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

by WorksByThia

An alternate telling of Rick and Michonne's story.

11. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Good Grief

Timestamp: Season 10

(—One Year and One Month Ago—)

"You want us to do what, now?" Andre's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline as he stared at his brother. Carl sat across from him and their dad at the dining room table, beside their mom.

After his parents had put the twins to sleep that night, his brother had called an impromptu meeting, which was out of the ordinary for their family's long-established night-time routine. And the twins not being there, when his family already had a standing monthly meeting that included them, had Andre approaching the table with an apprehensive air when he'd pulled out his chair to sit down only minutes earlier.

"When my mom died, I only wanted to hear her voice again. Getting that letter she left, it wasn't the same, but it helped me get through it... and I still have it. I read it whenever I miss her or when I need to be reminded of what she wanted for me." Carl looked around the table: first at Andre, then their dad, before his eyes settled on their mom. "It's the least we can do for each other. And I want us to do it now because, we've been extremely lucky, but–"

"You never know," his mom finished.

Carl ducked his head. "Yeah. We've been safe for a long time. I can't imagine losing any of us. But we can't ignore what could happen every time we step foot outside our walls."

"No, you're right," his mom said. "It's a great idea. I'm in."

"Me too," his dad added.

Andre's gaze rolled to the side, away from the dining room, in his search for something else to focus on while he mulled over Carl's request. Writing a letter to each of his family members for when he passed away sounded so freakin' morbid. He didn't wanna think about being in the dirt, let alone any of his family members dying. His eyes dragged back to the table."I don't think I have much to say. If it's all the same to you guys, I don't think I will."

"Hey," his dad said, and Andre looked over at him. "The hope is that we never have to read them– at least not for a long time. But whatever you do have to say, I know I'd... I'd need to hear it. Your mom would. We all would. So, do me a favor and just give it a shot."

He sighed. "Alright."

---

It was late when Rick walked back into his house after checking in on Abraham and Coco. He flipped the lights off on the silent first floor and trudged up the staircase. With every step, his legs felt as if they were hauling one more pound of lead. And he was only halfway up when he had to stop from fear of tumbling backward. He gripped the railing and clutched it as he turned to sit down.

Rick rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his laced and fisted hands. All month, he'd kept his emotions at bay; through the service, the burial, and the melancholy wintry days that followed. His family and the entire town were stuck in a strange sort of purgatory, with everyone seemingly asking the same question... how do we go on? He didn't have the answer, not this time.

And under the cover of the dark house, Rick let the build-up of emotion spill over. He allowed himself a few minutes to feel everything he'd been suppressing—the loss and the guilt. And as he did, a recent image, which he'd been pushing to the back of his mind, from the fear of unraveling, traveled to the forefront; his son sitting beside him at the dinner table, doubling over in laughter at– Rick couldn't even remember what. It had been the last day his family had been together. He could recall watching Andre as he marveled at the fact that he'd had a hand in him becoming who he was. He'd felt so honored to have been given the responsibility of raising him.

Rick brought his arm up and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He stood and steadied himself, before climbing the rest of the way up. He stopped in the doorway of his bedroom when he saw Taj and RJ lying there sleeping, but it wasn't what gave him pause. Michonne's spot was empty.

His eyes quickly panned to the coat rack, on the wall next to their bathroom door, where her katana lived when she was inside the community's walls—it was gone.

Rick grabbed his walkie-talkie off of the nightstand, carefully shut the door, and hustled down the stairs. He flipped to channel one. "Watch post, come in. It's Rick."

"Copy, Rick," he heard Dianne say through the speaker. "Go for Watch One."

"Did Michonne leave through the gate?"

The line was quiet, far too long for his liking, before he heard, "No."

"Dianne..." Rick gripped the walkie-talkie tighter and shifted his weight. "I'm gonna ask you again," he ground out, slowly. "Did my wife leave through the gate?"

A moment of silence, before Dianne answered, "Affirmative."

Shit. "How long ago?"

"About an hour."

"Did she have a tracker?" He was already pushing his feet into his snow boots.

"I don't know."

"Thanks. Over and out." Rick flipped the channel. "Eugene, come in," he said into the speaker of the radio, grabbed his heavy beige coat and black beanie off the rack near the door, pulling them on as he waited for the other man to reply.

It wasn't long before Eugene's groggy voice came through. "Copy, Eugene here."

"Did Michonne come get a tracker from you?"

"That's a negative."

"Get one ready, I'm coming by."

Rick sprinted up to the third floor and kept his gaze on the ground as he hurried past the closed door of the bedroom he couldn't avoid on his way to the one at the end of the hallway. His mind a speeding train on a one-way track, he pushed into his son's room without knocking. "Carl." And swiftly, Rick averted his eyes as Carl startled out of his slumber and scrambled to pull the sheets up to cover his and Priya's naked forms. "What– dad?" he heard Carl say.

"Uh– Sorry." He kept his eyes on the door jamb. "Watch after Taj and RJ?" he asked.

"Huh? Okay. Where are you going?"

Rick didn't want to alarm his son just yet, so he simply said, "I'll be back soon." He closed the door and moved down the stairs and out into the night.

An hour later, Rick's boots sank into the piled-high snow, when he climbed off his horse at Alpha's border. He avoided the stakes, covered with crusted blood, and instead focused on the fresh foot and hoof steps printed into the snow, beyond the row.

It was only by pure instinct that he'd perceived where his wife would go. The council had agreed to honor Alpha's borders, for now. But he'd seen the obstinate look in Michonne's eyes as she'd stood off to the side in the rec hall listening to the heated back and forth.

Since then, Michonne had been a mere shell of herself. She walked through her days with the demeanor of a walker, with a barely there presence that even the kids were starting to notice, and he wasn't sure when the last time she'd gotten real sleep was.

Michonne was still with him, but not really. He'd wake up in the middle of the night and look past Taj and RJ—who hadn't slept in their own beds since the night Rick and Michonne sat them down and told them about their brother—across to where Michonne was staring up at the ceiling with silent tears leaking from the corner of her lids.

Rick loosely tied his mare to one of the wooden poles, unhitched his machete, and crossed the stake-marked line. His gaze darting between the ground and the horizon, Rick tracked Michonne's footsteps for a couple of miles through a tree trail that brought him to the opening of a forest glade.

He halted where the prints ended and when Rick surveyed his surroundings, he found himself smack dab in the middle of what he guessed was the remnants of the savages. He tightened his fist around the wood of his ax as he looked around: in lieu of tents, there were nests made up of foliage, charcoaled hot rocks in a pit with beastly bones discarded around them, and animal and human skins hanging from tree to tree.

At a crunch in the snow behind him, Rick shifted to turn, but before he could make a move a blunt object hit the spot in between his thigh and calf, sending him to his knees. A body fell over him, pushing him down the rest of the way.

A hand clawing around the back of his neck pressed his head deep into the snow and then the figure above him tossed his wool winter hat off before it grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his face out of the frost. He gasped for air.

"Are you one of them?!" Instantly, he recognized the voice he knew better than any other.

"Michonne!" Rick sputtered, spitting flakes out of his mouth. "It's me!"

"Where are they?! Where are your people?" Michonne yelled, her voice raw and cold. She pushed his head back into the snow and held it down longer this time. His arms flailed as he fought for oxygen. When she lifted it again his fight instinct kicked in and he quickly caught his breath, before grabbing her thigh. Even in his defense, he was careful not to hurt his wife, as he used the extra weight he had on Michonne to fling her legs off his body.

She tightened her hold around his neck and brought him back with her. Rick rolled onto her bent back leg and heard a gut-wrenching scream escape her when his body settled onto it.

Shit. He pitched to the side, on all fours, and wheeled around to face her. "Michonne. I'm–"

She charged him, knocking him onto his back again as she climbed up to straddle him. Michonne unsheathed her katana and held it to Rick's neck. "Tell me where they are!"

"Michonne!" he shouted, holding his hands up in surrender. "Michonne, it's me!"

Her glossy, drooping eyes darted around his face, seemingly trying to place it.

Rick felt a sting of pain, where the sharpness of the blade grazed his jugular, and staring at her, he realized that it wasn't his Michonne behind those tired eyes he was looking into. And for a second, he worried that she might do it, that she might slide the sharp edge of her sword across his neck.

By the way she was looking at him, any sudden movements might be his demise, but he had to do something.

Rick reached his gloved hand up—no sudden movements—aiming for the side of her face. Perhaps caught off guard, Michonne flinched and jerked away. But Rick kept steady in his pursuit of contact. Once his hand connected, they both went stock still, the only thing moving was the vapors wafting from their mouths as they heavy breathed at each other. "Look at me. Look at me," he pleaded, lightly running his thumb over her cheek. "It's me."

Maybe it was the coldness of the stray snow feathers or the realization of who he was and what she was about to do to him, but in an instant, Michonne's eyes sprang wide open. Then she squeezed them shut and violently shook her head. "No. This isn't– no." Her eyes opened again and settled on his face.

And Rick caught it, the moment Michonne came back: the hard set of her face softened as she removed the sword from his neck and climbed off of him, throwing the knife to the side as if the handle was burning her palm.

He watched her wince, favoring her knee when she sat back in the snow, with a sharp intake of breath that had him cursing himself a blue streak.

"Oh... God." The distraught and confused look on her face made it register just how close to death he'd really been.

Rick sat up. "Baby, I'm sorry." He scooted toward her. "Can I look at it?"

She nodded and let him remove the hand that was bracing her knee. He took her calf and stretched her leg out. Michonne grabbed hold of his shoulder and squeezed, biting down on her lip as he gently manipulated her patella. He'd had many knee injuries, both as a teenager and while on the force, and knew some of the symptoms. He felt the softness of it, a sure sign it was starting to swell. "We gotta get you back."

"What? No! No." Michonne peeled his hands off of her knee and threw them aside, flipped onto her front before she pushed off the ground. "They can't have gone far." She picked up her sword and limped toward the trees. "They're probably holed up in town, behind walls," she mumbled, more to herself than him. "It's too cold to live out here."

Rick struggled off of the snow, wading through it as he chased after her. "We can't be out here." He grabbed her arm, but Michonne snatched it away and glanced back at him with a cold-blooded look he'd seen before, but never directed at him.

"I don't give a damn about her border."

"So, what happens when you find them? You– you gonna take them all on alone?" he stammered. "You're hurt... and you left without telling me, so I know you know this isn't the right move."

She looked away.

Michonne wasn't reckless, this wasn't her, and this stranger standing in front of him was scaring him shitless. "Come home with me," he pleaded.

"I can't go back. Not until– just let me do this my way."

"No," he said, his tone firm. "I'm not letting you go." His voice broke. "I'm not losing you, too."

Michonne watched him a moment. She looked back at the woods, then over to him again, before wiping at the wetness on her cheeks and limping past him toward home.

---

Michonne's heavy eyes cracked open and the pounding against her skull sent her hand flying to her forehead. She was pretty sure she was hungover, but racked her brain and couldn't find the memory of getting hammered the night before.

She slapped her cool fingers onto her hot head as if her lowly hand held the magic touch to relieve the ache even one iota—it didn't. But, holy shit, the stabbing in her head had nothing on the sharp and somehow dull at the same time throb that suddenly presented itself, coursing through her knee. Michonne looked down; her knee was propped on a stack of pillows, an ice pack set on it.

And just like that, the hazy events of the night before washed over her. The truth of what she'd done, and could have done, smacked her in the face like a splash of cold water in the morning. She barely had time to process her mortification when she heard muffled voices floating through her open bedroom door.

Rick's was the first she discerned. "So, what are you saying?"

"The undulation and oscillation of the current cloud gesticulation and high-altitude cirrus cloud..." Definitely Eugene, she thought. "It indicates blizzard-like precipitation within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours."

"Our solar arrays can withstand it, but Oceanside is not prepared." Is that Glenn?

"We need to get them out of there." And Daryl? Were they having a council meeting without her?

