The Key

Timestamp: Season 7 Episode 3 -

Season 8 Episode 16

Negan ran his hand along the smooth skin of Amber's outer thigh. Half awake and raring to go at it again, he contemplated waking her for another round. Ugh, he thought, his hand stopping its exploration. But I don't feel like hearing her bitch about being too tired. Out of all his wives, Amber was by far the most whiney.

He rolled back around to his side of the bed and settled into the mattress, trying for sleep again, and it only took him two minutes to realize none would come unless he rubbed one out. Negan jutted his hand inside his boxers but stopped dead, startled fully awake at a banging at the door. "Who the hell–"

It burst wide open. Mark, Negan's faithful lackey who also happened to be Amber's puppy-eyed ex, stood frozen, midspeech in the frame of the door looking like an extra sad ass Eeyore at the sight of the two of them in bed together. Goddamn, could the kid be any more pathetic? "Get the hell out!" Negan shouted. "I didn't invite you into my–"

"Mark!" Amber screamed when they saw a dead prick stumble around the corner. "Behind you!"

"Woah, shit!" Negan shouted. "What the shit?!"

Mark shifted to turn around, but not quickly enough. The prick grabbed onto his shoulder and took a hefty bite, toppling on top of Mark who fell on the ground, crying out in pain.

"Mark!" Amber leaped out of bed and jumped onto the bloodsucker's back, pulling at the prick's shoulders, as she tried prying it off of him.

Fuck! Negan plucked his bat from where it leaned against the nightstand as another dead one shuffled around the corner and in through the doorway. It tripped over the pile of bodies crowding the entrance and landed on top of Amber, not skipping a beat, before taking a chunk out of her neck.

Negan rushed over and bashed that prick's head in first, then moved on to the one still working on Mark—whose eyes were wide open and glassy, his head hanging by the thin threads of the exposed arteries of his neck.

Negan looked back at Amber; her neck looked like a block of swiss cheese. She gurgled and gasped for air, her pleading eyes trained on him.

Goddamn it! "Sorry, honey." He pulled the top sheet off of the bed, placed it over her head, and lifted his bat.

On each floor of the Sanctuary, limbs were scattered on the ground of the hallways. Dead-eyed faces of women and children stared back at Negan as he walked through each level, assessing the damage. It was a motherfucking bloodbath. More than half his followers had been annihilated in a matter of a few short and chaotic minutes.

"How the hell did this happen?" Simon paced at the end of the conference table a little later, opposite where Negan sat—tipped back in the chair with his arms crossed.

Only half of Negan's mind was tuned into the deliberations at hand, and the other half was lamenting the lives lost. He'd saved these people, promised them that if they followed him, they would never have to worry about being torn apart. He'd failed them, but how?

"Obviously..." the perpetually perturbed man named Gavin said, with an eye roll. "Someone was sick and didn't report it. Died in their sleep."

His other right hand, Dwight, who sat across from Gavin, shook his head. "We keep everyone's door shut at night for that exact reason. Now, one? Maybe. But how could all those doors have been open?"

"You think this was people?" Simon asked incredulously. "None of the communities know where we are? And even if they did, they're all spineless worker bees. Who would have the cojones to make a move this damn big?"

Someone who thinks he has bigger balls than me, Negan thought. That's who. Someone who doesn't understand that people are a goddamn motherfucking resource!

The door opened and Laura hurried in, out of breath.

Negan sat up. "So?"

"Checked this place up and down. Can't find her anywhere... and the doctor's gone too."

I knew it. Negan slammed his bat on the metal table. "Damn it!" He raged, pushing himself up to stand. The room went silent as he walked around the long side of the table to stand at the window, facing out at the walker-manned entrance. I should have fucking killed him the moment I saw that rebellious glint in his eyes, he thought.

"We have sick people here who need medical attention," Laura urged. "What do we do?"

"I could pay a visit to our friends at the Hilltop," he heard Simon offer, rather gleefully. "Take their doc. See if they know anything about what went on here."

"Go," Negan ground out.

"And what about the Alexandrians?" Dwight asked. "That's who we think did this, right? What do we do about them? Standard message and delivery?"

Negan closed his eyes and tilted his head back, trying to ease the pressure of the hot blood rushing to his head. Rick could have simply broken his bitch out and called it a day, but this? This was Rick showing him, he wasn't afraid, and that he thought he had the stones to go head-to-head with the man named Negan. This was a declaration of war, whether Rick knew it or not.

People were a fucking resource. He didn't want to do it, he really didn't. But it wasn't about want... it never was. Rick and his people were a disease and he couldn't let it spread. "No, no, Dwighty boy. Not this time. Gather all our best men, get the explosives and the RPG, we're exterminating some pests today."

"Where's Cyndie?" Jessie asked the cagey woman—Natania—who'd warmed significantly since she and Glenn had been discovered, washed up on the shore of a beach within her community's perimeter.

Natania, who stood in front of them near the cabins of the bustling all-female fishing village, smirked. "She's packing a bag. That girl is as persistent as they come. Convinced me to let her accompany you guys."

"We wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for her breaking all the rules," Glenn said. He'd washed up, spent from backstroking against the tide as he'd towed an unconscious Jessie, after jumping into the ocean after her, when she'd fallen in. Cyndie had been the one to find them and if she hadn't ignored the community's shoot-on-sight policy, he and Jessie wouldn't have been standing there. "I'll look out for her."

Natania glanced back toward the cabin she shared with her granddaughter. For as cold as she came off, the woman was still just a Grandmother looking out for the only blood family she had left. "I'm going to go say my goodbyes to Cyndie." She extended her hand toward Glenn. "Good luck out there." They shook and when she let go he expected her to give Jessie the same farewell, but instead, the older woman only fit the younger with a warm smile and turned to walk away.

Glenn looked over at his friend, who was worrying her bottom lip, as she watched Natania go.

"You good?" he asked.

Jessie sighed and faced him, with a smile he thought seemed sort of sad. "Yeah... I– um. I decided last night that I'm gonna take Natania up on her offer."

"You mean–"

"I'm not going back to Alexandria."

"What?! You can't just– there are people who care about you there. People who are waiting for you to get back home."

She shook her head. "That's a nice sentiment, Glenn, but it's not true. Everyone I loved is gone." She looked out at the scene behind him, prompting Glenn to glance over his shoulder. All over the place, women worked: hand washing clothes, cleaning sea creatures, and handcrafting weapons. The village ran like a well-oiled machine. When he looked back at Jessie, he smiled at the light in her eyes, which he hadn't seen too often during their short time together on the road.

Albeit, their journey had been somewhat depressing, considering they hadn't found much in the way of food or supplies during the entire two weeks they'd traveled and he knew Jessie blamed herself for their separation from Heath.

He'd brought her along on the run in hopes of lightening the emotional weight on her shoulders, but it seemed things were piling up. And if this place could provide her even just a little relief, who was he to question that?

"I get it. But I just wanna make sure you're not running away from what happened. Because from personal experience I can tell you it always follows you."

"That's not what this is... it's me trying to move on. And I already talked to Natania, she okayed it. Said there's an open cabin with my name on it."

A thought crossed his mind, a petty one, but he felt compelled to ask it. "What about your stuff?" She had built a whole life in this new world and it was all contained within the four walls of a two-story in Alexandria.

"They have everything I need here. Whoever wants my things can have them. Or you can hold a yard sale or something. Make a profit."

He snorted. "Then I guess it's settled..."

"Come here." Jessie pulled Glenn into her arms and whispered, "Thank you... for seeing me."

"For what it's worth, I'm gonna miss you." He pulled away.

Jessie kept hold of his hand. "Me too... can I ask you for a favor?"

"Anything."

"I... I never was able to go through the boy's rooms. Box up their things. Do you think you can- make sure they go to a good place? Especially Sam's teddy bear." She smiled. "His name is Snugglebug."

"Yeah, I'll make sure... Snugglebug finds a good home."

Glenn, Cyndie, and Beatrice walked for half a day, tracing back to the road where he and Jessie had lost Heath. The three of them took care of all the walkers trapped on the bridge and Glenn appraised each one, but Heath wasn't among the dead.

It was only when Glenn spotted the unmistakable fleeing tracks of the missing RV, that he'd told the women it was time to move on, hoping his friend had made it back home. Glenn wasn't a tracker, so even if he hadn't, finding Heath anywhere but in Alexandria was near impossible. So, after a night of rest, the three of them made the trek the rest of the way back to his home.

When they approached the Safe Zone the first thing Glenn noticed was the ajar gate.

Cyndie and Beatrice lifted their rifles. "Do your people always keep the gate wide open like that?" Cyndie asked.

Glenn unholstered his gun. "No. Never." He lifted it and noted the absence of anyone on guard duty, as he led the group through the open gate.

He stopped in his tracks and his gun dropped to his side when he saw the burnt-up town with walkers meandering about.

"Oh my Goodness," he heard Cyndie say. "What the hell happened here."

His eyes found his house, with its charred front porch and just barely held-together frame, and it wasn't the belongings he'd accumulated or the curated wardrobe of hard-to-find quality pieces—of which it'd taken him since the start to scrounge—that made him take off running toward it. It was something far more irreplaceable than anything he owned.

