May I?" she asked, ignoring her question. Michonne followed her eyes down to where a needle was stuck in a vein on the medial side of her arm. "It's a saline solution. You were dehydrated, but since you're up I'd like to take it out."

She nodded. Jada removed gloves and gauze from her white coat pocket, sat down at the edge of the bed, and set Michonne's arm in her lap.

She followed her every move. "I was with others- my husband. Are they here?"

Jada stayed quiet as she pulled the needle out and pressed gauze onto the hole it left. Then she taped the gauze down and moved to stand.

Michonne grabbed her wrist, stopping her, gripping tight enough to make it clear that despite her current state, she'd still do what she had to do. "Why the hell am I here?"

Jada looked down at the hand compressing her arm and then up at Michonne's face. "I don't know," she bit out.

Michonne tightened her hold and slowly said, "then tell me what you do."

Jada's face hardened. "Let go of my arm... and I will."

She let up and the woman stepped back, straightening her posture and lab coat. "They don't tell me much. Not after... all I know is they all left a few mornings ago and came back with you."

"Who's they?"

"The man in charge here... Negan... and his guys."

Just one word was all it took for the events of that night to come crashing back into Michonne with the impact of a speeding freight train.

"You remember," Jada said.

Michonne stared ahead, her gaze glazed over as she watched it all happen again in the theater of her mind. "We were in a forest clearing..." she began.

---

That night

Michonne's kneecaps burned under the strain of her heaviness, both mental and physical, and she teetered forward falling onto her hands. The echo of biker boots crunching on the gravel and striding in her direction made her rise again. The leather jacket-clad man—who'd introduced himself as Negan—with the barbed wire laced bat resting on his shoulder, and whose tirade she'd long since tuned out, stood above her.

"Jesus," Negan jeered. "You look shitty."

Michonne focused on staying upright, out of fear of tipping right over if she let up.

"Goodness. I should just put you out of your misery right now." In a swift move, he lifted his bat from where it dangled at his side and feinted a swing at Michonne.

"No!" Rick lunged for Negan, but one of his henchmen—who had about two hundred pounds on her man—intercepted, tackling him onto the gravel."Don't touch her!" Rick shouted, writhing on the ground as the man hammered his fist into his jaw.

"Stop!" Michonne screamed."Let him go!"

The henchmen unholstered his gun and set it on Rick's forehead.

"Nope. Nope." Negan bellowed. "Get him back in line. Now!"

The henchmen dragged Rick back into his spot, by the fur collar of his jacket, and it took all the restraint Michonne could conjure not to crawl the short distance to her man who was laid out, face in the gravel, blood seeping from his open mouth.

"Get up!" Negan yelled.

Rick pressed off the ground and struggled onto his knees.

Negan squatted down in front of him. "See! I fucking knew you had it in you. For a while there, you were looking like a little punk bitch. Not the brave asshole who slaughtered my men in the dead of night." Negan looked over at Michonne. Watching her, he nodded slowly as if coming to some sort of realization. "Good to know." He stood. "All right, listen. Don't any of ya do that again. I will shut that shit down, no exceptions. First one's free. It's an emotional moment, I get it..."

Walking along the lineup, he stared down at them, his eyes narrowed as he appraised each one for a measured moment, before moving on to the next.

"Everybody's at the table waiting for me to order," he tittered. "I simply cannot decide."

"I got an idea." Negan stopped in front of Rick, pointing the bat at his head."Eenie…" He moved over to Michonne. "Meenie…" And continued his sadistic version of the playground rhyme as he shuffled down the line, stopping in front of each of them.

"Miney..." Rosita. "Mo..." Daryl. "Catch..." Abraham. "A tiger..." Tyreese. "By his toe..." Lori. "If..." Eugene. "He hollers..." Aaron. "Let him go..." Carl. "My mother..." Aoki. "Told me..." Michonne. "To pick..." Rosita. "The very best..." Daryl. "And you..." Abraham. "Are it."