Michonne slung the ice pack to the ground, swung both legs off of the edge of the bed, and stood. Her numb knee buckled and she toppled forward, her hands catching her fall. "Dammit." Michonne swiveled around and plopped onto her ass, backing up against the nightstand, she dropped her head against it. She closed her eyes and breathed through the sharp sting in the center of her leg.

Her brain working to evade thoughts of the pain—mind over matter or whatever—went back to the only other place it lived lately, to thoughts of her son.

Her every waking rumination, over the past month, had been focused on downloading and cataloging every morsel of memory she could recall of Andre. Everything else in her world had been white noise.

Michonne was painfully aware that it'd been to the detriment of not just her family, evidenced by the fact she couldn't even remember what anyone had said at the dinner table the night before, but also her mental health. Sleep eluded her now. But to be fair, she only had a finite amount of time, before the details of her life with Andre would slide down to the dark hole of her brain where forgotten memories lived.

The night before, she'd been lying in her bed reliving their first night in the FEMA camp: a three-year-old Andre looking up at her with terrified eyes and Michonne promising him she'd protect him, that she'd never let anything happen to him. As she pictured him nodding with the utmost confidence that his Mama would uphold the vow, guilt had hit her hard in the chest. So hard she could barely breathe. She'd tiptoed into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, breathing through the attack. And when the anxiety had faded, it morphed into a raw anger she hadn't felt since the night at the pikes. The anger had led her overtired self, out the door, her brain chanting a destructive directive: kill the bitch that killed your son.

When the pain subsided, only momentarily she feared, Michonne used the edge of the bed and nightstand to push herself up. She stood there a moment, psyching herself up enough to walk on her knee. Before Michonne could take an ill-advised step, she spotted a pair of crutches leaning up against the dresser. Thank Christ, she thought.

She fit the crutch pads underneath her arms and wobbled at the first step, before getting the hang of the assisted gait as she moved out of the room on her way to the staircase.

Now how the hell am I supposed to get down these, she thought.

Michonne set the crutches aside, grabbed the handrail, and hopped on her good leg down the steps. Once at the bottom, she saw half of the council assembled in her living room.

Rick stood at the head of the group, all eyes trained on him. "Alright. Get a few horses ready, carriages too, enough to bring 'em all over."

"What's going on?" Michonne asked.

The group turned to face her and most of them looked away just as quick. She wasn't shocked, not many had been able to look her square in the eye lately and word traveled fast through the community, so she was sure her manic escapade the night before didn't help the perception of her current mental state.

"Go get ready," Rick ordered.

Passing her, when the group dispersed, most kept their gaze trained on the floor; all except Daryl who gave her a small smile and gentle squeeze on her shoulder, and Jada who said, "I left some pain meds for you. Take them as you need."

"Thank you."

"I'll come by to check on you later."

Michonne nodded and watched them leave, not ready to be alone with Rick.

When she finally turned back, he was beside her sweeping his arm around her waist. "You shouldn't be on your feet?" Rick lifted her a few inches off of the ground and carried her to the couch. He gingerly propped her leg up on the coffee table, then disappeared into the kitchen, returning what had to be only a minute later with a fresh ice pack. "Jada says it's just a sprain." He set the pack on her knee and kept his eyes trained on it when he asked, "Are you in pain?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get the pills." When he turned and his eyes flicked over her face, for only a second, she realized he was avoiding her stare.

And then she remembered... "Wait. What's going on? Why were they over here?"

Rick stopped and sighed, dropping down to sit on the edge of the coffee table. "Eugene thinks a blizzard's on the horizon. Jessie radioed and said their solar panels are on the fritz. All their heaters are electric and their cabins aren't insulated. We're gonna go get 'em. Bring 'em here to ride it out."

"Shit. Can't we send Paul or Ryan out to repair them?"

"Yeah, we thought of that. It'd take too long. It's safer to get them out of there and send our Technician when the snow clears."

"Okay... when are we leaving?"

"We?"

Right, she thought. Yeah, there was no way in hell she could manage a twenty-mile trek in the snow, in her condition. Michonne dropped her head against the back of the couch. She felt Rick's hand massage the spot on her thigh, just above her knee. "I'm sorry I hurt you." His voice was paper thin, but she heard the undertones of shame.

Michonne chanced a glance at him and was relieved to find his attention on her leg, afraid if they looked at each other her grief—the flame—and his guilt—the oil—would meet and the finely crafted and fragile house of avoidance they'd built around each other over the past few weeks would go up in flames, with the both of them inside. "It's not your fault."

She'd fucked up, bigger than she'd ever fucked up before, and had nearly– God, she couldn't even finish the thought. She wasn't sure what the hell had come over her, but she recalled staring down at him, with her knife to his throat. But it hadn't been Rick's face she'd seen, that much she was sure of. Her mind had been—still was—playing games with her and with every day that passed, she was more and more afraid that it might win. "What I did last night... I don't know what that was."

"It wasn't you."

"I could have–"

"You wouldn't have. I know it."

"I don't."

Rick finally looked up at her. "I'm here, you know. You can talk to me."

Michonne nearly laughed at how simple he made it sound. She'd run out of fingers if she tried to count the number of times she'd opened her mouth to tell Rick just how far she'd fallen. But that meant shining a light on the darkest places inside of her and she was terrified of what else might be hidden there.

It was safer to pantomime the life they'd known before, and she knew she was being selfish and that Rick was most likely asking her to open up because he needed to as well. But if Rick knew the state of her inner life, Michonne knew he'd want to fix her because that's what you did with something that was broken, right? You fixed it. She wasn't ready to be put back together, to be healed. Healing meant forgetting and moving past what was before, and she wasn't ready to go there, because Andre wasn't there. "It was a bad night," she said, her eyes dropping to her lap. "I haven't been sleeping, I was just overtired. I'm fine now."

He was watching her, she could feel the heat of his stare and then the familiar coolness when he looked away. "Priya's gonna stay here this afternoon and tonight, while Carl and I are gone. Keep Taj and RJ out of your hair."

The kids. Not only had she not given a second thought to the fact that her children weren't present when they should have been, but she'd felt an immense wave of relief wash over her at not having to play at joyful for the sake of them. What kind of mother did that make her? "Okay," she mumbled.

Michonne glanced up and caught Rick studying her with a scrutinizing gaze, and realized one more thing that made her skin crawl: Rick didn't trust her with their kids. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she did either.

A knock sounded at the door. Rick standing to answer it, broke their tension-filled eye contact. "Hey, Abe. Coco," she heard him say.

"Hi, Uncle Rick," Coco replied. "Is Taj here?"

"Not right now, sweetheart. But she'll be home in a bit."

Michonne shifted on the couch and looked over the back ledge. Abraham stood in the doorway, holding his daughter's hand. "Sorry to stop by out of the cold blue. Heard it through the grapevine. You're taking a team on a rescue mission to our water-dwelling friends?"

"Yeah," Rick said. "Got a convoy headed out in just a bit. Didn't wanna bother you with it." Abraham had taken a self-imposed break from his responsibilities in the community, temporarily handing the command of the army off to Priya, in order to focus on caring for Coco now that it was just the two of them.

"Well, you're gonna need to make room for my freckled ass."

"Papá, language!" Coco reprimanded.

"Sorry, Princess..."

Rick smirked. "You don't have to come. Priya put a squad together. And some of the council are helping out too. We've got plenty of hands."

Abraham opened his mouth but snapped it shut, and looked down at Coco. "Earmuffs, Princess." The little girl tucked her curly red hair behind her ears, before suctioning her palms to them.

"I need a break, man," Abraham whispered, well, as much as his baseline booming voice could. "I got glitter and shit coming out of my ass. And I– I need to get out of that damn house. Everywhere I turn, Rosie's there. I can't take it."

Rick looked back at Michonne, Abraham's words—the realest that had been uttered within the walls of their house for a good long time—hitting home.

---

"Don't forget your scarf," Priya draped the heavy fleece around Carl's neck. They stood inside her neat as a pin bedroom, in the rowhouse she shared with three other single women in the community.

The room was sparsely decorated, with hues of beige and white, and only adorned with necessities. Priya's comforter was cinched and tucked so tight, he was sure he could bounce a quarter off of her bed. Her entire space was a perfect display of their opposite end-of-the-spectrum dispositions.

Before he'd met her, he'd roll out of bed and throw his covers aside, not fazed by the pile of smelly clothes building up on the floor in the corner of his room or the forgotten and molding over midnight snack that sat on his nightstand. Now, he was nowhere near as put together as her, but most definitely a far cry from how untidy he'd been in his days as a single man. Priya, who was ten years older and more worldly, brought order to his laid-back life and he wasn't afraid to admit that there were times when he felt she was too good for him. But, that thought was what made him work his ass off every day to make sure she was getting as good as she gave.

Carl pulled her waist in toward himself and Priya settled her arms around his neck. "Thank you for staying," he said.

"It's my pleasure."

"Yeah, well, let's see if you're still saying that after a day with the–"

"Carl!" Taj yelled, right on cue, from the floor below. "RJ called me a butt wipe!"

"No, I didn't, tattle tale!"

"I'm not a tattle tale, you–"

Carl kicked the door shut. "You can still back out, you know," he said with a straight face.

"It's fine." She laughed. "Reminds me of me and my sister. And don't worry, I have a day full of activities planned for them. They'll be too tired to fight."

"Thanks. And will you keep an eye on my mom too? dad wouldn't say what went down last night, but it can't be good."

"I will." Priya's cheeks shaded red. "Speaking of your father, I'm so embarrassed about last night. It's exactly what I was trying to avoid." While they were dating, Priya refused to spend the night at his family's home, out of respect for Carl's parents; he spent most nights at her house.

But not being there with his family at such a fragile time, even for just a night, hadn't felt right. And Priya, knowing he needed her, had put aside her personal qualms, and over the past month she'd snuck in after everyone was sleeping and made sure to leave in the morning before his family woke for the day.

Even though his dad hadn't been able to meet Priya's gaze when the two of them had exchanged morning greetings he hadn't mentioned the awkward encounter when they'd all sat down to breakfast that morning, and had even asked Carl and Priya to take the twins to her house for the day, so as not to disturb his mom's rest. "It's not a big deal. We're both adults. He knows that."

"It's a big deal to me. Talk to him, please. Tell him we are sorry for putting him in that position. Make sure he knows it won't happen again..." She rubbed her hand over his chest, her fingers playing with a button of his flannel. "Especially since we have our own place now."

"Fine, I'll– wait, what?"

Priya slipped out of his arms and went to the desk in the corner of her room. She slid her drawer open and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it over to Carl. His eyes scrolled over the words, then flashed up to her face. "We were approved for a house?"

"Yeah."

"When did this happen?"

"Nabila gave it to me yesterday. She said it's ours whenever we're ready. Only two doors down from your parents."

Two doors down... he knew the house well. He and Priya had spent many nights there, laughing over plates of Indian and Japanese cuisine before their weekly couple's game night. It was Aoki and Benjamin's old house.

Shit. Carl dropped onto Priya's bed. Aoki. Not a day went by that he didn't think of his best friend. He wished he could erase the last memories of her that were burned into his brain: the fight for her life and the stake. But daily, they'd pop up at the most inopportune times. He'd be doing a mundane task, helping Taj and RJ with their homework or something, when the images would surface and he'd have to excuse himself for a minute, to get it together. And thoughts of Aoki always turned to thoughts of his brother too and then his whole day was a wash.

He felt the bed dip beside him and then Priya's hand rubbing up and down his back. "I know. We can give it up to someone else, wait for something else to open up."

"No. It's the perfect house, but I think I need time. I can't leave them right now and I can't imagine telling them yet."

"Okay. When Oceanside gets here, they're gonna need as much space as they can get. We can wait until after they leave."

"I'm sorry. I know you wanted this."

"Don't apologize. We have the rest of our lives to live together. Your family comes first."

"Our family."

"Yeah..."