"Glenn!" he heard Beatrice and Cyndie call for him at the same time, but ignored them, sidestepping the walkers in his path and dashing up the cracked front porch steps. He kicked through the fractured front door and rushed through the kitchen to the room at the end of the narrow hallway.

Glenn yanked the nightstand drawer open, his hands shaking, and rifled through its contents. It was only when his fingers touched the gloss of the polaroid that he could breathe right again. He slouched against the frame of the bed and closed his eyes, holding the photo to his chest—the only picture he had of Maggie. He'd taken it one morning in the guard tower, as she'd slept.

"Glenn?" He sat up and peered over the bed, at where Cyndie and Beatrice stood at the door of his room. "Are you alright?" Cyndie asked.

"Yeah."

"It wasn't like this when you left, was it?" Beatrice questioned, with a note of accusation in the tone of her voice.

"No." He pushed off the ground. "I don't know what–" He was about to slide the drawer closed when he spotted an envelope with his name on it that he was certain hadn't been there before.

Glenn peeled it open quickly and found inside a handwritten letter signed at the bottom, Rick, and alongside it... a map.

"If this is a setup, you're dead," Beatrice whispered to Glenn. The three of them were crouched in the bushes outside tall gates made up of wood piles and smelted-together pieces of metal, of which an armored dude with a spear stood behind, keeping watch.

"Rick wouldn't lead us into a trap," he said in a hushed tone. "I know you don't know him, but I trust the guy with my life."

"Okay," Cyndie gave Beatrice a sharp look and kept her gaze on her friend when she said, "And we trust you."

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Okay. Yeah. Whatever. But how much longer are we gonna stay out here? You said you trust this Rick guy, so why are we still out here hiding?"

Glenn turned back to the gate. There weren't any buildings in the vicinity where they could get a higher-ground view of the inside. And climbing into the trees would give away their position. The only other option was to wait for the gates to open so he could get a peek at what was inside. But in the three hours they'd been hiding out, no one had come in or out. There was no way he was going in there without seeing inside first.

Like at Terminus, Glenn thought. They'd walked in there without scoping the place out long enough to figure out that those people had been... well, human flesh-eating weirdos. "I said I trust Rick, but not– whoever this place belongs to."

They stayed huddled in their spot for another hour. Beatrice kept quiet, but Glenn could pretty much feel her stewing on the other side of Cyndie, so it didn't surprise him when she stood up and to Cyndie declared, "I don't like this. I told your grandma I'd get you back in one piece. And all this is far too suspect for my liking." She grabbed Cyndie's arm, pulling her up. "We're leaving."

Cyndie shook her off. "No."

"Even if Glenn's people are legit. Whoever this place belongs to might not be."

"If we keep seeing everyone as an enemy, then enemies are all we'll find. Sooner or later, we're gonna need others. We can't survive on our own forever. And if they are in trouble then we have to help them."

Beatrice leered at her for a long moment, before more forcefully gripping her wrist and yanking her away. "We're going."

"Let go of me!" Cyndie protested, stumbling behind Beatrice, who dragged her off in the direction in which they'd come.

Cyndie shot Glenn a pleading look.

Glenn sprinted to stand in front of them and raised his gun at Beatrice. "Let her go!"

Beatrice abruptly stopped, Cyndie slamming into her. "See, I knew he couldn't be trusted."

"She doesn't wanna go with you. So let her go."

"You wouldn't."

No, he wouldn't, but she didn't know him like that, which is why he figured she hadn't turned around to run the other way. "Just let her go. We'll find a place to hold up for the night. And if you still wanna leave in the morning I won't stop you."

Glenn watched Cyndie and Beatrice's eyes widen, In unison, trained on something over his shoulder. When he heard the unmistakable clicking of a pistol, his body bristled. "Drop the gun and turn around," A man's low, raspy voice grunted behind him. "Hands up. All of you."

Beatrice dropped Cyndie's wrist and they both raised their hands.

Slowly, Glenn bent down and set his gun to the side. He rotated around, in a tight circle, with his hands raised, and came face-to-face with two guys outfitted in the same armor as the man standing guard. One of the guys was a nervous-looking teenager and the other, who he assumed the voice belonged to, had a scowl on his face that said, unlike Glenn, he would use that gun in his hand. "Who dares to trespass on the sovereign land of the Kingdom?"

Uhh… "I- I'm looking for my family... Rick– Grimes. He said to come here."

The guys exchanged a look and then lowered their weapons. "You're a friend of Rick?"

Glenn kept his hands up. "Yeah. I was on a run. We came home and found it destroyed. Rick left me a map and note saying to come here."

The older man jutted his head in the direction of Cyndie and Beatrice, behind him. "And who are they?"

Glenn turned around. He wanted so badly to be a small individual and feign ignorance as to who Beatrice was, to give her even just a small dose of the hard time she'd given him the entire way there. But from the way her hands were shaking, he could tell the woman was terrified, and after what she'd been through he couldn't say he blamed her. "They're friends of mine."

If a fly whizzed by it would've had open access to Glenn's mouth, as he stood just inside the gates of the Kingdom taking in the community that looked like Alexandria, but on steroids. He couldn't make it all out in the midnight darkness but still marveled at the silhouette of the infrastructure grand enough to house and sustain a group the size of his community, twice over.

"I'm Ben." Turning his head, Glenn saw the kid, who the older man had left to watch over them, smiling from ear to ear with his hand held out.

He took it. "Hey."

"This is sort of my first day on the job, so thanks for making it exciting."

Glenn couldn't help but smile at the kid's out-of-place exuberance. "Yeah... you're welcome, I guess."

"The other guy's Richard. He's not as uptight as he comes off. It's just his outer shell. I mean he kind of is a little... you just gotta get to know him."

"Good to know. Thanks."

Glenn heard running footsteps and turned to see if it was someone he knew. "Rick!" He fast walked, then broke into a full-on run toward Rick and Richard; heard Cyndie and Beatrice chasing after him.

Glenn and Rick collided in a back-slapping hug. "Good. You're okay," Rick said, keeping his hand on Glenn's shoulder when they pulled apart. "I was worried you wouldn't get my letter."

His letter had given bare-bones details. We were attacked. Had to run. Find us here. Rick. "What happened? Is everyone okay?"

A deep frown formed on Rick's face. "No. A lot happened..."

Glenn took a closer look at the man's face. His beard was close to fully grown out again and peppered with white flecks of hair that hadn't been there before and it looked as if the man had aged years, over the weeks they'd been gone. "We can talk about it in the morning." Rick looked at Beatrice and Cyndie. "Where's Jessie? Heath?"

"I was hoping– Heath didn't make it back?"

"We haven't seen him."

"We got separated. Cyndie and Beatrice have a community. They helped us out and we convinced them to come see Alexandria... I thought we could work together..."

"And Jessie?"

"She stayed with them."

Rick nodded, not seeming to need any more information. "We'll talk about everything in the morning. Let's get you all something to eat."

"And then I'll show you to your rooms," Richard said.

Rick made his way down the first-floor hallway of the two-story former military dormitory building that now housed the entirety of the Alexandria residents. Ezekiel's generosity had been overwhelming. No one would have batted an eye at him offering them asylum and nothing further. But in the two days they'd resided in the Kingdom, they'd lived just as good, if not better than they had back home. But this place wasn't their home and he could only hope Ezekial's benevolence would extend to helping them get Alexandria back.

Rick slowed at the sweet-sounding song which he hadn't heard since back at the farm. When he bent the corner and landed in the open door frame of the room their sons were sharing, he expected Michonne to be singing Andre to sleep, but it was Carl's bed she sat on the edge of. Running a hand over his head, Michonne sang softly to him as he drifted off.

Carl had run the gamut of the five stages of grief, over the span of the past eight days since he'd watched his mother be bludgeoned to death, but it hadn't occurred in the prescribed order.

Anger had hit first. In the clearing, after Negan and his men had ridden away, Carl pushed himself off his mother's body and ran into the driver's seat of the RV.

Rick chased after him, getting there right as his son got the vehicle revved up. He'd hauled Carl out of the seat, but his son fought him off, nearly punching Rick in the eye.

But Rick managed to get the upper hand and subdued Carl, hugging him from behind as he struggled violently against his father's hold. "We have to go after them. We have to kill him," Carl shouted."We have to!"

Rick held his son until he exhausted himself back into a quiet weeping and crumbled to the floor of the RV, Rick sinking to the ground with him. The others waited hours outside of the RV, in the clearing, until Rick situated a sleeping Carl on the bed in the back, before they piled Tyreese and Lori's cloth-wrapped bodies inside.

Denial hit two days later when the town came together to bury Lori and Tyreese, with Gabriel performing the ceremony. Carl had refused to attend both the service and the burial, as if not being there might not make it real.

After laying Lori to rest, Rick spent the remainder of the day sitting next to Carl on his bed. He'd stared out the window as his son absently read a comic book—his glazed-over eyes gazing at a single page for upwards of an hour before he remembered to turn the page in order to keep up the pretense.

Rick had only left his son's room a couple of times, to check on Andre, who Rosita and Abraham were looking after. When Carl finally dozed off, Rick tucked him in and went to crawl under the covers of his own bed where he'd stayed awake, spending the dark hours of the night convincing himself that Michonne and the babies were okay.