No! Negan stopped on Tyreese, leering down at the man as he got into position... No!

"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to his father and then we'll start. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that."

The moment he lifted his bat, Michonne squeezed her eyes shut, her body bracing for impact. But she couldn't escape the squishing sound of the wood making contact with Tyreese's head or the screams or Lori's ear-numbing cry.

And as quickly as it started it stopped. The cries faded to whimpers against the backdrop of the forest's evening sounds—high-pitched cicadas buzzing and owls hooting.

It wasn't fair and she knew it; Lori had no choice but to look, she couldn't hide away from the horror and Michonne wouldn't leave her alone in this. She had to face it. Michonne pushed her eyes open and when she looked to her left, they landed on Tyreese's brains splattered on the ground.

She felt the bile rise from her belly and covered her mouth, trying to keep it in but her efforts were fruitless. She hurled the entire contents of her stomach onto the gravel, dropping onto all fours once more.

"Michonne," Rick whispered, and she heard the distress in his voice.

"That is seriously disgusting," Negan jabbed. "But not as disgusting as my Lucille." He lifted his blood and gut-drenched bat. "Oh, my goodness! Look at this! You guys, look at my dirty girl!"

He zeroed in on someone, and when Michonne followed his eyes, she saw they were on Lori. She monitored the man's every move as he swaggered, with a lazy lean to his walk, toward the despondent woman. "Sweetheart... lay your eyes on this."

Lori didn't attempt to look away from Tyreese's body, an endless steady stream of hushed tears flowing down her face.

"Oh, damn. Were you- were you together? That sucks. But if you were, you should know there was a reason for all this. Big guy just took one or six or seven for the team! So take... a damn look."

Lori's eyes were wide and glazed over in shock, Michonne couldn't even be sure she was hearing the man. "Take a damn look!" he antagonized.

Daryl lunged for Negan, swung his fist, and connected with his jaw before being taken down by two henchmen.

Negan stumbled, but came back quickly."NO!" Jutted the bloody bat in Daryl's face. "Oh, no. That?" He paced in front of them, beside himself. "Oh, my! That… is a no-no. The whole thing- not one bit of that shit flies here. Now, I already told you, people, the first one's free. Then what'd I say? I said I would SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN! No exceptions. Now, I don't know what kind of lying assholes you've been dealing with..." He paced back and forth along the lineup. "But I'm a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So... back to it."

Michonne's synapsis fired at a speed she couldn't keep up with, and before she could even process what the hell was going on, she heard the familiar first bang of the bat on someone's head.

And it was at that exact moment she also heard Carl scream, "MOM!"

Michonne looked down the line to where Lori's lifeless body lay face down on the gravel, Negan bashing her head into the ground. "No!" she cried out.

"Lori!" Rick howled. "Lori!"

When Negan let up, Carl took off running for his mother's body.

"Let him go," Negan said to the men who went after him.

Carl fell onto his mother's stiff and unmoving supine form, resting his head on her back as he wept. "Mom!"

Michonne's tears were reckless, sliding down to mix with the snot dribbling out of her nose, making a mess on her face.

"Oh, no. NO!" Rick sobbed, staring at his son. "Ah... no... CARL!" he cried.

Negan squatted down in front of Rick, whose eyes stayed on his son. "Oh, man. This must be hard for you, right? I mean, you have been King Shit for so long. Losing two of your own like that..." he snapped his fingers. "Gettin' 'em clipped like that, one nut, then the other, your boy losing his mother right in front of both your eyes. That is some screwed-up shit!"

Negan grabbed Rick's chin and turned his face away from Carl. And as the two men stared each other down, Rick's sorrow-filled face was slowly overtaken by a look of pure, red-hot anger.

Negan laughed. "Now Rick... even after all the work I've put into making you understand how shit is now, I still get the feeling you don't fully get it. Like you might still wanna... do somethin'. But that's okay... that's what insurance is for." His gaze panned over to Michonne. "What's your name sweetheart?"

Michonne's teeth bore down against each other, and her jaw tightened.