Minutes later, Carl stepped into the stables and stopped in front of the first stall, where the jet-black horse stood watching him. "Hey, Bolt." Technically, all the horses were community property, but whoever brought the horse in got to name it. Carl and Andre had spent an entire day trying to wrangle the stallion before they'd managed to catch him. It had been Andre who'd gotten Bolt to settle; they'd formed an instant bond and Andre hadn't been able to let go. Every morning, his brother would wake early, to groom him and take him out for leisurely rides to the farm, where Bolt could roam free inside the fenced-in training area.

Carl ran his hand down the horse's long neck. Bolt bowed, so low that his head was level with his wither, and then he turned in toward Carl. Looking into the horse's eye, Carl thought he saw a glint of sadness in his stare. "I miss him too," he whispered in his ear. "So much. But I won't leave you lonely. As much as I can, I'll be out here. And I'll take you on rides to the farm too, just like he did. Okay?"

"Ugh. No! No." Carl's hand stilled at the sound of groans, coming from the last stall, that remained empty.

"I'll be right back." Carl patted Bolt, before moving down the line, passing the horse heads hanging out of them, until he reached the stall at the end. He peered through the square opening and scanned the tiny square footage. He spotted a shaking, blanket-covered lump nestled in the corner. Who the hell was crazy enough to sleep out in the freezing cold? He unlatched the lock and stepped in to get a better view. Beneath the brim of the wooly cap, he saw a portion of the person's face. Lydia?

"Don't. Please." Her body jerked as she wrestled against a nightmare. "No."

"Hey." He shook her. "Lydia."

She startled awake, scooting back against the wood panels, shivering and teeth chattering.

"How long have you been sleeping out here?"

Lydia hugged herself. "Doesn't matter."

"You have a home."

"Guess you didn't see the door."

He had. He'd also been the one to paint over the words 'silence the whisperers', written in red. "They'll get past it. Just give it time."

"They don't want me here."

"It doesn't matter what they want. Anyone has anything to say about it, they can take it up with me."

Her face scrunched up in anger. "I don't need you to fight my battles."

"Okay... but is this what fighting your own battles looks like? Hiding away in the freezing cold? It's crazy, punishing yourself this way."

She rolled her eyes to the side—clearly, she wasn't buying what he was selling.

"Look, people are grieving right now. They're just looking for someone to blame and you are the most convenient thing. It doesn't make it right, but it won't be like this forever." It was irrational, really, Lydia thinking her mother's actions fell on her shoulders. But then again, so was Carl blaming himself for not making Andre go home with his parents the morning after the fair like his gut had told him to. So, who was he to be the judge of irrationality? "Get your things, you're coming with me."

"I already told you, I can't." She began folding her blankets, preparing to make a run for it he assumed, to wherever it was she spent her days. "Just leave me alone."

"A group of us are traveling to Oceanside to help those people get over here. We could use an extra set of hands."

Lydia paused and narrowed her eyes, her interest piqued, it seemed. "Are you sure you want me to come?"

"Beats being here."

---

Michonne woke at a door slamming somewhere in the house. The joyful voices of the twins and Coco, followed by the scuttle of running feet, bled through the ceiling. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out. Before he'd left for Oceanside, Rick had carried her back up to their bed after filling her up with chicken noodle soup and pain meds. She had been knocked out before he left the room.

Michonne peeked out the window; a fresh wave of snow fell, the white of it a stark contrast to the blue-black sky.

"Quiet, you guys. Your mother is resting," she heard Priya whisper-yell downstairs.

Michonne squinted through the crust in her eyes, at the clock on her nightstand: 7:30 PM. Dinner, bathtime, and bed. Just two hours, she thought, mentally preparing herself. You can do two hours.

Before she'd fallen asleep, Michonne had promised herself that when the kids got home, she'd go downstairs and make every effort to be present, even if it meant putting on a front for a few hours. However, she was so damn drowsy and couldn't bring herself to part with the warm comforter.

You can do this. Just a couple of hours. Just a couple of hours... Michonne repeated it while she forced herself out of the bed and then out of the room. She almost ran into RJ, who'd just dashed up the stairs. "Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good time at Priya's?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess." His eyes appraised her crutches. "Are you okay?"

"I am. It's just a sprain."

He tilted his head to the side. "What's a sprain?"

"Means I hurt the bones in my knee. Nothing serious."

RJ considered this a moment before he nodded and placed his hand on the stairway handrail. He swung one of his legs back and forth in the air, dawdling, as he stared up at the stairs leading to the top floor.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Priya told me to take a bath while she makes dinner."

"Okay..."

"I don't have any more pajama sets left in Taj's room..."

Oh.

"Can you go with me?"

Michonne watched RJ. How could she tell her son that just the thought of walking into the room he'd shared with his brother made her want to throw up the little food she'd eaten? She hadn't dared to go up there since the day they'd arrived back from the border.

Damn, how much more selfish could she be? RJ was dealing with shit too and she needed to get out of her head and be his fucking mother again. Michonne pasted on a smile. "Sure, baby." She set her crutches aside and stretched out her hand for him to hold. "Come on." She grabbed onto the railing and together they made the slow ascent up the stairs.

Once they reached his bedroom door, Michonne's hands began to tremble and the tremors traveled up her arm through her whole body.

Get it together, Michonne shouted to herself. He can't see you like this. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply; the air released from her mouth as a shudder. "Okay," she squeaked out. "Let's go." She stepped forward, but RJ yanked her arm, pulling her back.

Her eyes shot down at her son, who was watching her with a jutted-out bottom lip. "It's okay, Mom," he said. "You can stay here. I'll go in by myself."

Michonne wanted to tell him that she was fine, that she could do it. But as terrible as RJ seeing her like this was, she knew it was only the tipping point. She nodded, afraid of what her voice might sound like, and watched RJ take the few steps to the door. He looked back at her, and she gave him a fleeting try at a smile but looked away when he pushed into the room.

---

(—Seven Months Ago—)

When Andre walked into the room he shared with RJ, his brother had been sitting at the drafting table set in front of the window that acted as the dividing line between the two claimed sides of the bedroom.

He'd groused, under his breath, when his parents had told him he'd be rooming with his younger brother. He'd understood why, Taj was the only girl and Carl was the oldest but he'd still thought it sucked he couldn't get his own space. Living so close to him, though, he'd gotten to know RJ outside of the squirt just being his annoying little brother, and after a year of living in close quarters with him, Andre no longer had any complaints. "What are you working on?" Andre swiped the lined notepad and pen from his nightstand and fell back onto his bed.

"Mrs. Smith wanted a drawing of Lady." RJ lifted the paper—the mean face of their next-door neighbor's Persian Cat popped off of the page. "You think it looks like her?"

"Too much." He grimaced. "She's gonna flip out when she sees that."

RJ shivered. "Hope she doesn't try to kiss me. They're always so wet."

Andre laughed. He'd long since learned how to dodge the cheek-pinching grandma types of their community. "Mom says lights out in fifteen."

"Okay." RJ turned back to the table and Andre flipped onto his stomach. He set his notepad on the bed and tapped his pen against it and proceeded to do what he'd done most nights, over the past months since Carl had asked the adults of their family to write"if I die" letters. And every night, just like tonight, he stared blankly at the page, no words coming to mind.

"Why do you always do that?"

He glanced over at RJ, who was climbing into his bed. "Do what?"

RJ settled his head on his pillow and stared across at him. "You just stare at that notebook, but you never write anything."

"You wouldn't understand," Andre said, not intentionally trying to be a jerk, but he knew Carl had left the twins out for the very same reason he couldn't bring himself to vent his frustrations to his younger brother. It wasn't fair to ask them to think about dying when they'd barely had a chance to live.

"Whatever." RJ swiveled to face the wall. "Can you turn your light off? I can't sleep with it on."

Andre threw the notebook to the ground and reached up to flick the lamp knob. He settled under his covers and closed his eyes, listening to the swooshing of the floor fan and the random tiny thuds as bugs crashed into the window.

"Hey, Dre?" He heard RJ's covers rustle, as he presumably rolled around to face him again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, what's up?" he said, through a yawn.

"What are the walkers like? Like up close?"

The question struck him as odd, maybe because he'd been around them his whole life and hadn't ever had the slightest bit of interest in getting a good look.

But RJ, unlike Taj who'd been forced into her first walker encounter, had never come face-to-face with one of them. The community had a rule: no children beyond the gates under the age of ten. And every kid trained in martial arts and knife skills—taught by Jesus and Rosita—to prepare them for when they were old enough to go out there. After their tenth birthday, they were required to continue their training outside the gates, under strict supervision. It was then that many of them came in contact with their first walker and got their first kill. He vaguely remembered Deanna and what the first community members of what had once been Alexandria were like—naive and ill-equipped. And now, his parents wanted everyone, young and old, to be prepared to face what lurked outside their walls. "You've heard the stories, right?" Andre asked.

"Yeah."

"But, the first time you come face-to-face with one, I'm not gonna lie, it's really scary. Scarier than you think it'll be. They don't really look like people anymore. But it's in their eyes. My first kill– that was the first and last time I looked one in the eye." Andre propped his forearm on his pillow and RJ mirrored him. "It's weird. It was like I could see who they were, you know, from before. It's a damn trip, is what it is. And for a while, I couldn't kill them."

"How can you now?"

"Well…" He thought for a good long moment about whether or not to tell his little brother the story; he wouldn't put it past his mother to ground him for a past offense. But RJ wasn't a snitch. Now Taj... that girl couldn't hold water. "Okay, so, this one time Carl and I snuck out and–" At RJ's wide eyes, Andre felt compelled to mention..."Don't tell Mom or Dad."

His brother sat up, criss crossed his legs, and did an imaginary "X" over his chest. "Cross my heart."

"Alright. So we're out there and we come across a few. Carl was fighting them for us, 'cause remember I still couldn't kill back then. I was the distraction, so he could take them on one by one. But there were too many. And there was one coming at him from behind. It was so close to biting him." Andre shook his head. "I didn't even think about it, I just did it. I can't even tell you how many I've killed since then…"

"Daaang."

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I guess it's because I turn ten in a couple of years–"

"And you're scared of having to kill one?"

RJ thought for a moment. "No. The way I look at it, they're just sick people. We kill them to set them free and so they don't make us sick too..."

Damn. He'd never realized how insightful his little bro was.

"I just wanted to know what it's gonna be like."

The door to their bedroom opened and their dad stuck his head in. "Night boys, love you."

"Love you too," they said in unison.

The door shut and as they both settled back onto their beds, Andre asked, "Tell me something, RJ."

"Sure."

"If something happened to me. If– if I wasn't here anymore. Do you think you'd want to read a letter from me? You know, telling you how much I love you and shit."

"Ummm… I guess... but It'd be kind of weird."

"How's that?"

"That's not really your thing... words. I mean you don't like to really talk that much."

Exactly. Spilling his guts on a piece of paper wasn't him. It's why he hadn't been able to piece together words for his family.

But at that moment, Andre got an idea.

---

Carl kept an eye on the angry and unforgiving sky—dark clouds concealing what was left of the sunbeam—while he helped pack the Oceanside resident's things into the wagons. In no time, snow began to fall harder and the wind picked up, trapping the flakes in the air, leaving people to murmur their concern about whether or not they could make it back to the Union amidst the mounting tempestuous climate.

He pulled his dad aside. "Should we try and ride it out here?"

"No. I radioed Eugene. He thinks we can make it before the worst hits. We stay here, we won't all survive. Our best chance is leaving now."

An hour later, the caravan moved at a steady pace along the snow-covered road, the booted feet and wheels of the wagons—the young and old were safely situated inside—pushed through the mounds.

"Halt." Abraham, at the head of the group, raised his fisted hand. Carl looked over to where Abraham's head was turned toward the white field near the forest tree line, a string of frozen walkers slogged through the snow.

They waited with bated breath for one to turn its head, but when they moved ahead unfazed, Abraham called, "Let's go. Keep your eyes open."

It was unspoken what for. The council had agreed not to pursue immediate retaliation, but Abraham had dispatched a round-the-clock perimeter near Alpha's territory, just to keep an eye out for them, but they hadn't seen hide nor hair of a single whisperer in four weeks.