That same night, the sights and sounds from the clearing flowed through his mind, simultaneously keeping him from rest while fueling his outrage. And as the sun rose outside of his window, not only had Rick resolved that Negan wasn't getting one piece of shit from them and that he was breaking his family out of wherever Negan was holding them, but he'd also come up with a plan to make it happen...

Rick gaped at her clothes. He wasn't sure which she'd want, how much she'd need, or what she could still fit. So he tore every single shirt and tank top off its hanger and stuffed them into the orange backpack which sat open on their bed already filled with his few pairs of jeans and button-downs.

In the four days since they'd laid Lori and Tyreese to rest, he hadn't stopped moving—planning. Truthfully, it's how he'd gotten through; never taking a moment to rest. Each night he'd wait until the last possible moment, before trudging up the stairs to their bed, just to lay awake on Michonne's side—that still smelled like her vanilla body wash—thinking through every part of the plan. He knew the moment he quieted his brain again, and really thought about what they were up against and what they were about to start, the enormity of it all would hit him and render him hopeless.

Rick moved into the bathroom, gathering and throwing all her essentials into a shopping bag before stuffing it into his backpack. He did a once-over of the room, picking up her katana from where it rested against her nightstand, before stepping out into the hallway.

He set the backpack and sword next to the stairs and walked the short distance to Carl's closed door. Aoki sat against the wall next to it, her head resting on her bent knees.

"No luck?" he asked.

Her head snapped up and she yawned, rubbing her eyes."Nope."

"You been out here all night?"

"Most of it." Aoki stretched out her legs and arms with a groan. "I figured he'd have to come out and go to the bathroom at some point." She sighed. "Apparently not."

While he'd been getting things in place she'd taken over watching after Carl, which amounted to sitting where she was sitting now, trying to convince him to come out of his room, which he'd stayed hidden behind since Rick had walked out of it a few nights prior. "You and Jesus need to be headed out in the next thirty minutes."

"Copy that." She stood. "But I'll go get Andre up and ready before I have to leave."

"Thank you... for everything you've done and what you're about to do."

Aoki nodded and hugged herself, looking off to the side. "You sure you trust me with this?" she asked. "I mean... she's like your most prized possession isn't she?"

Rick gave a little laugh. "I'd advise you never to let Michonne hear you referring to her as my possession. But, yeah, she means everything to me, which is why it can't be me. The only way it'll work is if it's done quietly. You and Jesus are the quickest around and the best with your knives... I trust you. And the hard part is already done."

Jesus had hidden away in one of the Savior's trucks, after their regular pickup at the Hilltop. Not only had he found out where their base was, but he'd also gotten inside and now had a line on where they were holding Michonne.

"Hold on." Rick held his finger up and went back to the stairs to get Michonne's katana; handed it to Aoki."She's gonna need this."

Aoki stared at it like it was a magic wand he was bestowing her with or something. She took it and strapped it around her shoulders, alongside her own sword. "I'll get it back to her," she said, with a determination that assured Rick this was the right move.

Once Aoki stepped aside, Rick flicked out his pocket knife and stuck it into the keyhole of Carl's door, unlocking it. Normally he wouldn't breach his son's privacy, but after three full days of Carl being locked behind the door, he was pretty sure he was more than justified.

Rick walked to the bed and squatted down next to it, setting a hand on his son's blanket-covered shoulder. All he could see was the back of Carl's head, but could all but guarantee his son was awake, from the soft sniffling he heard."I need you to pack your things up. Greggory refused to offer us refuge. But Jesus found us another place to hole up for a while. We're making the trip in an hour."

"Why?"

"Tonight, Aoki and Jesus are running a play to get Michonne back. As soon as they do what they're gonna do at the Savior's base, Negan's gonna come here, and we can't be here when it happens? None of us can."

"So..." Carl trailed off and he was quiet long enough for Rick's thighs to begin burning from sitting on his haunches too long. Rick moved to sit on the bed. "So we're running away now?" Carl finally asked.

"It's the safest move. Where we're going, they have a deal with the Saviors, but they don't step foot inside their community. It'll look like we left town, abandoned this place. Give us some time to work out our next move."

"We should have killed him in that clearing," Carl said like it was a matter of fact. Like it was something he'd been stewing upon and had come to the conclusion of.

His son hadn't said it outright, but Rick could feel and hear the undertone of him casting blame on his father for his mother's death, in every look and word he uttered. Or maybe it was Rick projecting his feelings onto Carl. "If I did, more of us would have died," he told him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

Carl swept his legs off the edge of the opposite side of the bed and sat with his back to Rick. "If you hadn't killed those men at the satellite station, none of us would have."

Rick didn't agree. The Saviors would have found them. It wasn't a matter of if, but when. But that was not what his son needed to hear at the moment. "I'm sorry, Carl. I know it doesn't make it better but I am... I did love her..." Rick's slumped over, his head hanging. "Back at the prison, I couldn't put it back together. I wanted to, for you. But what happened between your mother and me... it was complicated. But I made a deal with myself though, even after everything. I made a deal that I would keep her alive. For you... I'm sorry I couldn't."

Even when things were uncomfortable between him and Lori, he'd been cognizant of making decisions that kept Lori's safety close to the forefront. But he'd made a family, apart from her. And when Tyreese had stepped into the picture, Rick had been relieved knowing she had someone watching her back as he had before. But at the end of the day, it wasn't simply his ex-wife who'd died in that clearing, it was his son's mother. He should have done more."I'm sorry, son."

Carl shoved off the bed and when he turned around, Rick's heart pulled at the redness he saw in his eyes and the overall weariness of his son's disheveled appearance. Rick could tell he hadn't changed out his dirty eye patch gauze since before they'd left for the Hilltop.

"Is Andre okay?" Carl asked.

"Yeah. He doesn't know what's going on. But he's been asking for Michonne."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Just that he'd see her soon. I didn't want him to worry."

"So... where are we going?"

"A place called the Kingdom."

Rick sauntered into the room and sat down on the edge of Andre's bed, careful not to wake his younger son, who was still blissfully unaware of what was going on.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, as he listened to Michonne sing and stared at Carl's face.

On the journey to the Kingdom, despite having over forty people to watch out for, Rick had kept a keen eye on Carl, who walked like the effort of holding himself up was too great a task. He worried that not only would Carl collapse from the days of refusing food, but should he come across a walker, his son might not fight it. Without having to ask, Abe stepped in and stood just over Carl's shoulder the entire time, easing a great deal of Rick's worry.

Many of their extended family members had rallied around the three of them in Michonne's absence, but he knew what Carl needed was the warmth and love of a mother. And the only person his son would even allow close enough to try and comfort him was the woman now soothing him to sleep.

Michonne's song ended, and she ran a gentle hand over Carl's hair and kissed his forehead. Then she looked up and whispered, "Hey. Was it Glenn and the others?"

"Just Glenn."

Her forehead scrunched up. "Are they–"

"Jessie's fine. Heath... we don't know." Rick's eyes went back to Carl. "Did you get him to eat something?"

"Just a little bit, but he seemed so tired... I just wanted him to rest."

"What do we do?"

Michonne shifted to face him and stretched both hands out. He took them and held them tight. "We fight," she said. "That's how we make this right. We finish what you started and get our boys their home back."

Michonne rose early the next morning. Sensing that after the week of separation, her baby boy could use some time alone with her, she showered and woke Andre so they could have breakfast together. They were walking back to the dorms from the dining hall when Michonne spotted Jada coming their way with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

"Morning Andre," she said, squatting down in front of him. The two of them had met the day before and Michonne had been proud of her son for refraining from asking Jada what happened to her face, like she knew he wanted to. It'd been a close call, but Andre had snapped his mouth shut before the question could slip.

"Give me some, up top." Jada held her hand high and Andre jumped up to slap it with a high five.

"Baby, go find Ms. Nabila in the garden. She said you could help her out today while we take care of things."

"Cool!" He waved at Jada. "See ya," he yelled, running toward the Kingdom's plant acreage. Michonne watched Andre give Nabila, who had already been hard at work planting, a huge hug. The younger woman waved at Michonne, acknowledging that Andre was now in her care.

"Are you feeling okay, today?" Jada asked, slipping back into her more serious doctor voice, the moment Michonne's eyes settled on her again. "Any discomfort during the night?"

"No."

"Good. No other symptoms?"

"None." Michonne rubbed her hand over her belly. "Best sleep I've had all week..."

Jada smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. "Having your human body pillow back helps too I suppose."

"That definitely doesn't hurt." Michonne eyed Jada's duffel. "You're leaving now?"

"Yeah..." Jada nodded her head toward the gate. Michonne looked over her shoulder and saw Daryl leaning against the wall of it, sharpening his knife. Rick had filled her in on everything that had gone on in her absence, including Daryl's withdrawal from the group.

He'd been right there, doing whatever Rick needed him to, but he'd carried a cloak of blame for Lori's death; keeping to himself more than usual and barely saying more than a few words to anyone. So it wasn't a surprise Daryl had offered to be the one to help Jada get back to her people. "He wanted to leave early."

"You sure I can't convince you to stay with us a little longer."

"You don't have to worry. They have a great doctor here. I talked to her last night. Downloaded her on your case. You're in good hands."

"That's not why I want you to stay."

"As soon as he figures out I'm gone, Negan's gonna go after my people. I gotta get back there to warn them."