"Speak when you're spoken to!"

"Michonne."

His lips pursed out and he nodded. "Beautiful..." He turned back to Rick. "I'm taking Michonne-"

"No- please…" Rick pleaded. "It can- it can- it can be me," he stammered. "I c- I can go with- with you."

"I'm tryna help you out here Rick. A little birdy informed me that Dwighty boy accidentally killed your doctor and from the looks of Michonne here, I'm not so sure she's gonna survive without some sort of medical intervention. Lucky for you, my friend, we have an excellent doc where we live. She can look her over, make sure that baby's not dead in there, about to gnaw its way out. And to make it worth my while, I think I'll keep her after that too... see, you still want to try something? I will cut pieces off of Michonne and put them on your doorstep- or, better yet, I will bring her to you and have you do it for me." Negan slapped Rick's face a couple of times and stood.

Rick met her gaze and the look on his face said he was about to do something foolhardy. She shuddered at the thought of more of their family members dying, that's what would happen if Rick did anything but let the man take her. She vigorously shook her head, calling him off.

"Get her in the truck," Negan ordered, and a second later, Michonne felt hands grab either of her arms. Rick's eyes were on her the entire time and right before the double doors of the truck shut, she saw his fists ball up and tighten at his side.

---

Jada's face was slack; her jaw hung open, and her bottom lip was pooched out and quivering as she fought to keep the water pooling in her eyes at bay.

Michonne wiped her own tears from her face and scooted to the lower edge of the bed and braced her hand against her belly, standing. Her head swam and before her body could fall backward, Jada was there, grabbing her arm.

"What are you doing? You need to take it easy for a few days." She lowered Michonne back onto the bed. "You don't want to exacerbate the separation anymore."

"I'm getting out of here."

"No. You're not."

Michonne snatched her arm away and pushed off the bed, firmly planting her feet on the ground in front of Jada. "Yeah? And who's gonna stop me?" she challenged. "You?"

Jada stepped up to her so they were practically nose to nose. Michonne tensed and did a quick scan of the room, out of her peripherals. She saw nothing immediately that she could use as a weapon. But, the kitchen had to have a knife and it was only a few backward steps away. And if it came to it, she could use the stethoscope hanging from Jada's neck as a choking device.

Michonne flinched when Jada closed the space between them and brought her lips close to Michonne's ear. "Men are guarding your door, twenty-four-seven," she whispered. "You're valuable to him. You won't get away. And if you do, when you're back, it'll be worse... I wish I hadn't tried."

When Jada pulled back slowly, getting a closer look at her face, Michonne's heartbeat quickened when she saw the outline of what looked like an iron on the scarred area. Had they done this to her?

"Rest," Jada said. "The babies need you strong." She moved to the cart. "I'll be back to check on you tonight. But if you need me before then, just ask the guard to send for me. My room's on the second floor at the end of the hall next to the infirmary. Two oh two." Jada pushed her cart to the door and when she pulled it open, Michonne saw a burly man standing with his legs spread apart, arms crossed. He stepped aside, making room for Jada, before staring hard at Michonne as he slammed the door.

---

The sofa chair scraped against the concrete when Michonne shoved it against the brick wall. She pressed the sole of her boot on the cushion, testing out its sturdiness before climbing on. Reaching up and grabbing onto the ledge of the brick window sill, she went up on her toes to unlatch the window lock.

Michonne pushed up on the bottom of the window, freezing when it squeaked loudly. She glanced at the door and waited with bated breath, a moment, before going back to prod the window open a bit more. But it was too high, she couldn't see over.

Thinking quickly, Michonne stepped off the chair and scurried to the kitchenette, opening each cabinet until she found the glassware. She snatched up a tumbler and hopped onto the chair again; wasting no time throwing it out of the window.

Michonne listened, counted, and ten seconds later when she heard the glass shatter on the concrete, slumped against the wall. Dammit.

The knob of the door turned and before she could step down, it creaked open. "Oh, shit," Negan said, stepping into the room. "Are you trying to escape?"