"Is that them? People watching us now, huh?" At the jeering tone of Gage's voice, Carl turned and saw him walking beside Lydia—whose head was bowed with her eyes trained on the snow. "Well, we followed their rules. Haven't they done enough to us?"

"Hey," Carl spat. "Cool it. Keep it moving."

Gage narrowed his beady eyes at Carl before he shot Lydia a sharp glance and moved along.

Carl stepped into place beside Lydia, looked out of the corner of his eye, and noticed her lips quivering, from more than just the chill in the air, he suspected. "You alright?"

She wouldn't look at him. "I told you, you don't have to protect me."

"Yeah, but they don't get to treat you like that no matter how they feel about–"

"It doesn't matter," Lydia said, abruptly. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "I don't wanna cause any more problems."

"You're not the problem."

Lydia met his stare, her expression weary. Her gaze shifted to something just beyond Carl's shoulder. "You sure about that?"

Carl followed Lydia's eyes and looked behind, to where his dad was watching them with a less-than-friendly look on his face.

He turned back to Lydia. "I'll catch up with you."

Lydia nodded and walked ahead as Carl paced back the few steps to get to his dad. He'd seen the slight twitch of his lip when Carl had informed him Lydia would be joining the convoy but knew that unlike Gage and some of the others, his dad's discomfort at being near her wasn't rooted in anger.

They walked beside each other, in silence. "Andre said she was one of us," he finally said. "It's on us to honor that. And for what it's worth, I think she is too."

His dad sighed and clutched the rifle in his hand tighter. "I look at her... all I see is him."

"What do you see when you look at me?"

His dad cast a look in his direction. "You."

Carl and his dad were the last of the family they'd had before the start and it was hard for him to believe after everything they'd lost since—his Nana, grandfather, uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends—that all his dad saw when he looked at Carl was him. Because when he looked at his dad he still saw them all. And it wasn't that he wanted it back, but it made it so he never took for granted the cost.

Carl changed the subject. "What really happened out there with Mom, last night?" he asked. That morning, his dad had only told Priya and him the abbreviated, cookie-cutter version of what had happened in Alpha's camp—"Mom wandered out, got hurt along the way, and I brought her back". He believed the gist, because his father didn't lie, but he was aware there were a lot of missing details.

His dad shivered and Carl couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the memory. "It wasn't her... that's all– it just, wasn't her." His voice was colored in a faint tint of fatigue.

"Are you alright?" Carl asked.

"I'm okay." Even as he said it, his voice cracked. He tilted his head up to the sky when his eyes welled, and after a moment he nodded. "I'm gonna be." He placed his hand on Carl's shoulder. "You?"

"I'm trying to be... Priya helps a lot."

"I can tell. You're not the same as when it happened with your mom. I'm awfully grateful you have her."

"Yeah. And sorry about last night. She was mortified. "

"No. I... shoulda knocked. I just didn't know she was spending nights now–" He waved his hand. "It's beside the point. It won't happen again."

"Hey, Rick!" Abraham walked back toward them and fell into step next to his dad. "Barometer's taking a nosedive. The storm's ratcheting up a mighty great deal. We stay out here any longer, it ain't gonna be good. We could double back to the way station."

"No, it's too far."

"Got any other ideas?"

He watched his dad think about it for a moment, before he sighed. "Yeah. There's a place."

---

"Michonne, come in."

The soap-soaked dish in Priya's hand dropped into the sudsy water and she wiped her wet fingers with a cloth as she jogged to the living room.

"Michonne," Rick said again over the walkie-talkie. "Do you copy?"

She snatched it up off the coffee table. "Copy, Rick. Priya here."

"Where's Michonne?" She could hear the panic, even over the static of the radio. "Is everything alright?"

"She and the kids are sleeping. I didn't want the radio to wake them." It wasn't a complete lie, the kids were actually asleep. She'd exhausted them with board games and crafts and had even gotten the girls to stop bouncing off the walls long enough to help out with dinner. The cherry on top had been the fort they'd made in Taj's room for them to spend the night in.

"Okay. We had to stop at the Sanctuary. We're gonna wait it out here– leave at the first break."

"Copy."

"When Michonne wakes, have her radio me will ya? I'll keep it close."

"Of course... how's Carl?"

"He's fine. I can find him for you, if–"

"No. It's alright... but when you see him, tell him I put some extra gauze for his eye in the side pocket of his pack. He always forgets."

Rick gave a little laugh. "I will. Thanks for holding down the fort." The line went quiet, but the static she heard meant there was more, so she waited. "And don't worry about this morning, we're good. It was my bad. I'm sorry."

The verbal affirmation was a sweet-sounding song to her ears. She and Rick—who wouldn't allow her to call him Mr. Grimes any longer—had formed an affable bond over the years. She'd never dated before, too focused on her military career, so she'd never had to navigate a relationship with a boyfriend's Father. But the respect she and Rick had for one another and their mutual pragmatic personalities had been the foundation for the relationship they'd formed. And to Priya, who grew up in a culture that valued respect for elders, Rick catching her naked in bed with his son was a major fail, no matter the fact that they were both grown and engaged to be married. She'd been worried that morning, after their awkward encounter at breakfast, that the mishap would somehow put a stain on her standing with him. "Thank you, Rick. You be safe out there."

Priya finished cleaning the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and popped two pills into the palm of her hand before she slogged her way up the first flight of stairs and then the second, to where Michonne—with knees bent and arms resting on the caps—sat against the wall across from RJ and Andre's bedroom. She had spent the entirety of the night in the same spot, staring at the door as if she was in a trance.

"Michonne."

With a start, she looked up at Priya.

"Hi." She held the glass and pills out as a peace offering for interrupting her musing.

Not impressed, Michonne dropped her eyes.

"Can I sit?" she asked.

She seemed to contemplate for a moment, before deciding to scoot over.

Priya squatted down beside her and folded her legs, trying her damndest to come up with the right words. It felt odd, to not know what to say to the woman who was more friend than future mother-in-law.

Priya had met Michonne on the first day she'd arrived in the community—when she'd had to go before the council—but had only admired her from afar for the first couple of years. In the Indian Army, she'd been one of the few females to rise in the ranks. And to see a woman commanding a whole community blew her mind. When Carl had re-introduced her to his parents when they began dating, she'd approached Michonne with the same respect she'd given Rick. But, unsatisfied with simply being Carl's mother to her, Michonne had karate chopped right through the formality Priya had tried to present her with.

Her heart ached for her friend, not out of sympathy, but empathy.

"Growing up, back in Mumbai, my family we weren't well off," she said quietly. "We lived in the slums... my father, he was a cobbler and my mother was a seamstress. They made next to nothing." Priya had grown up in two hundred and fifty square feet. She and her sister shared a mattress on one end of the room and her parents shared one on the other end. "I had a little sister. Her name was Sanvi– she was two years younger than me... she got really sick and we found out it was leukemia. I remember my parents taking her to the hospital one day and a few days later they came home... without her." The image of their faces, when they walked back through the door of their home, was forever branded into her mind's eyes.

"The last conversation I had with her– I don't even... I don't even remember. It was probably something hateful– we argued like cats and dogs. It was just– one day she was there and the next she was gone. It's the hardest part, never getting to say goodbye. Someone just being ripped out of your life like that, it's the worst way to lose them." Priya was quiet, the memories causing her throat to close up.

"See you at home," Michonne whispered.

"What?"

"Those were my last words to him. I know what this world is. I knew Alpha was still out there and I was still so confident I would see him at home. That despite everything we've been through, this wouldn't end the same as every motherfucking time before." She stared a hole into the door. "I should have listened to my gut. I should have canceled the fair. I should have made him come home with us... I should have told him..." she trailed off, shaking her head.

"He knew you loved him."

"I still should have said it." Michonne absently played with the ring on her finger, sliding it off and on. She dragged her red eyes over to Priya, and her heart arrested at the look of utter despair on Michonne's face. "I feel like I'm losing myself again. Like I did at the start. I'm trying so hard to... be strong– to be here for them. But I don't think I know how to do it this time."

Priya took Michonne's hand. "Maybe... you can let us be strong for you, for a while."

---

(—Six Months and Three Weeks Ago—)

"A-plus plus work today. We keep the proverbial train going like this, the trackers will be operational in no time."

Andre powered down the accelerometer, while Eugene marked down the day's progress in his journal. "Does this make us the Thomas Edison of this world?"Andre asked. He'd learned about the genius behind the light bulb in third grade when he'd done a report on him. Edison was who had inspired Andre to learn everything he could about physics and engineering. It was exciting to him that the world was as much of a blank slate as it had been back when Edison had walked the earth. It was his dream for kids to study him in school one day.

"Seeing as the quantum compass was a thing well before us, that's a hard no. But there's much in this world that needs patenting, so there's still time yet for us to be the proverbial Bells and Carvers of our time."

"Cool." He slid his backpack strap over his shoulder. "I gotta go."

"Oh." Eugene's face fell slightly. He placed his hands on his hips."Plans for the remainder of this fine Saturday?"

"Just family fun night. We're making pizza."

"Solid."

"You?"

"Oh, uh... I've got a lot of work to do here. So…"

Andre nodded. Geez, all the guy did was work. As far as Andre could tell, Eugene had no significant other or friend, for that matter. He assumed it was because Eugene's personality was an "acquired taste", according to his mother. But he'd gotten used to his quirky colloquialisms and had even grown to appreciate their lengthy conversations. Eugene constantly challenged him and taught him more than his school teachers ever had. But if he'd learned anything from his mom, who forced him to get his head out of the books and "engage in life", it was that he couldn't get so stuck in the work that he forgot to enjoy the people he was doing it all for, and Eugene couldn't either. "You have to eat though, right? Wanna come over?"

"Sounds like family fun night is strictly for family. I wouldn't want to impose."

"Come on, Eugene, you know you're family."

"You sure it'd be alright?"

"Can't guarantee it's gonna be good, but Carl says he's done this before… the more the merrier. And Mom makes us go around and tell what we're excited about for the week. It'll be nice to have someone who understands how epic finishing the accelerometer is."

"Right-O. I'll be there. Anything I can bring?"

"Just your plate."

"A figurative one, I presume."

"Right."

"Alright, see ya." He walked toward the door and skidded to a halt when he remembered... "Hey, do we still have Deanna's camcorder?"

"Yes. But it's a jumbled mess. Didn't fare too well in the Negan melee."

"If I can fix it, can I have it?"

Eugene walked over to the junk box and sifted through the scraps of technology until he found it."Be my guest." He handed it over. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"Nothing. See you tonight."

---

"The snow's never hit this hard this early..." Abraham said to the group of council members who stood in the dilapidated main hall of the long-since defunct Sanctuary, huddled around a blazing trash can fire. To the Savior's credit, the leftovers had lasted way longer—two years to be exact—than Rick had anticipated. But without Negan, their downfall had been inevitable. Most had migrated away from Virginia and others had come knocking on the gates of the Union. "It could last for days and that blizzard's still on the menu. We can't..."

Rick only half listened to what Abraham was saying to them. Despite the crisis at hand, his head and heart were at home. Worrying about Michonne had his brain working overtime.

"Rick?" Daryl said, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked around and found the group staring at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Abraham suggests we double back," Carl said. "Try to ride it out at Oceanside. Head out again when it calms down."

"It's too far. We might get caught out there. We can't chance it." He held his hand out to Abraham. "Let me see your map." Abraham handed it over and Rick set it on the ground. He searched it and pointed when he found the Union Farm. "It's here, It's closer. Right across the river that runs alongside the old route B."

"I thought the only crossing was back along the route we were on," Aaron questioned.

"It is," Glenn replied. "There's no way we'll make it, not in these conditions. The collapsed bridge would've saved us. It could've cut half a day off our travel time."

"But we don't need a damn bridge," Abraham said. "The creeks and ponds are frozen to shit. As long as we don't all go at once, we could just meander across. There." He pointed at the map. "Through our old hunting grounds. It's a straight shot."