"You know you could bring them here. There's plenty of room. Rick and I could talk to Ezekial–"

"I'm not sure they'd be up for it... after what we went through with the Saviors... we'll be fine though... thank you, Michonne. If it hadn't been for you, I'd still be– I don't even wanna think about it."

"You're the one who made the choice to go with Jesus."

Jada shook her head. "Girl, just let me thank you."

"You're welcome," Michonne said begrudgingly. She pulled Jada into her arms and held on.

"Aunt Jay?"

Michonne turned her head. Glenn stood there with two women she didn't know. She looked over at Jada when she heard her gasp, "Cyndie?"

The younger woman of the two, who stood next to Glenn, ran the short distance to Jada and the two crashed into a hug. "Oh my God," the young woman said, pulling away from Jada. Her moist eyes trailed over her aunt's face. "They did this to you?"

Jada nodded, swallowing down her tears. "What are you doing here– did Negan–"

"No. Everyone's fine. The Saviors don't know about Oceanside."

"Oceanside?"

"We've got a lot to catch up on."

"We've gathered you all here... because each of you are leaders of your communities in your own right..." Rick said to the group assembled on the stage of the Kingdom's auditorium.

Jada, Cyndie, and Beatrice were together on one side and Jesus was next to them. Rick and Michonne held hands on the other end and Ezekial sat on his throne with his right hand, Jerry, on one side and second in command, Richard, on the other. Oh, and the tiger... she couldn't forget the tiger.

But they weren't the only ones in the auditorium, because Rick and Michonne weren't the only leaders of their community. Glenn, Abraham and Rosita, Aaron, Gabriel, and Eugene were standing in the aisle.

"Alexandria, the Hilltop, Oceanside, and the Kingdom– all four of our communities have something in common. The Saviors have taken our families, friends, and everything we worked hard for. Some of us ran. And some of us still serve the Saviors. So you all know they rule through fear and violence. And the only way for us to live in peace again is to take them down once and for all."

"And what plans have you, Rick Grimes of Alexandria?" Ezekiel's voice boomed, reverberating throughout the auditorium. This guy, in all his medieval cosplaying glory, was an enigma to Michonne.

"Ezekial– King Ezekial. We came to ask you all to join us in fighting the Saviors, fighting for freedom for all of us."

And when did I become the more skeptical one in our relationship? She thought. Rick hadn't said a single dubious word about this charade.

"What you are asking is very serious," Ezekiel retorted.

"The Saviors are vulnerable right now. Our attack on the base took out a great deal of their men. They're licking their wounds. And we know more about how they operate now. It may not look like it, but we have the upper hand... but I do want to be honest about what we're asking. My people are strong, but there are not enough of us. We have some guns– but not enough, at least. Not a lot of weapons, period."

Richard stood up straighter. "We have people and weapons. If we strike first, together, we can beat them." He turned to Ezekial. "Your majesty, no more waiting for things to get worse beyond what we can handle. We set things right. The time is now."

Ezekiel contemplated for a moment, before turning to look at the other leaders. "What say you, Jesus? Jada?"

"Gregory's not gonna go for it, not by a long stretch," Jesus replied. "But I think I might be able to convince our people. We've lost a lot to the Saviors too."

"Very well." Ezekiel turned his gaze to Jada.

She deferred to Cyndie, looking down at her niece, who said, "We have guns enough for all of us twice over. But our people ran for a reason. Our last fight with the Saviors took nearly half of our community out–"

"But I owe my life to Michonne," Jada interrupted. "So I'll go. Try to convince Natania and the others to fight."

"Yea," Beatrice agreed. "Me too."

All eyes returned to Ezekial, who was looking at Rick. "All of this... came at a cost. It was lives, arms, legs. The peace we have with the Saviors is uneasy, but it is peace. And the only way I will send my people into another fight is if I know for certain that victory is on the other side... the hour grows late. I invite you all to sup with us tonight and go on your separate journeys in the morn. And when they return, if the people of the Hilltop and Oceanside agree to join the fight, the Kingdom will too."

Rick raised an eyebrow at the roasting pig he passed by, outside the community center on his way into the building, and he should have taken it as a sign of what was to come on the inside. It looked like Thanksgiving: a long table with a cornucopia at the center and dressed with a line of various family-sized sides.

Later, on his second glass of wine, Rick relaxed while he watched the folks from the Kingdom and Alexandria intermingle. He could barely tell where the Kingdom's people started and Alexandria's stopped, as they laughed and battled for a place in the conversation. He smiled at Andre, sitting at the kid's table, stuffing his face.

"Reminds you of what the world can be, huh?"

Rick turned to Ezekial, who sat to his left at the head of the table. "When we first met Jesus, he said our world was gonna get a whole lot bigger. It looks like he was right."

"Indeed, he was."

"This place? How did you do it?"

Ezekiel sat back and took a sip from his goblet, before setting it on the table. He leaned toward Rick and lowered his voice, so only he could hear. "People want someone to follow. It's human nature." Taken aback by Ezekial's sudden voice change, Rick's ears perked up.

"They want someone to make 'em feel safe. And people who feel safe are less dangerous... more productive. They see a dude with a tiger, shoot, they start tellin' stories about finding it in the wild, wrestling it into submission, turning it into his pet. They make the guy larger than life, a hero. And who am I to burst their bubble? Next thing you know, they treat me like royalty. They wanted– they needed someone to follow, so I acted the part. I faked it till I made it."

"And who were you before?" Rick asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I was a zookeeper. Shiva, She was trapped... hungry, alone. Like me. She was the last thing left in this world that I loved. She protected me. She got me here. Made me larger than life. And I made this place. I used to act in community theater, and played a few kings in my day..."

Rick snorted, his shoulders lifting and dropping.

"Arthur, Macbeth... Martin Luther. My name really is Ezekiel, though. That's one hundred percent real... but I'd appreciate you keeping this between us, though..." He looked out at the table. "For them." He shrugged. "And, yeah, a little bit for me."

"Why tell me?"

"I want you to know me, man. For you to know that you can trust me."

"We wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Yeah... but be honest, a part of you is waiting for the other shoe to drop... I mean I get it. There's a lot of bad in this world. Maybe even more than before. I can see you've seen your fair share of it."

"And then some."

"The thing is, though... it's not all bad. It can't be. It isn't. Life isn't. Where there's life, there's hope, heroism, grace, and love. Where there's life... there's life." Ezekiel elbowed Rick and jutted his head in the direction of something behind him. "You, my friend, should know that better than anyone."

Rick turned and his heart warmed at the sight of Michonne waddling toward them. "Yeah... I do." He'd been astonished by how much her belly had grown in the short time they'd been apart. His wife was twenty-seven weeks pregnant but she looked like what Rick imagined a full-term pregnant lady was supposed to.

"It pleases the King that you would join us, fair maiden."

Rick stood and pulled Michonne's chair out.

"Just Michonne is fine," she corrected, taking Rick's outstretched hand as he aided her descent down into the chair.

"As you wish, fair– uh... Michonne."

"Hey Boss," Jerry yelled from the other side of the table. "Tell Abe about that one time Shiva took out a mini herd all on her own. He doesn't believe me!"

"Oh, yes! Cambridge..."

Rick scooted his chair closer to Michonne and draped a hand on the back of her chair. "No luck?"

"No," she said with a sigh. "Aoki and I both tried. But she stayed with him. I'm gonna bring them both some food when we're finished here."

Rick nodded and rubbed at his facial hair, staring at the table.

"Hey," she whispered and waited for him to meet her gaze. "We're doing everything we can. We just have to give it time. He'll be alright."

"Yeah." He pressed a light kiss on her lips. "I'm so glad you're here. That you're okay." He brushed a gentle hand over her belly. "All of you."

She covered his hand with her own. "Can I be honest?"

" 'Course."

"I love our babies, but I'm so freakin' over being pregnant. If I could evict them right now, I would."

Rick smothered his laugh because the contrite look on her face said she was dead serious and feeling ashamed of the thought. "It's just a little bit longer." He leaned in, his lips near her ear, when he whispered, "And then when you're ready, you and I are going on our honeymoon."

Michonne pulled away slightly, so she could see his face. "A honeymoon?"

"A belated one. Yeah."

"To where?"

"You'll see." Honestly, Rick didn't have a clue where he was taking her. He'd been mulling over the idea of a honeymoon for a while but hadn't planned on presenting her with it until he had a concrete proposition. But at least he had a few months to figure it out.

Jada gawked at Rick and Michonne. They sat across from her lost in their own world, whispering to each other like no one else was at that table except for the two of them. It's what she missed most, having someone there who, with one look, could make you forget that the world wasn't perfect outside the bubble of just the two of you. Marcus had been that for her; the one person she didn't even have to look over her shoulder to know was there.

Did she even want that again? The idea of another man picking up where he left off felt like a betrayal and the thought of someone else touching her the way he had, felt like something even worse.

But maybe she didn't have to worry about it, though; all it took was looking in a mirror for her to be reminded she was no longer the beauty queen who had men falling at her feet. A guy like Marcus wouldn't have looked twice at the woman she was now, and in that respect, she was grateful he never had to see her face like this.

Now when people stared at her, it was for a whole nother reason altogether. It was probably for the best; being someone who men desired, in this world, was dangerous.