Michonne stared at him.

"Shit. I guess you can judge a book by its cover. I could just tell you had beach-ball-sized lady nuts." He shut the door. "But I gotta tell ya, it's a pretty long way down and I'd hate to have to make someone clean up your pregnant guts." Negan strolled over and held a helping hand out to her.

Michonne's eyes fell to where the pristine bat, which only days before had been drenched in the blood of those she loved, hung at his side. She knocked his hand away and stepped down on her own, creeping backward until she hit the wall on the other side of the room. Michonne reached behind and nudged the fork she'd found earlier in the kitchen, from her back pocket.

"See, that's it right there... that look you're giving right now. Like I don't hold your fragile little life in the palm of my hand."

"You don't have shit."

He grinned and sat, propping an ankle on a knee and resting the bat on his lap. "Someone like you, you get it. I can just tell."

"You don't know me."

"Fine... then let's just call it game recognizing game..." He motioned for the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

"I'm fine here."

"You know, once those babies drop, this place could use a lady soldier like you. Just think. Me and you, working on the same side of things. Oooh… that'd be something to see."

"You killed my people and you're asking me-"

"Yeah. I realize it's hard to picture, considering what I did. But, Michonne, we all got shit to get over. Thing is... there aren't very many choices here for you. As long as your baby daddy is providing for me, I'm going to need my insurance policy to keep him in check. And the day he decides to stop working for me is the day he dies." He sat forward. "And I'm pretty sure you're smart enough to do the math on what that means for you. So what I'm offering you, dear, is a more comfortable stay here. Otherwise, the only glimpse of outside you'll ever see again is through that window up there."

Negan stood and Michonne tightened her hold on the handle of the fork. "Take some time to think about it. Whatever you decide, so it shall be. No pressure. And I shouldn't have to remind you but you're not just making this choice for yourself." Negan cast a pointed eye at her belly before he turned and made his way to the door.

He stopped short. "Sorry about your friends." The contrite tone of his voice unnerved her. Either this man was a damn good actor, or she was now talking to the Jekyll side of him. "I just want you to understand... we're not monsters. We just get how shit needs to be now."

---

A few hours later, Michonne was curled up under the covers consumed by thoughts of her family; she steered clear of the hurtful, soul-crushing ones and instead focused on the mundane. Was Andre eating his vegetables? Had Carl changed out his bandage? Was someone checking in on Aoki? The superficial thoughts distracted her from the heavier shit she not only knew would send her spiraling, but over which she had no control.

Michonne sat up, at a faint knock on the door. A second later, it opened and Jada appeared pushing her medical cart into the room. "Hi. Here to check your vitals." When the beefy bodyguard shut the door, Jada opened the top drawer of the cart and pulled out a tray that held a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a baggie of carrots slices. "Hungry?"

Michonne's stomach thundered at the sight of the sandwich with all the fixings. "Oh my God!" She took the tray. Her hands shook and her mouth watered as she unwrapped the plastic.

The stale crap—which she could only describe as sludge—the guard had delivered to her earlier, sat at the bottom of her trash bin. She'd only been able to swallow one bite before it had all come back up. "How'd you know?"

"It's how they get you... submission by starvation. They did it to me too when I first got here. I just hoped since you were pregnant they wouldn't..." She sighed. "I'll try to bring you as much as I can, but they still keep a close eye on me... and I wouldn't want them to think I'm trying to..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Michonne grabbed one side of the sandwich. "Trying to what?" she asked, only half interested in knowing, more intrigued by the first bite she was gearing up to take.

Jada waved it off. "Nothing."

Michonne took a hefty bite into her sandwich, chewed, and sighed. She felt guilty, savoring the fresh food, knowing it was the fruit of another group's fear-driven offering. And if it had just been her, she might have tossed the sandwich in protest, but it wasn't.

She settled back against the wall and propped the tray on her belly. She was into her second bite when she looked up and saw Jada was still hovering next to her bed, and wondered why the woman hadn't left yet.