Carl cleared his throat. "Uh... a straight shot through Alpha's territory? Is that smart?"

"Nah," Daryl groused. "We ain't agree to them borders. They're hers, not ours."

"That's cold comfort if we trigger a war," Abraham replied. "We don't know how to fight her yet."

Michonne had already crossed Alpha's border, Rick had only told Priya and Carl, but that meant it didn't matter much anymore if they all did too. "It's only a couple miles... we can cross at night. They won't know that we're there... this storm could dump enough snow to make these roads impassable for weeks. It's either we make it to the farm or get stuck here, and chances of survival– they don't look good." He looked to Abraham for affirmation.

The other man nodded. "Yeah. We leave at the first sign of night."

---

"We're stepping into enemy territory, here." Abraham walked along the lined-up soldiers, who stood at attention in front of him, outside in the cold. "You all are our only defense, should shit hit the high holy fan. Get ready. Let's get these folks home safely."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison, and Abraham's insides bubbled up with pride—oh, it felt so good to be back. He'd missed being in command, giving orders, and putting the enlisted through their paces. The army he'd built up was—second to Coco, of course—his biggest accomplishment since the start.

"Dismissed." Abraham stepped away from the group and after ducking to the side of the building to turn some white snow yellow, he hustled back inside and made a beeline for a fiery trash bin.

He stopped short when he spotted the girl whose bedroom, inside his home, had remained vacant over the past two weeks. He had a hunch her disappearing act coinciding with the writing on their door, wasn't a coincidence. Rosita would have cursed him up and down and all the way to Sunday, for not putting more effort into checking after her, but he already had one handful of a daughter to look after, he didn't need another.

Get your head out of your ass and go talk to her, it was Rosita's voice he heard in his head. It wasn't the first time, either. Ever since she'd left him, her voice in his head was his conscience, checking him at every wrong turn. Figures, even in the afterlife, Rosita would still be busting his balls.

Abraham made his way over. His muscles creaked when he popped a squat on the ground beside Lydia. "Where you been? Coco's been askin'."

"I found somewhere else to stay," she said through her chattering teeth.

Abraham unzipped his jacket and draped it over her. "Where?"

Lydia pulled the oversized coat up, to cover more of her body, but remained silent.

"It got something to do with the graffiti on our door? You just say the word, I'll find and take care of the assholes who did it. Oh, I'm just itching to."

"Take care of–" She shook her head in frustration. "What? How can you say that? How can you even stand to look at me? What happened to Rosita, it was because of me."

"No offense sweetheart, but you ain't that powerful. All of our tickets are gon' get punched one day. Don't get me wrong, I'm red hot on the inside for what your mother did, and trust and believe, her time on this earth is numbered if I have anything to say about it..."

She flinched.

Shit. Asshole, that's still her mother, Rosita's voice chided.

"Sorry. She's still your mother, I know. What I'm gettin' at is that you are not responsible for what your mother did or what she does. If Rosita were here, I know she'd feel the same."

"You miss her?"

"Yeah. From the top of my bushy gnome to the toes of my hairy dogs– with all of me. She was everything." After Ellen and his babies, Rosita had been that light at the end of the tunnel he'd heard people talk so much about. "Almost mucked it up too."

"What do you mean?"

"I met Rosie a little after the start. And it was like shit, I just hit the jackpot. It was a helluva mindfuck– excuse my French."

"It's fine."

"After everything I lost, it felt unreal to find her. I thought, if she was the last woman left in the world, I was lucky. Then our world got bigger and I had more options and I started to think that what we had was based solely on the fact that we were the last pair of two-leggeds on Noah's ark. I found out she was pregnant with Coco and by then I didn't have the balls to tell her that I wanted out. Then... I made a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"I cheated on her," he admitted. "Learned the hard way that what I had with Rosie wasn't just circumstantial. She said she forgave me, but after that, I could see her questioning my love for her at every turn. Just hate she died not knowing, ya know?"

"Maybe she did– know. I mean, my Mom's done some messed up stuff to me, but I– I can feel she still loves me, deep down..." Lydia stared ahead, with a haunted look on her face. "That she'll never let go. Not until I'm gone."

---

"Nice and easy." Rick guided the line of women across the brittle frozen water. "Hold the rest!" he called to Carl, who stood at the bank helping others onto the ice.

Rick waited until the first batch was clear across the river, before waving the rest on. "Let's go! Hurry." He looked over his shoulder to where the soldiers were taking down icicled walkers coming out from within the snow-capped trees of the adjacent forest. He watched Abraham shoot an arrow into the center of one's head; at top speed, the point punctured and then pierced through the ice-crusted forehead of the walker. "Is it them?!" he yelled.

"Negative. Good old-fashioned deadheads," Abraham shouted back.

Rick hustled the rest of the women across, and when they were halfway over, he looked to the side and saw Carl standing alone on the bank, his eyes scanning the group that stood safely on the other side. "Carl, let's go!"

His son hesitated. "Lydia. She didn't cross!" he yelled back. Rick scanned the group of women, but Lydia was nowhere to be found. And when he turned back to Carl, just past his shoulder, he spotted her red coat, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the white scenery.

Carl turned and saw her too. "Lydia!" He took off running after her.

"Carl! Wait!" As light footed as he could be, Rick crept off of the ice and trudged through the piled-high snow after his son. When he caught up to him, he grabbed his arm. "Hey!"

Carl snatched away and kept moving.

Rick hustled to get in front of his son and cut off his path. "We gotta go."

"Are you serious? You're gonna leave her out here to freeze to death."

"She made her choice!"

"Because you and everyone else made it pretty clear she's not welcome with us. We're not leaving her!" He sidestepped Rick, but as he passed, Rick grabbed hold of his arm. "No."

"Dad, let go of me." His words were a low growl Rick hadn't heard from his son before.

"I'll go get her. You get the rest across. It's not up for discussion," he said, matching his tone.

Carl hesitated, before nodding, and walking back toward the river.

Rick watched his son go and breathed out a heavy breath, before turning around and sprinting after Lydia.

Rick weaved through the trees, slashing through two slow-moving walkers along the way, Lydia's footprints guiding him. He slowed when he reached the awning of an abandoned open-air barn, and found Lydia standing with her back to him, facing a teeth-chomping walker that approached her, its eyes focused on the arm Lydia held out to it.

After shaking off the momentary shock, Rick darted for Lydia, pushing her back behind him, before lifting his spear with both hands and ramming it into the walker's head.

He watched the walker melt to the ground, the ice on its body breaking on the way down.

Rick turned around and found Lydia, still kneeling on the ground, from when he'd pushed her back. "What the hell was that?"

"I– I can't cross that river," she bleated, tears bubbling over.

"Why not?" He asked, though the little devil on one shoulder was telling him to leave her be. It'd be a hell of a lot easier if he didn't have to look at a constant reminder of his recklessness with his son's safety. Just go, leave her, the devil told him.

What if it was Taj, the angel on the other side chimed in. What if it was your daughter, huh? He shook the thought away. It would never be Taj.

Like you thought it would never be Andre? He wasn't sure which side the question was coming from, but it didn't matter, it was all him. The good and the bad were both a part of him, they had been since the start, battling in there, giving him a choice at every turn. Rick squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get his mind back under submission.

"I know what's on the other side. No one wants me there. If you hadn't taken me in, to begin with, all your people would still be alive. Your son's dead 'cause of me. Andre said I was one of you. But he was wrong. As long as I'm with you, it's never gonna stop. You know I'm right."

He could go, he could walk out of that barn and back to the river and tell Carl that he couldn't find her, that she'd gotten away. Without Lydia, Alpha had no reason to care about them anymore. It's how he protected his family. Go, he savagely thought. No one has to know.

"No one else has to know." His head shot up when he heard Lydia repeat the words his mind had just spoken. "It can be you…" She reached down for the spear that hung at his side, lifted the sharp end, and brought it to her neck.

What? No. This is not how… his brain couldn't even compute a full thought at the sheer insanity of what she was asking him to do.

"Please," she cried. "Everything's gonna be better when I'm gone. This is how you keep from losing anyone else." Her hand trembled, where she held onto the stick. "Do it for Andre. I can't– I was never gonna let that thing bite me. I'm too weak, just like my Mother said."

No. No. This isn't– this wasn't even in the realm of who he was. Despite all the fucked up shit he'd done in this life, thus far, he hadn't and wouldn't ever fall so far that he'd contemplate killing an innocent girl.

Because that's what she is, right? Lydia hadn't killed his son, she hadn't asked for any of this. She didn't deserve to die for the sins of her Mother. This life was hers by right too. She deserved to live... without the shame of what her Mother had done hanging over her.

Rick placed his free hand over hers and gently removed it from the spear, before lowering it back down to his side. "You're not weak." He held his hand out to her. "Come on. Let's go home."

She stared at his outstretched hand a moment, before taking it.

---

Five days later, Rick and the rest walked back through the gates of the Union.

The blizzard had come through and dumped more snow over them than they had seen in years. They'd waited it out at the farm. And when warmer weather resurfaced, melting the roads home, the group made the treacherous two-mile trek back.

Though his body was frozen when he walked through the gates, his heart warmed at the sight of the community kids building snowmen in the covered area near the front gates.

"Daddy!" Taj skipped toward him.

Rick squatted down, opening his arms for her. "Hi, sweetheart." He held her close, running his hand down the long length of her curls. "You okay?"

She pulled back. "Yup. What took you so long?"

"We ran into a hitch in the road."

Her nose wrinkled. "A what in the what-what?"

Rick threw his head back and laughed at the same time a cold ball of snow slammed into and broke apart on the side of his face. "What the hell?" He turned his head and found RJ and Daryl pointing at each other. Rick looked at Taj, who watched with wide eyes. "Oh, no, we can't let them get away with that. Can we?"

"Nope." She bent down and dug into the snow and Rick followed suit.

"You get Uncle Daryl, I'll get RJ," he whispered.

"Okay," she giggled.

They picked the snow up and quickly formed packed tight balls, before launching them at Daryl and RJ, and inciting what would end up being the most epic snowball fight the community had ever seen. It wasn't long before the entire community was out on the lawn pelting each other with snow, even Lydia joined in.

Later, Rick stood back, out of breath, and watched for a moment. It brought a smile to his face, seeing the dark cloud that had hovered over their community, lift. But his smile quickly faded when he noticed Michonne was missing.

---

The house was eerily silent when Rick stepped through the front door. "Michonne!" he yelled and in response, heard a loud banging.

He climbed the stairs, two at a time, racing up the first flight and following the clunking and clattering noise to the top floor.

Rick halted in the doorway of RJ and Andre's room. It was trashed: Andre's mattress was flipped over and discarded and all the clothes from his open drawers were strewn on the floor. Michonne moved through the room in a frantic state he recognized from that night in Alpha's territory.

He stepped into the room carefully. "Michonne."

She kept moving, dropping down in front of Andre's nightstand. She slid it open and began rifling through it.

Rick stepped in beside her and touched her shoulder. Michonne startled and turned to face him, before promptly dismissing his presence, and cutting her eyes back to the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" he asked, working hard to keep the worry out of his voice.

"It has to be in here." Her hands sifted through the junk in the drawer. "It has to be."

"What?" Rick kneeled down next to her. "Tell me what you're looking for and I'll help you."

"His letter. He said he would write one."

Oh. "Carl already looked," he gently reminded her, snaking his arm around Michonne's shoulder, subtly trying to subdue her. "Andre didn't leave anything. He probably just never got around to it."

Michonne squirmed out of his hold and stood. She pulled the nightstand away from the wall, the legs making a whiny noise akin to nails on a chalkboard when they scraped against the wood ground. The lamp propped up on it teetered and Rick pushed off his knees and reached over to try and catch it, but it hit the hardwood before he could, the glass splintering on the ground.

"Damn it!" Michonne shouted.

"It's okay," he assured. "I got it. Don't touch it–"

She ignored him and squatted down, picking the glass up with her bare hands.