"Umm... excuse me." Jada looked at the person sitting beside her. He set his hand on his chest and cleared his throat. "Glenn," he introduced himself.

"Yeah. I remember. You were with Cyndie... I'm–"

"Jada. I know. Cyndie talked a lot about you on our way here."

Taken aback, she laughed self-consciously. In her life before, she'd been so focused on her career and Marcus that everything else had been put on the back burner, including her family. The only time she saw her brother and his wife and kids was once a year when she'd swing by and drop off presents at the annual Christmas party, on her way to a colleague's more elite affair. Then the world ended and all she had was time with her family, but her relationship with Cyndie had been slow growing. She wasn't proud of it, but her niece didn't really know her, so what could she have told this perfect stranger? "What'd she say?"

"She told me a bunch of stories of the lives you've saved since the start. And that you'd been taken. She was really worried about you..."

"Oh."

"I just wanted to say that I'm glad you made it out. Happy endings are hard to come by around here..." He rolled his eyes at his own words. "I mean, it's not really an ending, but... you know what I mean."

"I do. And I appreciate you saying that... you know, I should thank you."

"Me?"

"You're the one who saved Rick at the start, right?"

"Uh... yeah. I guess."

Earlier in the afternoon, Michonne had given her a rundown of who the closest members of her found family were and how they'd come to know each other. Glenn was at the top of that list. "If you hadn't saved him, he wouldn't have been there to save her, and she wouldn't have been here to save me."

"Wow. That is... some complicated math right there."

She laughed. "Yeah. It's nice to officially meet you, Glenn."

"I was wondering if you'd let me come along with you guys tomorrow."

"You wanna come? You met Natania, right?" Her brother's mother-in-law wasn't the warmest soul around.

"Yeah?" He took a bite out of his dinner roll. "Why?" he asked, in between chews.

"Just interesting that you'd volunteer to go back after facing off with her once."

"Oh." He chuckled to himself. "Yeah. We came to an understanding, me and Natania."

"You did, did you?"

"Don't worry..." He bumped her shoulder with his and gave her a wink. "I got this."

4 days later

Rick walked through the throng of Soldiers, over a hundred and fifty deep, who were congregated near the gates of the Kingdom, gearing up and saying their goodbyes. He reached the front, where Daryl stood alone checking his rifle—one of the guns Glenn and Jada had brought back.

They'd also returned with thirty fighters from Oceanside, including Jessie, who'd gone against Natania's wishes. Jesus, too, arrived back with a number of volunteers from the well and able pool of the Hilltop Colony, much to Gregory's dismay. Many were unskilled and they'd only had two days to train them, but it was only a matter of time before the Saviors caught on to what they were planning, which meant it had to happen now.

"Daryl." Rick slapped a hand to rest on his shoulder. Daryl looked over at him and dropped his eyes almost immediately. Rick dipped his head, forcing the other man to meet his gaze. "Change of plans. I need you to stay back."

"I'm not staying here," he grunted.

"Carl's not in a good place. Michonne can barely run. She's in no shape to fight. If something happens here, I know she's gonna wanna try, but I can't have that. I need someone I trust here, watching out for them. It's the only way my mind will stay clear out there."

"No." He looked at the ground. "I– you can't ask me to do that. Not after..." his shaky voice trailed off.

"Would you look at me?" Daryl stood frozen. "Please?"

When he looked up, the caverns of his lids were filled, about to spill over. Rick tightened his grip on Daryl's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was."

"No. It wasn't... And next to Michonne, there's no one I trust more than you. You're my brother, Daryl. You always will be. I'm asking you as my brother to protect my family."

Daryl's lips trembled, but he pressed them together in a tight line, before wiping his eyes with the collar of his shirt and nodding. He stood up straight and his chin tilted up. "I'll look after 'em. I won't let anything happen to 'em."

"I know."

Rosita lifted up onto the very tip of her toes and she cupped the back of Abraham's head. She kissed him, trying to keep it chaste in front of everyone who was around them saying their goodbyes. And when Abraham tried slipping his tongue into her mouth, she jerked away and slapped his shoulder. "Stop it."

"What?" he said, grinning like an idiot. "I'm going off to war. What if I don't come home? I gotta leave you with somethin' to remember me by."

"Don't even joke about that, asshole."

"I'm sorry." He looked both ways, then leaned in. "You pee on some plastic yet?"

"No. I told you, it's still too early."

"Come on, you've been upchucking with the utmost. And you've been irritable... more than usual, that is."

She swatted him again, for good measure. But he was right, it was about time to check. She'd never been pregnant, but if all the throwing up wasn't a symptom, then something else was seriously wrong. They'd decided together that she'd sit the fight out and stay behind to protect the children and elderly from the Kingdom, Hilltop, and Alexandria, who'd all been brought there in anticipation of the fight. She wasn't getting her hopes up, but she had a good feeling about it this time. "We'll take the test when you come home."

"Can you do me a favor?" Rick asked Andre, who he was kneeling in front of. "Look out for your brother while we're gone, okay? He's not feeling good." Carl had opted out of being there to see his father off, but Rick made certain to hug and kiss his son goodbye.

"Okay... Mom said when you come home, we can go back to Alexandria."

"That's what you want?"

He nodded. "This place is cool, but I like my old bed better. And I miss my action figures."

Rick smiled. He wished he could give Carl even just an ounce of Andre's innocence. "I'm gonna do everything I can to get you back to your action figures, okay?"

Andre nodded. "Okay."

Rick held his arms out and Andre stepped into his embrace. "I love you, son."

Andre rested his head on Rick's shoulder. "I love you too, Dad." He didn't know when it had happened; when he'd stopped being Daddy and Michonne stopped being Mama, they were now just Mom and Dad. It was another sign, of many he'd observed lately, that their little boy was growing up.

Rick kissed his forehead and stood, coming face to face with Michonne. He stepped up close to her—as close as her protruding belly would allow—and set his hands on either side of her waist. She was wearing both his white t-shirt and favorite denim button-up, and she looked so damn adorable. He'd taken a mental picture earlier when he'd walked in on her getting dressed and had saved it in the collection of his favorite moments.

They'd gotten their long goodbye out of the way the night before and Rick was thankful, because standing before her now, he felt emotions rising that hadn't been there at night. There were a lot of moving parts to the plan—which Aoki and Jesus were already leading a team to enact the first part of, and it included a shit ton of walkers. There was a lot that could go wrong. Many Saviors would die that day, but they both knew that people on their side would too, and one of those people could very well be him.

But if this was the last time they spoke to each other, he wasn't gonna leave her with some sappy memory of him. "So... you finally gonna tell me what our son's name is?"

"No... I'll tell you when you come home."

"Really?"

"Call it... motivation."

"I've got plenty of that already." He tilted her chin up and leaned down to kiss her with a vigor he ordinarily reserved for their bedroom. "I love you," Rick said when they came back up for air.

Negan propped his leg up on the conference table, which he sat at the head of, across from the spineless traitor whose name he hadn't bothered to learn. Simon had called an impromptu meeting when the numbnut arrived uninvited, spouting about having information on the whereabouts of the disappearing act that was Rick and his people and knowledge of what they were planning.

"Well, I, uh… I'd just like to start by saying thank you for having me here today," he stammered. "Negan, let me lay this down straight for you. I know how it is... I don't like killing people any more than you do."

"I like killing people."

"Oh. Well, I–"

"I say it's about killing the right people. So, you kill the right people at the right time... everything falls into place..."

When they met a new group, there was a formula, a method to his madness. Kill the biggest, to cripple the group's ability to fight back. Or kill the most beloved, so then the group would be too grief-stricken to do anything but submit. But never, under any circumstance, kill the leader, because the people needed to see the strongest among them bow down—it reinforced the perceived danger. And it didn't hurt that the leaders almost always blamed themselves for the death of their people, rendering them useless.

Very rarely did he go off script. "Kill the right one, and you could be saving hundreds more. And that is what we are all about. We save people."

"That's… that's why you're called the– the Saviors. Oh. Well, this situation that we find ourselves in, this– this conflict... I can stop it before it even gets started. I mean, here it is. I go to my people, and I– I tell them if you're joining with this misled crusade, you're no longer citizens of the Hilltop. You're out on your asses."

"You're still their guy?" he asked, not hiding the unbelief in his voice. "They still listen to you, Gregory? You still have the power to exile people?"

"The Hilltop is my house. I'm still the guy. I've always been the guy."

"Huh. If you're still the guy, if, indeed, you have always been the guy, then why the hell didn't you know about your guy... what's the asshole's name, Simon?"

Simon thought for a moment. "Jesus."

"Really? Well then call me Lucifer..." He guffawed at his own joke. "How come you didn't know about Christ helping them break my prisoner out?"

"I think–"

"You know what I think, Gregory? I think you're playing both sides. I think you are a thin-dicked politician threading the needle with your thin, thin dick."

"I was– wasn't aware of things until they were already in– in motion. I just– I– I didn't know until I– I knew, you know?" The man huffed out a breath, dropped his head into his hands, and wiped his face, looking all flustered and shit. Jesus, he should just put the stuttering bastard out of his misery.

"Gregory, hey," Simon said, his voice unnervingly soft and supportive.

What the hell is this? Negan wondered, watching him comfort the man. What's going on here?