Oh, yeah, she's supposed to be checking my vitals. "You wanna sit?"

Jada hesitated, before removing her lab coat, slipping her shoes off, and gracefully settling her petite frame on the bed with her legs bent and tucked to one side.

In between bites, Michonne stole glances at the woman. The day before, her tight curls had covered much of the unaffected area of her face, but today she'd slicked it back into a puffy low ponytail. Studying the unscarred side, Michonne got a glimpse of what she'd looked like before. She was beautiful. Her flawless brown skin shined, making the other side all the more jarring to look at. "Can I ask what happened to your face?" she questioned carefully.

"It's a long story."

"Uh... I've got nothing but time."

"Umm... well, my husband and I were from around here- my brother and his family too. His wife and her mother were the ones who found our home when everything started. It was an outreach center for recovering addicts. It was clean and away from the dead, and had lots of rooms, so we made it our own..."

"We built up a wall over time and other survivors came. And then the Saviors found us. They wanted us to work for them but, of course- we didn't want that. You see, we tried to fight... it was our biggest mistake. They took all of our men and boys over age ten, lined them up, and shot 'em in the head..."

Michonne stopped chewing what was in her mouth, the meat and vegetables all of a sudden tasting like ash on her tongue. She set the sandwich down.

"They took half of what we had and said they'd be back. And... they needed a doctor, so they took me..." She traced her fingers over the scarred side of her face. "Negan has wives. Young women who he promises a better life in exchange for a place in his bed. One of them came to me, she was... in a bad way. I'd already been planning to escape- and maybe if it had just been me, the punishment might not have been so bad... but when they brought me back without her, Negan was pissed. Said I needed to understand... so he took a hot iron to my face."

What type of vile human being could even think that sort of punishment up? "What happened to the girl?"

"She got away..."

It wasn't the full story, but Michonne could read between the lines. One of them escaping meant the other had most likely sacrificed themselves, had done something to make it so she could. "How long have you been here?" Michonne asked.

"A year and a half, I think."

A year? There was no way, no way in hell, she'd allow herself to be held in this place another day, let alone a whole year. Michonne put the tray to the side and scooted closer to Jada. "I need you to help me get out of here. I can't do it on my own."

Jada stared at her like she was dense. "Were you not listening?"

"Neither you nor I are safe here. No matter what they try to make you believe. What happens when they find another doctor, who's on board with the shit they're doing here... we can help each other."

"No." Jada hurried off the bed and slipped her shoes back on.

"You got out before, you can do it again!"

Jada looked at the door and then back at Michonne, her finger at her lips and her eyes wide with fear.

Michonne lowered her voice to a whisper. "I don't know this place like you do, but I'm good out there. Better than most. I can get us where we need to go without getting caught. And then I promise, my people and I will help you get back to your family."

"I don't think you get it." Jada pulled her coat back on. "These people don't give a fuck... They will kill you, pregnant and all. This is way bigger than you know. This place, it's only the base. There are outposts with more people. On the off chance you manage to get out, he will rain down hell on your people... you staying here is protecting them. And, personally, I don't feel up to having my entire face burned... I'm sorry. I'll come back to check on you in the morning."

Watching Jada leave her room, Michonne thought her prospects of leaving this place were looking bleaker and bleaker by the second.

---

The only time Michonne left the four-by-four room—shackled at her ankles so she couldn't run—over the next three days, was to shower and pee in the bathroom that was just down the dark hallway. That alone could have been the culprit of Michonne feeling as though the walls were closing in on her, had Negan not mounted the full-court press to break her.

His efforts were surprisingly subtle, namely, no shoes on the urine-caked bathroom floor, slop for every meal, and taking her clothes and replacing them with a wool shirt and pant sweat set that made it near impossible to sleep soundly at night from all the itching. But there was no physical record of the maltreatment. She assumed this was to preserve her outer shell, should the need arise for Negan to parade her in front of Rick.