"Michonne, I got it." He moved to kneel in front of her, grabbing her wrists as a sharp piece fell from her grasp, slicing into the palm of her hand.

"Shit," she hissed.

"Hold still." Rick grabbed a t-shirt, from off of the ground, and ripped a piece of fabric from the hem, wrapping it around her bleeding hand. His eyes were focused on it, as he tied it in place and he didn't notice the silent tears trickling down her face until he felt a droplet on his arm. He looked up. Michonne was staring at him, liquid flowing down her face with the steadiness of a waterfall.

"He didn't leave anything," she said in disbelief. "That's it. There's nothing left of him. He's gone. He's really gone–" She choked on the lump in her throat and Rick couldn't take it. He dropped her hands and hauled her into his arms.

---

"Priya said she's barely slept or eaten," Jada—who was ready to pop at any moment—said. She sat beside Glenn across from Rick at the dining room table. "She's mentally and physically exhausted. I gave her a sedative to give her mind and body a chance to slow down and she's resting now."

"What about the pain pills?"

"She hasn't taken any in two days. We're good."

Rick wiped his hand over his face. "Jesus– I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help her."

"Maybe she needs to get away from here for a minute," Glenn said. "After Maggie– while going off alone like that wasn't the smartest, I think I would have lost my mind staying at the prison with all those reminders of her."

Jada set her hand on Glenn's, over the table. "Yeah, as crazy as it sounds, when my husband died, being at the Sanctuary helped me move on... listen, when the weather warms up a bit, the fishing boat is going back out for a two-week trip. Maybe Michonne could go with them."

Later, as Rick swept the glass up, he thought about Jada's suggestion. His knee-jerk reaction was a resounding no. The thought of Michonne going off, even for a short time, in the state she was in, scared the complete and total hell out of him.

But, on the other hand, going away could break the monotony of the grief cycle she was stuck in. The entire house was like a shrine to Andre, he'd lived and put his mark on every inch of it.

And then there was the part of him that couldn't fathom parting with her for selfish reasons; Michonne and the kid's all being together under one roof was what was getting him through.

He dumped the glass shards in the trash bin and moved on to the task of picking Andre's clothes up off the floor. His hands stilled when he touched the gray cotton fabric of the t-shirt, which he recognized as Andre's favorite. He lifted it, held it in his hand, and stared at it through blurry vision.

"My drafting table!"

Rick's head whipped toward the door. RJ stood there, with a fallen face, as he took in his flipped to the side drawing table and scattered on the floor colored pencils.

Rick slid his thumb over each wet eye. "It was an accident, bud, I'll get everything back the way it was, I promise."

RJ looked around at the rest of the mess. "Who did this?"

"It's not important."

RJ's gaze settled on him and Rick hoped his son didn't catch the wetness he was sure still coated his eyes. That hope was squelched when a look of sadness replaced the one of devastation on RJ's face. "Well, do you need help?" he asked.

"Yeah, Actually. That'd be great" He sniffled, wiping at his nose. "Thanks."

RJ dropped to the ground in front of Andre's bed and began picking up his colored pencils. He reached his hand under the frame to grab one that had rolled away as Rick went back to picking up the shirts.

"What's this?" Rick looked over at RJ, who held a shoe box.

"Let me see that."

RJ handed it over.

Rick opened the box and at first glance, the items inside seemed insignificant: a small stuffed dinosaur, a drawing RJ had done of Andre, and the pocket knife Rick had gifted him. It was Deanna's camcorder that made his eyebrows furrow. He picked it up, flipped the screen open, and pressed play.

---

A familiar voice calling Michonne's name pulled her out of the blackness of her drug-induced sleep. She fought through the waves of drowsiness and forced her eyes open. Rick sat on the edge of the bed, running the back of his fingers down her arm. "Hey."

Michonne cleared her cottony throat and pushed off of the bed, to sit up. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Since yesterday afternoon."

"Oceanside. Is everyone alright?"

"They're here. Everyone made it."

"The kids?"

"Downstairs."

Michonne dropped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I should know that." She sighed and rolled her head over, to look at Rick. "I'm sorry. I haven't been here. I haven't been myself…"

"You don't need to apologize. We've all been lost lately."

"You?"

"Yeah. How you feel, you're not alone in it."

"I don't know how to pull myself back up this time."

Rick moved to sit beside her on the bed. "Come here." He pulled her into his side until her head was resting on his chest. "You've held not only this family but this entire community together for so long," he whispered. "You deserve to rest…" He was quiet for a few moments, his thumb sliding up and down her arm, in a soothing manner that had her eyes fighting to stay open. "Jada said there's a spot on the fishing boat. They're heading out when the snow clears. You should be on it."

She leaned back to look at his face. "What? No. I can't– I can't leave you and the kids."

"It's not you leaving us. This is you taking care of yourself for once. Taking a break. I'll hold down the fort while you're gone. Priya and Carl agreed to help too."

"Rick–"

"The only way I'll be okay– our family will be okay, is if you are. We'd be foolish to keep going the way things are."

She walked through the house each day constantly replaying the life they'd had before Andre died. She was so deeply stuck in the past that maybe exactly what she needed was to be plucked out of the memories for a while, in order to get to a place where she was okay with moving forward and making new ones, that didn't include Andre. But... "Two weeks is a long time to be away from the kids."

"You'll have a radio. You can talk to them, or me, anytime you want."

"You've really thought this through."

"It's been killing me, watching you and not being able to do shit to help you. Let me do this for you... please.

"Okay. I'll go."

Rick kissed her, before setting his lips on her forehead. "Thank you." He stood and extended his hand. "I have something to show you."

Michonne took it and let him guide her off of the bed, but when Rick tried to lead her toward the door, she resisted. He turned around and she limped toward him, closing the small space between them. Michonne wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body flesh against his.

Rick was quick to tighten his hold on her, running a hand down her back and settling it on the small of it. They stayed that way for a long time, both of them taking solace in the neglected comfort of closeness with one another.

Once they parted, Michonne limped alongside Rick to the stairs.

He slid his arms around her waist and she draped an arm over his shoulder, pressing her weight into him as they made their way down the staircase. "What's going on?" She asked when she saw her kids and Priya sitting on the couch, in front of the television, which Eugene was tinkering with. "What is this?"

A smile teased at the corner of Rick's lips. "You'll see."

They reached the bottom step and Taj turned, looking over the back of the couch. "Finally!" she yelled. "Come sit by me, mommy."

"Okay."

Rick lowered her down into the spot beside Taj. He sat down beside Michonne and took her hand. "We about ready Eugene?"

"And Presto. Completo." Eugene grabbed the remote and turned around to face them. "If I may, I– I just want to say, Andre Anthony Grimes was the best Chief to my Captain I could have asked for and then some. No, he was more than that, he was a friend. And I miss him every day." His voice broke. "I'm just thankful I got to know him... that is all." He stepped off to the side.

"Thanks for that, Eugene," Carl said.

He clicked the television on.

Michonne's breath caught when she saw Andre's face on the screen.

"Tell me when," she heard Eugene say.

Michonne couldn't take her eyes off her son's face. Rick's fingers tightened around hers. "Ready?"

Ready for what? Michonne still had no idea what was going on. She stared at Andre's image, for a moment longer, before nodding. A second later, the picture came to life. "So, if you're watching this, it means I didn't make it... Carl wanted us to write letters, but that was just not me." Andre looked down. "I don't want you guys to be sad. Easier said than done, I know. But the life Mom and Dad gave me, it was beautiful and I want that to be what you remember, not how it ended. I love you all. This is how I want to be remembered... "

The screen went black and a second later, a series of video clips played on the screen. Clips from the happiest moments over the past few months. The camera was a fly on the wall, strategically hidden in every moment.

She watched Andre do Taj's hair in the morning before school while quizzing her on her spelling words, their family making a mess in the kitchen as they cooked pizzas during one of their many family fun nights, Andre and Rick teaching RJ how to ride a bike, and Michonne teaching Andre how to two-step for his first school dance. The final clip was their last dinner as a complete family before she and Rick had gone to Oceanside for her birthday. They were laughing and carefree, talking over one another as they vied for a space in the conversation, unaware of what the next week would bring.

Michonne didn't realize she was crying until she felt Taj's finger sliding across her cheeks as she wiped the wetness away. But for the first time, since she'd lost her son, the tears weren't coming from a place of sorrow. "Thank you, baby."

Michonne pressed her daughter's head into her chest, hugging her tight. She looked around and watched her family smile and laugh at the video clips that played on a loop. Carl's tear-filled gaze caught hers. "This is way better. It's so... him, right?" he asked with a smile.

Michonne laughed and shook her head, because… only Andre. She turned back to the screen. "It's so him."

---

(—One month later—)

Rick and Abraham strolled alongside one another away from the Oceanside cabins on their way toward the water, passing soldiers on break from a weekend of training on the coast and residents of the seaside community going about their daily tasks. "Training was worth the trip," Abraham said. "After everything that happened, more folks wanted to join up than we could process in."

"Yeah. They're looking good." The two reached the stretch of sand that led to the coast, where Taj and Coco were bossing RJ around in the construction of an impressively well-built sand castle.

"Good call on bringing the pups with, even though it is against protocol. Coco flipped her lid when she saw the ocean for the first time."

"We should bring 'em back when it's a little warmer, let them play in the water some."

Abraham nodded silently. Rick caught the crestfallen look on his face, as he watched the kids play. "Rosie and I always talked about bringing her here together…" He trailed off.

Rick reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "You're doing a fine job with her."

He snickered. "She's a handful and a half, that's for sure."

"Tell me about it." Only ten months apart, Coco and Taj were inseparable and had been since they could talk. They were practically the same person, and though Taj was older, he still wasn't sure which one had influenced the other more.

Abraham and Rick stood silent for a while, both contemplating different things, Rick assumed. His thoughts went where they always did when left to their own devices... Andre. It was rare an hour went by that he didn't think about his son. There were so many things he wished he would have committed to memory, little things that couldn't be captured in a video or drawing. They were what he spent the most time practicing the remembrance of.

"After what happened, you afraid of it... raising 'em up in this?" Abraham asked, out of the blue.

The question was arbitrary, but it was uncanny how much it hit home with Rick, at that moment. He wouldn't consider himself a helicopter parent, even before when it was just Carl, but over the past few months he found himself watching his kids with a keener eye than a hawk. "Yeah," he nodded slowly.

"Me too. But now, I think– for that little freckle face red-head over there, I'm that much more ready to tear the world a brand new asshole."

Rick looked over at Abraham and suppressed the laugh that tried to escape, at the dead serious expression on his face. "Yeah."

Abraham glanced down at his watch. "They should be coming in... any minute now. Go. I'll keep an eye on the munchkins."

Rick hesitated, then chided himself; Abraham keeping an eye on his kids was just as safe if not more than he himself watching after them. "You sure you can handle all three?"

"No. But I sure as shit will try."

He slapped his shoulder. "Thanks."

"And take your time." Abraham shrugged and pulled a cigar out of his pocket, popping it in between his lips as he fished around his pocket for a lighter. "You two wanna sneak off for a quickie, I'm free all afternoon."

"Uh..." Rick scratched at the back of his dipped neck, his face burning slightly at the fact that he was legit contemplating the offer, as he turned to walk toward the dock.

"Daddy!" He only made it a few steps before he heard his little girl scream.

Rick almost tripped over his feet when he turned around, already running. His boots sank into the sand as he lumbered toward the spot where the kids were kneeling and staring, mouths hanging open, at something in the sand.

Taj ran to meet him, crashing into his legs. "What is it? What's wrong?" He lifted her and made his way over.

When he and Abraham reached Coco and RJ, they exchanged a glance, commiserating with a look alone at what they saw.

---

Michonne stood at the bow of the fishing boat that floated toward the dock, shielding her eyes from the gleam of the sun as she stared out. Her heart skipped a thump at the sight of Rick standing there, with his hands on his hips and a huge smile on his face, as he waited for the boat—waited for her.