"I believe you," Simon soothed. "Now make Negan believe you, huh?"

The man sat up and nodded. "The Hilltop is mine. I just lost control for a minute and a vagabond took advantage of my generous nature. I see that now, and I will fix it."

Simon, unsatisfied with the man's efforts, it seemed, rolled his eyes and turned to Negan. "If we go in with the right stage picture, a thick and veiny show of force surrounding Gregory when he lays down the law, I think things go back to copacetic. If they don't, we take a flyer on the place and kill everyone there."

Ah-ha! Now it made sense. Simon's odd supportive act wasn't because he gave a shit about what's his face, he was doing what Simon was best at, vying for the power his insubordinate ass had been trying for since he'd joined the ranks.

"Unfortunate play," Simon continued. "But the other communities will get the message, and we achieve equilibrium. Plan A... plan B-"

"People are a resource," he said, interrupting.

"You just wanted to kill everyone in Alexandria–" he bit back, in a tone unbecoming of someone within Negan's ranks. "You blew up their community and–"

Negan slammed his bat on the table, silencing him. "The right people, Simon! Have you not learned anything? People are still the foundation of what we are building here!" He yelled. "And who the hell do you think you're talking to? Are you confused about who we are? Are you confused about who is in charge? Are we backsliding, Simon? Please, tell me we're not backsliding."

Negan had met some cold sons of bitches both before and after, but never one as icy as Simon, who'd single-handedly caused them to lose a community after he'd gone on a murderous rampage, killing the entirety of their men.

He should have cut him loose then, but there was something to be said for having at least one man in his ranks who was just a little bit more diabolical than himself.

"We're not backsliding. This is a pronounced event and a fragile moment."

"Hell, yes, it is. We need to win it all. Plan A is taking Rick, Christ, the Doc, and King Assface alive and making them dead in a very, very public and instructive way. We kill the right people in the wrongest way possible, and we make them all watch!"

Four rhythmic gunshots rang out.

Negan walked to the window and saw two rows of armored cars stationed in front of their fences. And there was Rick, standing behind one of the cars staring straight at him.

"Should we get our people out there? Line 'em up, light 'em up?" Simon asked as if everything Negan just said had gone through one ear and out the other.

"No. They got some sort of hillbilly armor. We'd just be wasting metal on metal. And the RPG is stashed at the cache, so... let's have ourselves a little chat. Simon, bring your new little friend. We may need him to say some words."

Negan meandered behind his right hands, who were filing out onto the balcony in front of him.

Let's get this shit show on the road. "Well, shit," he yelled, strutting out onto the landing with his arms spread out wide. "I'm sorry. Jesus Christ. I was in a meet-" A bullet flew past him, and right into the center of Simon's forehead, cutting off Negan's statement. Shit.

His men scurried back into the building, creating a bottleneck as they dodged the onslaught of gunshots firing at them. "Get the hell out of the way," He shouted, grabbing Gregory's collar and pulling him back.

Just as he was about to step into the building a bullet struck Negan's hip. He fell back onto the landing and rotated onto his hands and knees, crawling for the stairs, bullets whizzing past.

Negan tucked his head and rolled forward, tumbling down the stairs and onto the concrete of the courtyard. When he popped up, an unmanned RV was rolling for the chain link fence. It busted through and barreled straight toward him.

Negan pushed himself off of the ground and sprinted behind a metal trash bin, making it, just nearly, before the RV exploded.

Lying on the ground, all he could hear was a piercing ring and all he could see was a cloud of smoke.

When the debris settled, he ambled up and peered over the trash bin, at the dead who were overtaking the courtyard.

Negan looked around; there was no getting back into that building. He had to get out.

He spotted a vacant armored car, with the door wide open... a motherfucking gift from above. Negan sprinted for the open door and hopped into the driver's seat. He pressed his foot onto the gas and gunned it. Bulldozing his way through the undead bodies in his path, he maneuvered the car out of the courtyard.

"Fucking shit!" he yelled, banging his hand against the steering wheel, as the car veered through the abandoned streets.

He had to get to the weapons cache. That's where they'd be going next and if they got control of it, it would all be over.

Twenty damn miles. Why the fuck had they put the weapons cache so far away.

Once Negan hit the long, vacant stretch of country road, he looked down at his side, where blood was seeping from the hole the bullet had made. His adrenaline had been pumping so fast it had acted as a natural dose of anesthesia, but now, coming down from it the shit was starting to hurt like hell.

Bang! He ducked at a shot fired through his rearview mirror, breaking the glass. "Fuck!" The car swerved, but he corrected it. Gunned the gas. He looked up at the rearview mirror and saw Rick trailing him in one of his jeeps.

He hit the gas once again, the speed meter ticking up and maxing out at one-eighty. Rick tailed him, hot on his heels. He needed to get this prick off him.

Negan hit the brakes, decelerating. Rick swerved sideways, sliding fast and uncontrolled in Negan's direction.

The last thing he saw, before everything went dark, was Rick's car colliding into his before the interlocked vehicles veered off the road and flew into a valley.

The first thing Rick heard, when he came to, was the sound of floorboards creaking. He focused, listening for a minute, and heard more: crickets chittering, something ripping, someone groaning. His eyes shot open when a voice called over static, "Rick come in! Rick, where the hell are you?" Aoki.

His eyes found the walkie-talkie sitting on a wooden chair a few feet away and he moved to grab it, but something yanked him back. Rick looked down through the fuzzy, blurry vignette of his gaze, and saw his arm was handcuffed to a metal pipe.

He reached into the small pocket of his utility belt, searching for the key to his cuffs. No luck. He patted the front and back pockets of his jeans, but they were empty too.

"You looking for this?" Rick looked up and squinted across the... cabin? Were they in a cabin? Negan sat against the wall on the other end of the room, dangling Rick's keys.

Rick blinked away the muck in his eyes and assessed the man, who had his belt tied tightly around his waist, above the blood-stained spot on his white t-shirt. His face was dotted with sweat, the man's lips blue, and his breath was labored.

Hemorrhagic shock—Rick had learned about it during first aid training on the force. It was easy to spot in a gunshot victim and almost always spelled certain death. "You look like shit."

Negan laughed. "I ain't the only one." he lifted the gun in his hand, nudging it toward Rick's head.

Rick touched his forehead and brought his hand down to examine the red on it.

"You got me good Rick. Where the bullet's lodged– no one can save me now... this ain't the way I would have chosen it to end." Rick looked up and saw Negan pointing his gun at him. "But taking you down with me, oh, it's worth the price of admission. Just think Rick, we get to meet Satan together. Who do you think he'll like best?"

"What makes you think we're going to the same place?"

"Oh, stop with the holier than thou shtick. We are two sides of the same coin and you know it. I just don't hide behind a cloak of self-righteous bullshit. I know who I am and I'm honest about why I do the things I do..."

Rick scowled at him. They were nothing alike. What Rick had done at the satellite station had been preemptive self-defense.

"What the hell is your problem, Rick? Huh? I know what I did hit close to home– but– if you're not just the most misguided son of a bitch I ever crossed dicks with..." Negan sighed. "Why didn't you just let me save you? I'm good at it. I mean, you didn't even give me a chance." His voice sounded utterly exhausted like it took great effort for him to mutter each word. "I saved everybody in the Sanctuary, the Hilltop, Kingdom- I saved them all. Their kids can grow up safe. All those people were doing just fine before Rick Grimes. All that wasted potential..."

"Cut the shit. There's no way out of this for you. You have no leverage here."

"Maybe... but I am the one holding the gun."

"If you were gonna shoot me you'd already have done it."

"Shooting you in your unconscious state, that would have been too easy... that's a bitch-ass move right there. Something you would do..." He cocked his gun and lowered it, away from Rick's head and down to his thigh. "No... I wanna enjoy every minute of this shit." He fired.

It was as if Rick was operating on a slight delay. He saw Negan pull the trigger. He heard the gunfire. But it took a few seconds for the searing pain to hit.

Rick shouted out in agony, grabbing hold of his thigh.

"Shhhh..." Negans said, with a big smile. "We don't want the dead to come knocking, now do we."

Rick bit his lip and stared down at the blood pooling on the ground underneath his thigh.

"Yup, this is so much more fun. We get to play a suspenseful game of, let's see who dies first," he sang. "And the winner gets a tasty meal."

Michonne staggered toward the entrance of the Kingdom's auditorium, her hands propping up her arched back. She stopped in front of Jerry, who stood guard. "The King is not receiving visitors," he said.

"I didn't haul my pregnant ass all the way over here just to be turned away. Please move out of the way."

Jerry held his position, but only for a moment, before he let his head fall. "He told me to go, you know. That I didn't need to do this anymore." He shrugged, forlorn. "This is what I do."

Michonne sighed. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn't yet stopped to think about what they'd lost, and she hadn't been on the battlefield. But Jerry, he'd been right there among his dead friends. He'd seen them come back to life and even had to put some of them down.

And Ezekial's men weren't the only ones lost over the past day and a half of fighting; Eric, Francine, Tobin, Beatrice, and fighters from the Hilltop were among the dead. "Jerry I'm sorry..." she said, checking her abrasive tone. "I just want to talk to him. Everyone's heading back to the Sanctuary for the final stand."