True to her word, Jada snuck her something fresh to eat every chance she got, though the woman put the kibosh on any conversation that had anything to do with breaking out, it was all Michonne could do not to bring it up.

Had Negan snatched her six months prior, she'd already be halfway back to Alexandria by now, but her situation was more delicate these days, and doing it on her own was untenable.

When the metal springs would poke through the thin layer of padding on her mattress, keeping her awake in the wee hours, Michonne couldn't stop her mind from wandering back to notions of all the terrible things that could be going on back home. In those late-night moments, she felt the inclination to do something reckless, then she'd get a swift kick in her uterus reminding her of what was right in front of her to protect.

And if she needed another reminder that it wasn't all on her shoulders, all she had to do was look at the ring on her finger.

That night she'd found a soft spot in the bed and managed to steal a couple of hours of sleep before her babies, having a field day inside her womb, roused her from her rest.

Staring at the ceiling, Michonne heard a thud outside her door. She shot up in the bed and listened... to the sound of shuffling. She shoved off the mattress and reached under it for the sharp piece of metal wire she'd broken off the underside of the mattress frame days before and had hidden just in case.

The doorknob jiggled and Michonne backed up to the corner, where the walls met. She waited and then watched as the door whined open."Michonne!" It was Jesus, who poked his head into the room before opening it wider upon seeing it was her.

"Aoki?" Michonne was surprised to see the young woman, who scurried in behind Jesus,

before he closed the door to a crack and took his position, keeping watch through the tiny opening. "What are you doing? How are you here?"

Aoki ran into her arms. "Thank God you're okay."

Michonne was too preoccupied, trying to figure out what was going on, to do anything but stand there frozen.

"We're getting you out. It's part of the plan."

"Plan? What plan?"

Aoki removed Michonne's katana from around her shoulder and handed it to her. "We'll tell you everything after we get the hell outta here." Aoki went searching around the room. "Where are your shoes?"

"They took them."

Jesus turned around. "Hurry. We can't be here when it goes down, and the others are waiting."

"When what goes down?"

They both ignored her question, Jesus turning back to the door while Aoki bent down and unlaced her boots. "Sit," she ordered Michonne.

"No. I'm not taking-"

"We don't have time," she whisper-yelled at Michonne. "Sit down."

She obeyed and Aoki slipped her too-small boots onto Michonne's feet before lacing them up. Aoki helped her stand and the two of them hurried over to Jesus. "We're ready," Aoki said to him, unsheathing her katana. Michonne did the same.

Jesus turned to look at her. "There's a stairwell leading to an unmanned exit. It's a straight shot. Stay close and kill anything that gets in the way." Jesus lifted his mask and stepped out into the hallway, checking it before signaling for them to follow. Michonne eyed the dead man in front of the door, for a brief moment, before stepping over his body.

She was sandwiched between Jesus, leading the way, and Aoki, bringing up the rear, as they moved through the quiet hallway.

And once they pushed into the stairwell, they dashed down each flight, one after another, but Michonne froze when she read the level 2 sign.

But if you need me before then, just ask the guard to send for me. My room's on the second floor... two oh two.

Aoki pulled on her arm. "Come on," she urged. "What are you doing?"

"There's a woman. They took her like they took me. She helped me. We gotta get her out."

"No." Jesus lowered his mask. "There's no time."

"She's on this floor! It'll be quick."

"The plan is to get you and you alone out."

"It wasn't a question," she asserted, moving to open the door to the second-floor hallway.

Jesus ran in front of her. "Do you even know where her room is?"

"She said it's at the end, right next to the infirmary. Two oh two."

Jesus sighed. "Fine. But I'll go. The two of you get out of here." He looked at Aoki. "We'll meet you at the spot."

"Her name is Jada. Tell her I sent you."

They parted, Jesus disappearing through the second-floor door as Michonne and Aoki hustled down the remaining flight of stairs. Running out of the building they heard the screams that were a sign the dead had begun rising, and as they booked it, Michonne prayed for Jesus and Jada to make it out alive.