When the boat docked, Michonne jogged around to the side, jumped off the ledge into Rick's arms, and buried her face in his neck as he spun her around. Once he set her down, he kept his hands planted on her hips; her arms stayed around his neck. They watched each other, taking in what they'd been missing. It was Rick who broke eye contact when he leaned in and set his lips atop hers. The kiss was soft and sweet at first, and where Rick would normally pull away, he pressed in with his body and his lips, and deepened the kiss. Michonne was breathless when they finally broke away from each other, sheepish at the public display but desperate for more at the same time—it had been weeks.

And God, he was so damn gorgeous. Over the years, she'd gotten used to Rick's special brand of handsome: the way he stood, and talked, and walked, and just the way he effortlessly was. Two weeks away and it was like seeing her man for the first time all over again. "You look so good," she gushed.

He shook his head. "Uh-uh." His eyes did a quick survey of her face, scanning every inch of it. "That's you. So beautiful."

She hugged him once more and as she did, looked around the dock. "Where are they? Did you bring them?"

"Of course. They're itching to see you."

---

"Hey! Is anybody gonna say hi?" Holding Rick's hand, Michonne crept around the corner of the cabins and found the twins sitting at a child-sized table sorting seashells.

Taj popped up first. "Mommy!"

RJ followed. "Mom!"

"My babies." She bent down, held her arms out, and received them in. "Oh, I missed you two." Her eyes slipped closed and she held Taj and RJ tight. In the two weeks since she'd been away, they'd grown at least an inch each, it seemed.

"Come on Daddy, get in here!" Taj called.

Michonne looked over her shoulder at Rick, who stood watching them with a wide grin. "Yeah. Come on Daddy," she said. "Get in on this."

"Alright." Rick kneeled down behind her and wrapped his arms around them all.

They stayed that way for only a moment, before RJ said, "Okay, I think that's enough."

Michonne planted a kiss on each of their cheeks before letting them go.

RJ went back to his seat, but Taj kept her arm around Michonne's neck. "Guess what we found in the sand?"

"What's that?"

"A walker's skin. It was so gross. And we made a sandcastle. It was so..."

Taj continued, but her words were background noise, Michonne's heart thumping too loud in her ears for her to hear anything else. She turned around to look at Rick, whose face was serious, the creases on it etched into a look of concern.

---

"Mmm..." Rick pressed a kiss onto Michonne's lips and then another onto his favorite spot on the side of her neck, before he reluctantly slid out of her. It had been weeks since they'd been together and she knew he could probably go for another round—or two—but was thankful when he rolled over to his side of the bed. As incredible as their reunion had been, she still needed to ease back into it. But not wanting to break contact, she followed him over to his side and laid her head on his chest.

Rick's arm slid around to settle over her shoulders. "So, how was it out there?" he asked.

"Work all day and then some more at night. Fall asleep staring at the stars."

"Sounds amazing."

"Not as amazing as this. But I'm glad I went, though."

After a brief moment of silence, Rick asked, "How do you feel?"

It was a complicated question. Being so busy on the boat had distracted her from the heaviness that had weighed her down back at home, but she wasn't naive enough to believe that she was all the way okay. She wanted to be honest with Rick. Before she left they'd agreed to brutal transparency from now on, but her instinct, after the afternoon they'd had, was to cover up her true feelings again. She pushed the inclination aside and took a moment to honestly assess how she was. "I still feel a little lost... I just don't know yet how it works without him."

"We'll figure it out together, how to keep going together. Us and the kids. You're not alone in this."

"I know. And thank you, for everything you've done... how were they for you?"

"Perfect angels."

"I thought we agreed to be honest with each other," Michonne said, with a laugh.

Rick chuckled. "Really, they were great. Priya and Carl pitched in a lot. But, since we're being honest, they're–"

"Both still sleeping in our bed aren't they?" She asked, cutting him off. Rick had promised to work on getting the twins back into their rooms, while she was away, but she honestly would have been more surprised if he'd been able to pull that off in two weeks.

"I tried..."

"It's fine." She patted his chest. "It was an ambitious goal."

"Thanks for understanding." Rick dropped a kiss onto her forehead.

Michonne wouldn't admit it allowed, but she didn't mind the twins sleeping in their bed, not anymore. "Speaking of the twins..." Michonne pushed up, her forearm resting on Rick's chest. "What they found in the sand, is it them? Are they back?"

Rick let out a heavy sigh. "We don't know. A lot of stuff washed up ashore from the recent storm. This might not mean anything."

"Well, no one saw Alpha's herd move out, so maybe no one saw them move back in. But if there's a mask, maybe there are other signs of them out there. We have to be sure, Rick."

"Yeah, Abraham and Priya are putting a squad together. They're leaving in a little bit."

Michonne pushed off of him and swept her feet off the side of the bed. She snatched her clothes from the floor and rushed to pull them on.

"What are you doing?"

She grabbed the walkie-talkie, disregarding his question. "Priya. Come in. It's Michonne."

"Copy, Michonne," Priya replied, immediately. "Welcome back."

"Are you still here?" Michonne slid her tank top on with her free hand.

"About to head out, now. Do you need me?"

"Wait up. I'm coming."

"No need. We have enough people to search the entire grid."

"I'm coming," Michonne replied, with an edge to her voice, hoping it conveyed to Priya that she wasn't asking for permission.

"Copy, meet us at the main cabin."

"On my way." Michonne set the walkie-talkie on the nightstand and stood, sliding her jeans up her legs.

"You just got back," Rick said. "They can handle it."

She turned, ready to argue, but her resolve melted at the unsettled look on his face, which she'd seen all too often over the past couple of months. "This is not like before," she assured.

Rick watched her skeptically, those blue eyes searching her face. She hated the fact that he still couldn't take her at her word, but to be fair, she'd done a lot to justify his hesitation.

He peeled the bed sheets back and walked around the frame to stand in front of her. "If you're going, then so am I."

---

Michonne and Priya were walking beside their horses through the forest of their assigned search zone when she heard Abraham's voice through the speaker of her walkie-talkie. "Anything?"

Michonne listened to the other's responses—they'd found nothing—before replying back, "Nothing here, either."

"You know, we may never find an answer to this," Priya said, carefully. "They've been doing this a long time. They know how to cover their tracks."

"If there's a mask, it's for a reason," Michonne shot back. She scolded herself for her combative tone. Walking through the forest, she'd grown increasingly agitated at not just their fruitless search, but the fact that Alpha was once again slipping right through their fingers. But Priya didn't deserve her anger. "I'm sorry…" She sighed. "And thank you. You've been there for us– especially while I was away."

"We're family," Priya said. "No need to thank me.'

"How's Carl? I hate that I haven't checked in with him in all this."

"He's good. It's been difficult, but I think dealing with losing Lori all those years ago taught him a lot."

"And having you there is not a small part."

"I hope so..." Priya stared ahead, a faraway look on her face.

Warning bells went off in Michonne's head, because she was painfully aware of the stain grief could leave on a relationship, and hell, she was still in the process of cleaning up the one on hers. "Everything alright between you two?"

"Oh. Yes. We're fine."

"Your face is saying something different."

Priya opened her mouth to say something but shook her head. "It's not important."

"Sorry, but I don't buy that."

Priya sighed. "Before everything happened, Carl and I– it was our dream to have a wedding. A real wedding, with bridesmaids and groomsmen and a reception. The whole thing, Like it was before. We haven't talked about it since... he was gonna ask Andre to be his best man... I don't think he wants to do any of it anymore."

"But you do?"

"I always dreamed of it. But now, I feel so selfish for still wanting it."

A wedding. It'd be the first any of them had seen since the start. The fact that they'd gotten to a place, where a wedding was in the realm of possibilities again... it was what they'd all been working so hard for all these years, not the wedding specifically, but the latitude to reconstitute the things that made the life before more than just a fight for survival. "I think a wedding sounds like exactly what we need right now."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm."

Hope crept back into Priya's expression. "Maybe when things settle down?"

"Yeah. We can work on Carl together. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can convince him."

Priya laughed as static buzzed over the walkie-talkie. "Nothing out here. All teams fall back."

Michonne's fingers tightened around the radio. She vaguely heard Priya turn her horse around, to head back.

She'd promised Rick, no reckless shit, but she had to be sure... Michonne climbed on her horse and yanked the reins. "Yah!" she yelled, revving it to run, in the opposite direction of Oceanside.

"Michonne!" she heard Priya calling.

She kept riding for miles, back into Alpha's territory.

---

Once she reached the cliff, Michonne swung off of her horse and tied it to the tree trunk, before moving to the cliff's edge. The vast ravine below was bare and dried up.

Damn it. She didn't know what she'd been expecting to find, but it was killing her, knowing the woman who murdered her son was out there walking the earth without retribution.

When she heard the sound of a horse's running feet approaching, Michonne was startled and turned, unholstering her gun.

Priya appeared through the trees. "What the hell? We agreed not to cross their borders or to start anything without a reason!" She jumped off her horse before it slowed to a stop.

"I don't give a shit. We've all been acting like this is normal, holding our breaths for weeks. This isn't okay! And it's not who I am."

Priya stormed toward Michonne, her anger was palpable. "They have a nuclear weapon, and we don't! This is not about anything but keeping our people alive and not having them die over nothing. Believe me, I hate it too. And it's not in me either to sit and wait and play nice with barbarians. But it's a smart play, for now..." Priya inhaled a sharp breath. "Let's go, before they realize we're here."

Michonne nodded. "Fine." When Priya turned to go to her horse, Michonne looked back, for one last look. She narrowed her eyes and walked to the edge of the cliff when she caught sight of a figure emerging from the trees, sauntering toward the cliff's edge on the opposite side of the ravine. Her blood boiled, it ran hot under her skin, when the figure came into full view, emerging like a grizzly standing in the light of day for the first time after coming out of hibernation.

Alpha's curious, piercing blue eyes connected with Michonnes.

---

"The way I see it, we kill that herd– take that away, Alpha and her people have nothing," Rick spoke to the other council members, who were assembled in the rec hall days later. "With our army, we have the numbers. That's when we can strike. When they have no defense."

"Gotta find 'em first," Daryl said. "Both the herd and Alpha. Ain't gon' be easy. Can't fight a ghost."

"We're focusing on the wrong thing," Michonne said. "Alpha and her people, they can move at the drop of a dime. But the herd. There are only so many places she can keep that amount of walkers. And from what we've seen of her– how she moves, she's either with the herd or close by."

"Yeah." Abraham stroked his beard. "We find that herd, we find her."

"I think I can help." They all turned to the door, where Lydia stood, leaning against the frame.

---

Hanna's feet ached from the stickers poking through the worn-out soles of her tattered tennies. She scurried through the crispy, overgrown weeds in the backyard of the dilapidated house she'd been to more times than she could count but had never been inside of.

Hanna moved past the front door, to the side fence of the house, and pushed through. She walked toward the ladder of the towered high treehouse, but paused when she heard what sounded like crunching leaves behind her.

Heart racing, she turned, but her body relaxed when a squirrel scurried away.

I should just go back, she thought. She's not coming for you. She has a new life, a better one. Why would she put that in jeopardy for you?

Hanna had come every week since Lydia had abandoned their group for the people who had Alpha scared enough to move the herd into the cave. And Hanna had held out hope that the girl who she'd grown up alongside—who she considered a big sister—would come back for her. Lydia wouldn't leave her and she wasn't sure she could go on much longer without her, especially with how much more unhinged Alpha was growing each day.

She held tight to Lydia's words. "If we ever get separated, go to the treehouse, I'll find you."

Hanna climbed up the ladder and nearly fell backward off it when she saw her friend sitting in the corner of the treehouse. "Lydia!" She scrambled up the rest of the way and ran the short distance to get to her friend, the two of them colliding. "I knew you'd come for me. Are you okay? What's it like, the place where you are?" she rambled, her relief and excitement getting the best of her. "Will they take me in too?"

Lydia steered her further into the tiny space and guided her down, so they were both sitting criss cross, in front of one another. "Slow down."