They'd taken out all of the outposts, killing the soldiers occupied in each one. The Sanctuary was surrounded twenty deep by walkers. And the final step of the plan was for everyone to go and get the Lieutenants and the civilians living inside to surrender. It was the part of the plan that had been most intensely debated in the planning process. After what the Saviors had done, many wanted to eradicate every last semblance of the community. But Rick was adamant, no more loss of life than what was necessary. And on that, she and her husband had been on one accord.

Jerry stepped aside. "You may enter."

"Thanks." She patted his shoulder and moved through the doors of the auditorium.

Michonne walked down the ramp toward Ezekiel, who sat on the stage staring at Shiva's chain, lamenting over her death. "I know what you want from me... what I should be doing. But I can't."

"The people out there are waiting for someone to lead them. Rick's not here. It's up to you."

"This fight... who the hell was I to choose for them?"

"Who are any of us to choose?" How many times had she asked herself that same question? Being responsible for other people's lives, was a heavy burden. One most didn't accept without reluctance. But once you said yes, that was it, it was on you... "Aren't you supposed to be these people's king?"

"I ain't no king. I'm just some guy. I played the part. And early on, I was shown that the stakes were these people's lives. And I still played the part. I knew... and yet I smiled. I can't do it no more." He breathed deeply. "I can't be what they need. So, please just... leave me alone."

Michonne shook her head. But, she turned to walk away, because she had no leg to stand on. She too had quit and had abdicated her authority to Rick, at one point. Condemning this man for doing the very things she'd done in her own dark moment, was the epitome of hypocrisy.

When she reached the door, Michonne stopped dead, the thought of Rick giving her pause.

She turned back around. "You're not helpless," she said in a raised voice. "My husband is out there still fighting for you and your people and I have no idea if he's okay, but I can't do a damn thing about it. That's helpless..." She exhaled, blowing her frustrations out. "I'm not discounting what you lost back there. But you said yes. You agreed not only to this fight but to lead these people. And your job is not done... I know what it is to have people's deaths on your conscience. And I still haven't figured out how to let go of it. But we honor the ones we lose by completing the work they gave their lives for."

Ezekiel watched her, for a long moment. Then he stood and set Shiva's chain on his throne, before jumping off of the stage. "Alright, then," he said, stomping past her.

With his free hand, Rick cinched his belt around his thigh. He'd been relieved to find an exit wound. But it was large and leaking profusely. If the bleeding didn't stop soon, he knew his manageable situation would become critical.

"How we doing over there Rick?" Negan croaked.

"Better than you, it looks," he quipped.

"Yeah, it's pretty dire over here. Cold chills just set in." Negan closed his leather jacket and snuggled up. "I'm starting to get sleepy too."

Rick's heartbeat picked up speed. He had to figure a way out of the cuffs and quick.

"This whole dying thing... it's got me thinking about my life." Negan crossed his legs at the ankles. "How I got here. What could have been, if things went another way... got me thinking about you too... what you were like before. A sheriff right? Were you an asshole before too? Like one of those cops who beat up on people who didn't deserve it? Oh! You ever stashed a little coke from a perp? You know, just to get a taste?"

Rick scooted back to the wall and subtly tugged his hand against the cuff. There was no room. He needed the key, which was safely tucked in Negan's jacket pocket. The only way he was getting it, was if he convinced the guy to hand it over.

"You're gonna get people killed, Rick. See, I killed your baby mama and the big guy. But I didn't get them killed. That was you. Big difference."

"And the workers you treat like slaves?"

"It's an economy. Some people win, some people lose, but no one's a slave, no one's going hungry, and you couldn't say that before all this."

"Jada told us about your wives. The women you pressure into marrying you?"

"Every one of those ladies made a choice."

"Was there a first? A wife before all of this?" he asked off the cuff, but was thankful the question had slipped out when Negan's smile melted off his face and he turned away.

There it is... an opening.

Rick channeled his interrogation skills from the days when getting information out of someone had been his job. "Did it happen before or after?" he asked casually.

Negan smirked at him and for a second, Rick feared he might not play ball. But when he opened his mouth he said, "You first. What happened with Baby Mama? You know, the one I clipped."

Thrown by the question, Rick sat up and pushed his back flesh against the wall. "It just didn't work out."

"Bull... shit." Negan raised his gun, which had been resting on his thigh. "You know what happens to liars don't you Rick? I'll tell you. They get another gunshot in their leg. I wouldn't mind evening the score. Not one bit."

"Okay... she thought I was dead at the start." He scratched at his eyebrow. "Slept with my best friend. He tried to kill me for her. I killed him. And we broke it off."

"Woooah… You just got seventy-five percent more interesting!" Negan gushed and then coughed, his excitement getting the best of his weak body. "Damn..." He looked off into the distance. "I wish I'd tried that before I clipped her. You know her stuff is good when a guy will commit murder for it... wasted opportunity."

Rick flinched and clenched his jaw.

"Alright. Alright. Too far? Okay. I'm done. This isn't as fun when you're all in your feelings…" Negan traced his finger over the emblem—a bat wrapped in barbed wire—engraved into the wood on the handle of his gun. "My first wife was a real wife. My only real wife. Till death did us part. It was before this." He took in a breath and Rick noticed it now had a whistle to it. "I lied to her, I screwed around on her. And she was sick. When she went... when she went, it was during this. I couldn't put her down. It's the biggest regret I have." He lifted his bat with his free hand. "Lucille was her name."

"You named your–"

"Wanted to keep her close." Negan admired the bat, on the verge of tears. "Oh, Rick… if she could see me now. She would fucking hate it. I think that's why– I never could be the man she wanted me to be. It felt like... a betrayal to finally become him once she was gone." Quieter, he said, "I should have tried..."

"It's not too late," Rick assured, but carefully, trying his damndest not to show his hand.

Negan rubbed his eyes. "How's that?"

"You care about your people. I can tell. Everything you've done to protect them... to make it safe for them. I can help you see it through."

A brief moment of hesitation, before Negan bleated out, "How?"

"You uncuff me. Let me go. I'll give them a chance to surrender. The soldiers at your outposts are all dead by now. And my people are gearing up to go finish the job at the Sanctuary. With or without me, those people you saved are gonna die. But it has to stop sometime. It doesn't have to be a fight anymore. We can all have a future together... there's gotta be something after. Give me the key and all it takes is one word over that walkie to change things."

Negan stared at him, tears spilling over. His breathing was shallow now, more of a wheeze than anything else.

"They can have a future. You can do this for them..." Rick reached his hand out, beckoning for Negan to hand over the key.

Negan pulled out the key and stared at it...

"For Lucille," Rick implored.

Negan gave a raspy chuckle, once, and then twice, and then again until he was full-on laughing. As his laughter segued into a nasty cough, he slipped the key back into his pocket. "Oh, Rick," he struggled to say. "You... almost had me there... for Lucille," he mocked. "Just... laid it... on a tad... too thick." He settled down deeper into his spot, getting comfortable, and shut his eyes. "Game over..."

"Negan!" he yelled. "Don't do this! Give me the key!"

"Good... luck… prick."

Rick pulled at the cuff, twisting his wrist, and tried to shimmy his hand free. No luck.

There was only one other thing he could try. But he needed something...

Rick squirmed onto his back and edged his legs toward the chair, latching his boot around a leg of it, before carefully dragging it toward himself. When it was close enough, he sat up and grabbed the weighted walkie-talkie... it wasn't heavy enough, at all, but it would do.

And then he heard the snarls from the other side of the cabin and when he looked over, he saw Negan's head lifting and his dead eyes zeroing in on Rick.

Rick took the walkie-talkie and splayed his hand on the ground. He inhaled and exhaled three deep breaths, psyching himself up. Just do it.

Three... two... one. He smashed the walkie-talkie into the bones of his hand, biting down the cries of pain, as he listened to the cracks.

Negan's walker ambled off the ground and stumbled toward Rick. He kicked the chair at it, pushing it back. But it charged at him again.

He slipped his limp hand out of the cuff, right as the walker toppled over.

Rick rolled away and the walker fell into the open space. It reached out for Rick. He stumbled off the ground, rotated around popping up on all fours.

Ignoring the searing ache in his thigh, Rick crawled for the other side of the cabin but was stopped when the walker's hand grabbed the calf of his Stetsons.

Rick felt its teeth bore into the leather of his boot. He kicked at it with his free leg, all the while reaching out for the gun his fingertips were only inches away from.

When the walker—discontented with the lack of flesh in its bite—reached up and grabbed at Rick's thigh, right where his wound was, he shouted out and flipped onto his back stomping the boot of his free leg on its hands more aggressively. Flicking his eyes up, to try for the gun again, Rick saw instead that the bat was within his reach.

Rick stretched his arm out, grabbed onto the handle, and swung it over and down onto the walker's head, just as it was gearing up to take a bite out of his thigh. He banged the bat into its skull until the thing froze, limp and lifeless.

Rick threw the bat to the side and tossed the corpse off him.

He lay starfished on the ground, huffing and puffing.

After a moment, Rick sat up and with a held breath, he examined his legs for scratch and bite marks. When he found none, Rick stood, limped back to the other side of the cabin, and picked the walkie up with his good hand. "Aoki," he said, into the walkie-talkie.

He waited only a second, before hearing the static come back through the other end. "Rick! Is that you?"

"It's me."

"Oh, thank God. What happened? Are you okay? Where the hell have you been?"

"I went after Negan... I was shot." He looked down at the body on the ground. "He's dead. What's going on, on your end?"

"They surrendered. It's over... where are you? We'll come get you."

"A cabin off Warren Road."

"Sit tight. We'll be there as fast as we can."

"Hey... is everyone okay?"

A brief pause on her end. "We lost people."

"Michonne and–"

"The fam's safe.

"He's gonna be fine, Michonne," Jada said, standing on the other side of Rick's bed in the clinic of the Kingdom. There were rows of others being treated too. Jada, Dr. Carson, and Dana—the Kingdom's physician—had their hands full in the aftermath of the fight with the Saviors.

And when Rick had arrived, barely conscious and looking like he'd just been in a skirmish with a Grizzly bear, he'd only added to their heavy caseload. "He just needs rest, now. Let the antibiotics do their job." Jada checked the bag of fluids that were flowing through the tube stuck in Rick's arm. "I'll be back to check on the two of you, in a little bit. Find me if he wakes up before then, we'll start him on some pain meds if needed."

"Thank you."

Jada gave Michonne a smile and reached out to touch her arm, reassuringly, before she walked off.

Michonne stuck her hand inside the basin of water that was on the table next to the bed and wrung out the sponge she removed from it. Gently, so as not to bother Rick's rest, she wiped at the crusted-over blood on his face.

When she dipped the sponge into the clean water, dying it red, and turned back to Rick to continue her work she found him blinking back to consciousness.

"Hey." She smoothed a hand over the side of his face. "This feel familiar?"

"All too..." he groaned, his voice hoarse. Waking up in a strange place after being shot was old hat for him. He looked around, then back at her. "The Kingdom?"

"Yeah."

"Carl and Andre alright?"

"They're fine."

"What about the Sanctuary, is someone–"

She placed a hand on his chest. "Don't worry about anything, besides getting better. Ezekiel is handling things."

Rick nodded and swallowed.

Michonne caught him grimacing and asked, "Is it your hand?" She looked down at his casted and slung arm.

"Uh-huh. It's everything, really."

With her eyes, she searched the busy clinic. "I'm gonna go see if I can find Jada. She was gonna give you something once you woke... I'll be back." She turned to walk away, but Rick's hand grabbing hold of her arm stopped her.

"Wait... you said... when I got back." The corners of Rick's lips turned up. "I wanna know his name."

"Oh. Yeah, I did say that, huh?" She interlaced the fingers of his unaffected hand with her own and took a moment to compose herself—it was little things, these days, that got her all misty-eyed. When she could trust her voice she said, "I was thinking we could name him RJ."

"RJ?"

She nodded. "Richard Grimes Jr... what do you think?"

Rick stared at her and then he broke out into a smile bigger than any Michonne had ever seen grace his face. "That's a– wow. I think that's a fine name."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said solemnly. "Wow... RJ," he repeated, trying it out.

"He's already so much like his daddy. So strong... a fighter. I thought it was fitting."

"Michonne... it's– I love it... and what about our baby girl?"

"Well, I figured I could name him and you could name her."

"I like that idea," he drawled, his energy waning, she presumed.

"Do you have any names in mind?" she asked.

"Just one."

"Tell me."

"How do you feel about... Taraji Rose Grimes? We could call her Taj for short?"

Michonne's heart skipped an entire beat when the name rolled off of his tongue. Taraji... Hearing her mother's name for the first time in a long while, and from Rick no less, it was all she could do not to burst into tears right there in front of him. Rose... It was the thought that their daughter would carry both of their mother's names that took her over the edge.

Rick reached up and thumbed away the tears tracking down both sides of her face. Michonne grabbed hold of his hand, gripped it in hers, and kissed the back of it. "It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect."

Carl stared at the envelope in his hands. His dad had found it when he'd gone through his mother and Tyreese's things. It had been the only one she'd written and it was addressed to him.

It was also the reason he hadn't changed his flannel shirt in a week; the letter had lived in the pocket of it. Every few hours, he'd look down just to make sure it was still there, but he hadn't yet come up with the courage to peel it open.

"I go to the bathroom for five minutes and you vanish," Aoki said, coming to sit next to him in front of Shiva's empty cage. "What's that?"

"A letter my mom wrote to me." He looked over at her. "Haven't been able to open it yet."

"Do you... do you want me to?" Aoki asked.

He hadn't been so much afraid of what was written in it as he was about not being able to finish if he started, and he couldn't do that to his mother. But maybe having someone else read it, would force him to fight through his urge to fall apart, from fear of embarrassment—Carl hated people seeing him cry. "Okay, sure."

But he couldn't bring himself to hand it over, just yet. Cracking the seal on the envelope meant hearing fresh thoughts from his mother for the final time. A part of him wanted to keep it sealed forever. It'd be like she was still there, somehow. But she'd written it because she'd known he'd need it, and he was so tired of feeling this way, so maybe there'd be something in it that brought him solace.

Carl handed the envelope over to Aoki and closed his eyes as he listened to the paper tear. "Just let me know if you need me to stop," she said.

He nodded.

"Okay..." she blew out a breath...

"Hey Sweet Boy, I'm sitting here on my porch. It's such a beautiful day. I'm watching you and your dad chase Andre around the yard. This place, this day, reminds me of our life before. It reminds me of that time. I remember early Saturday morning soccer games with the over eager parents sideline coaching their kids, who could barely kick the ball into the right net. And lazy Sunday morning burnt pancake breakfasts as a family.

And if I close my eyes and focus really hard I can still smell that life. It smells of freshly cut grass and fading backyard barbecue smoke. Tinsel and Pfeffernusse on the green and red day. It feels like a cuddle in your bed after your story had been long forgotten. Or our crowded bed with the soundtrack of a thunderstorm playing on a loop in the background, outside our window. That life it was beautiful. The thing is, Carl, we made it that. We painted that picture.

I know it feels like that's not possible anymore, with what we're up against. It felt like that for me, before. I remember it vividly. The day I brought you home from the hospital. I was so scared. I didn't know how I was gonna build a life for us. Your dad and I were dirt poor, trying to make it on our own, and we barely had enough money for diapers. And I used to think building a life was about having things and giving you stuff. But then you'd cry in the middle of the night and it wasn't your binky that made you feel safe. It was being with me, in my arms. Me rocking you to sleep, singing You Are My Sunshine. And I realized that my only job as your mother was to make you feel safe.

I want you to feel that way. I want to make you feel safe, Carl. I want you to feel like you felt when I held you that night. Just to feel that way for five minutes... I'd give anything to make you feel that way now.

But I can't anymore and now it's your turn to do that for the people around you. Your family. It's up to you to build a life. It's up to you to be a good man, a good friend, a good son, and a good big brother. Thing is, I know you will be, because Carl you're already all of those things.

Show everyone they can be safe again, that it can feel safe again, that it can go back to being like it was before. Make that come back, Carl. I believe in you. You are the best thing I ever did. It's okay to be sad, but don't stay in that place too long, you've got work to do.

I love you, my sweet boy. Mom."

Carl's body shook as the tears he was trying to hide turned into tremors, rocking him. He felt Aoki's arms go around him and when she nudged his head in, toward herself, he hesitated but gave in and dropped it onto her shoulder and let it all out.

One month later

Rick slammed down on the trunk of the fully stocked car and turned around. "Ezekial, can't thank you enough for all this."

"When Alexandria is fully back up and running, I expect an invitation. And a feast, if that's not too presumptuous. "

He laughed. "No, not at all. I think I can make that happen."

Carl came around to stand next to Rick and Ezekiel held his hand out to his son. They shook. "And you, young sir. I hope to see you here again, for the next pickup. I know young Benjamin does too."

"Yeah, sure."

Rick slapped Ezekiel's shoulder. "We'll see you next time."

He and his son stepped into the car and Rick turned the key in the ignition and paused, looking over at Carl. "You wanna drive?" he asked.

"Really?"

The roads back to Alexandria were clear and Rick figured with gas dwindling, there wouldn't be many more opportunities for his son to operate a running vehicle. "Yeah."

"Sweet. Okay."

Later, they cruised down the highway, Rick staring out the window, lost in his thoughts as Carl navigated the car down the center lane.

They'd only been back in Alexandria for two weeks. But, the Kingdom, Hilltop, and Oceanside had sent extra hands to help with the repairs, and his community was almost close to being back to where it had been before.

The Sanctuary still stood, though the majority of its residents had chosen to move to one of the four communities. And the group left at the Sanctuary—who couldn't let go of the ways of old—had severed ties with everyone. But as long as they kept to themselves, Rick didn't give a shit what they did.

The past month had been busy for Rick, managing the repairs to Alexandria, while going back and forth to the Hilltop to help Jesus get situated as the new leader in the wake of the loss of Gregory, who'd died in the melee at the Sanctuary. Rick had kept Carl by his side the entire time. And slowly, but surely, he'd watched the light in his son's eyes return. He knew Carl was far from healed, but he was coming back.

"Rick!" he heard through the walkie-talkie in the center console. "Come in!"

He picked it up with his, still, casted hand. "Rick here," he answered.

"It's Jada. You need to get back to Alexandria, now! It's Michonne."