"I know, I'm sorry." She ran a dirty hand through her dirty blonde hair. "I just– I didn't know if you'd come for me. And I was worried about you too. And I didn't know if Alpha was telling the truth– that you'd abandoned us." Her gaze dropped into her lap.

"Hey, I didn't abandon you. I was captured. But the people who took me turned out to be good. Better than Alpha."

"So, you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Are you?"

It was a loaded question and she wasn't sure of the answer. If Hanna really thought about it, she supposed she hadn't been fine since the day she and her parents had joined Alpha's group. It had been the beginning of the end. After a couple of months, her parents had figured out that Alpha wasn't one to follow, but what they hadn't known was that the only way to leave the ranks was as a Guardian.

Lydia was only a year older than her, but she'd looked after Hanna when she'd become an orphan. They'd formed an unbreakable bond and when Alpha trusted them enough to let them herd Guardians, they began to sneak off to the treehouse they'd discovered, and daydreamed about being brave enough to escape Alpha. "I've been coming every day since we came back."

"Came back from where?"

"We went south."

"Why'd you come back?"

She'd wondered the same thing. In the past, whenever they'd migrated they never looked back. But that was before Alpha had something to come back to. "I don't know. I think it's because of you. She hasn't been the same since she lost you."

Lydia's face hardened. "She doesn't care about me. She just wants to control me."

"Both things can be true."

"Yeah. Maybe." Lydia looked behind, and stared out through the glassless window for a moment, before turning back to Hanna. "Where is she now? Where's Alpha? Where's she keeping the herd."

Hanna looked past Lydia's shoulder when she spotted a blinking red light in the window of the house. "What's going on?"

Lydia grabbed Hanna's face and turned it back to her own. "You need to tell me where the herd is, now. Where Alpha is."

"Are there other people here?"

Lydia's lip twitched. "No. It's just me."

Hanna stared at her friend, who she knew better than herself. She was lying. She didn't care about her at all. It's why she'd never come back, and now, she was using her. She cursed herself for being so stupid. Alpha had been right. "I have to go." Hanna stood.

Lydia grabbed her arm. "Hanna, you can't–"

"Let me go!"

Lydia tightened her grip. "Where I am, you can come too," Lydia said hurriedly. "They're good people. They'll take you in."

"You're lying! You just want me to tell you where she is."

"No, I'm not."

"Then tell me, why now? Why didn't you come until now?"

"A lot happened. People died because of me. Good people. Someone I cared about. I was trying to figure shit out. I'm sorry. But I never forgot."

Hanna snatched her arm away. "I don't believe you." She pushed Lydia with all the strength she could muster, her friend toppling onto the wood, as she rushed out of the treehouse and flew down the stairs.

"Hanna, no!" She heard Lydia yell, from above. "Priya don't hurt her!"

When Hanna's foot hit the ground, a hand grabbed the back of her neck and steered her down, slamming her face into the grass.

---

Rick had moved through his bedroom that night, on the way to the shower, and caught Michonne snuggled up in their bed with a twin on either side, reading them a bedtime story. But when he re-emerged, drying his hair off with a towel, to the twins sleeping soundly and Michonne's spot in the bed empty, a familiar sinking feeling settled in his gut. He set his towel on the dresser and went in search of her.

Stepping foot on the third floor, Rick held his breath as he walked down the hall toward the light coming out of Andre and RJ's open bedroom door. He turned the corner into the doorway and found Michonne standing in front of an open cardboard moving box marked donations, that sat on Andre's bed. She stared at a small stuffed dinosaur, he remembered from the keepsake shoebox RJ had found under his bed.

"What's that?"

Michonne looked over, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I found it out there. A couple of weeks before you found us. I told Andre it would protect him from the scary monsters." She gave a small laugh. "I doubt he believed it. I didn't know he kept it, though." She set it in the cardboard box.

Rick walked over and picked it up. "We should keep this. Give it to Taj or RJ."

"You know what, that's a great idea." She looked around the room. "Seems so final, huh? Giving his things away."

"Well, we don't have to."

"No, we do. For the kids. For us. And we don't need things to remember him by." She wrapped her arms around him. "We have us... that's how he wanted it."

"That's right."

"How'd it go with Hanna?" She asked, stepping out of his embrace.

"Priya talked to her. She showed us on a map where Alpha and the herd should be. We leave at the break of dawn."

"We?"

"If this is it, we should be there."

"Are you sure you trust me out there?"

"It's never been about me not trusting you. I trust you more than anyone. But we have to make it back home. Both of us do."

"Alright. Nothing reckless, I promise."

"Mom!" Michonne turned toward the door, where Carl stood.

"Hey!" She rushed into his open arms. "When did you get home?" she asked.

He'd been going back and forth to the Union Farm, helping Jerry settle in as the new leader of the expanding satellite farming community, Ezekial had started and led, up until his death. "Just got back. Priya said you were home."

Michonne leaned back and smoothed a hand over the overgrown, but neat scruff on his face. "When did this happen?"

"Thought I'd try out something new."

"I like it. You look so handsome."

"Thanks, Mom." He looked at the stack of flat boxes on the floor and then the put-together one on the bed. "Oh. You're doing it now?"

"Yeah. It felt like the right time."

"Speaking of the right time, I wanted to talk to you two." Carl moved the box off of the bed and motioned for them to sit.

Michonne and Rick exchanged a look before sitting down beside each other.

Standing before them, Carl clasped his hands together, and his eyes dropped to the ground as he worked up to whatever he needed to say. "So... umm…" He cleared his throat. "Priya and I got approved for our own house," he blurted out, his eyes cutting up to look at them. "Which means, I'm... moving out." His face stiffened, as if he was bracing for the impact of their responses.

When he and Priya had gotten serious, Rick knew he and Michonne were getting closer to the day their oldest left home. Once Carl proposed, it was all but a done deal, so the news wasn't much of a surprise. And If it were still like it was before, Carl would have left a while back—off to college—so Rick counted himself lucky he'd gotten more time under the same roof with him. But still, it stung, having to let go. "That's great, son." Rick looked over at Michonne, she was still sifting through her immediate reaction to the news, evidenced by her face, which was a cross between upset and devastation.

When Carl had told them he was planning on proposing to Priya, Michonne had shared with Rick her hope that Priya would move in with them, so they could all stay together for as long as possible.

"Wow," she said, fixing a smile on her face. "That's uh... that's great."

"Yeah?" Carl asked. "You're okay with it?"

"It's not up to us," Rick said. "But we're happy for you." He squeezed Michonne's thigh. "Right, baby?"

"Right. You know…" Rick watched with curiosity, as Michonne looked into the corner of the room with an impish glint in her eyes. "Priya was telling me the two of you wanted to have a wedding."

Rick's eyebrows raised and his eyes went to Carl. That was the first he'd heard that.

Carl looked thrown off. "Oh." His shoulders tensed. "Yeah, it was just an idea."

"Well, I think it's a fine idea," Rick said.

"Me too," Michonne agreed. "We could use something to celebrate."

"Yeah." Carl's body relaxed. "We could."

"Since you're getting married, officially," Michonne said, mischief creeping into the smile she gave their son. "Maybe you should stay here, until after the wedding. I mean, you wouldn't wanna live in sin, right?"

Ah, he thought. There it is.

Rick shook his head. "Really?" he asked her.

She gave him a look of doe-eyed innocence. "What?"

"Well, if I remember correctly," Carl quipped. "Taj and RJ were conceived before you two were–"

"Alright, no," Rick stood, putting a kibosh on the conversation. Yes, their son was an adult now, but Rick drew the line at discussing their sex life, past or present, with him. He yanked Carl into his arms. "Proud of you, son."

Michonne came in beside them and joined in. "So proud."

"Now you just have to break the news to Taj and RJ," Michonne said. "Good luck."

"Yeah," Rick slapped his shoulder. "That's all on you."

---

Michonne heard a round of voices yelling for her, but none, not even Rick's could stop her pursuit.

The army had been walking back to the Union after striking out at the location Hanna had given them—not the herd, a whisperer, or Alpha in sight. On their way back to the road, Michonne had felt the heat of someone's gaze on the back of her head, and when she'd turned around, her eyes connected with Alpha's, where she stood hidden in the trees with a shit-eating grin on her face. Without a first or second thought, Michonne fell out of formation, taking off at top speed after the woman who'd turned tail and ran.

Hot on Alpha's trail, Michonne fought for each strangled breath, gaining on her with every stride. When the woman disappeared into a cave opening in the forest, Michonne pushed ahead after her, sprinting toward the dark opening, but before she could run in, a hand grabbed her arm, tugging her back. "Stop!"

"Let go of me!" Michonne snapped at Lydia, who fell to the ground when she pushed her off, with more force than she'd intended.

"Michonne!" Lydia scrambled up and ran in front of her.

"Get out of my way," she growled. "Alpha, she went in there–"

"I saw her too. But she wouldn't show herself for no reason. It's a trap. She was trying to lead you in there."

The infantry finally caught up, and Abraham headed straight for Michonne. "What the hell was that?"

Michonne opened her mouth to speak but Abraham cut her off. "I don't give two shits. This is my army! You're under my command when you're out here with us– wearing that goddamn uniform."

"Hey!" Rick stepped in front of Michonne. His voice was sharp, a subtle warning to the man. "Relax!"

Michonne stepped around Rick and faced up to Abraham. "I saw Alpha!" she shouted.

"You sure about that?" Abraham spat back.

"Are you saying you don't believe me?"

"Where's she at? Huh? Look I get it, but you ain't exactly been in the best state of mind, lately. I let you join this mission because–"

"Let me?!"

"Because Rick assured me you had your head back on straight, but–"

"Abraham, she wasn't seeing things," Lydia said. "I saw Alpha too, she went in there." She pointed toward the cave. "I stopped Michonne from going in, because it's a trap. I know Alpha. It's why you brought me with you. So, if you can't trust her, at least trust me on this."

Abraham stared at Lydia, his muscular chest heaving. He cut his eyes away from her and looked around. "There has to be another exit. Squad one, two, and three… fan out," he ordered. Find that exit and stake it out. Alpha comes out, you shoot to kill." The soldiers took off in formation. "Four and five stay here. Same orders. Everyone else pair off. If Alpha's here, the camp and herd can't be far." He glanced around at the group of over fifty uniformed men and women. "You find the camp, you radio it in. You find the herd, you radio it in. Bottom line…" He looked back at Michonne. "Don't try to be a damn hero."

They stared each other down, unblinking, until Rick moved back in between them, blocking their view of each other. "We all have our orders," he said, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of them. "We're wasting time standing around."

Abraham gave a single nod and dropped his gaze. "You heard the man," he boomed, marching away. "Move out."

The soldiers, in pairs of two, scattered in all directions.

"Hey." In front of her, Rick dipped and dodged to catch her darting eyes, as she took in even breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. "You good?"

She blew out a breath and shook her hands out. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just on edge."

"We all are." Rick looked back, at where Abraham and Priya were huddled in a sidebar. "It's no excuse, but it's personal for him too. But he's gotta put that aside and so do we. We all have to. This isn't about us."

Michonne nodded. "I know... I know."

---

Later, Michonne moved silently through the forest, her sword at the ready, alongside Priya. "Psst." Priya nudged her head at something behind Michonne. She looked and saw a walker ambling in her direction.

Michonne hurried toward it with her eyes on its limp, hanging hands. She flung her sword at its neck, but before it could connect, the walker dodged the knife and tackled her to the ground, her sword slipping out of her hand.

The whisperer pulled a knife from his belt and jab it toward Michonne's head, but she kneed him in the crotch, just in time for him to loosen him hold on her. She rolled away, the knife, narrowly missing her head and instead staking in the ground. She crawled for her katana and cut her eyes toward Priya, when she heard her fighting off two of her own.

Michonne grabbed her sword and pushed off the ground, running to jump on the whisperer's back, as he tried to stand. She brought the sword to his neck and sliced across. The whisperer went limp beneath her.

Michonne pushed off of him and ran over to Priya, who was holding her own against the one whisperer she had left. The other was dead on the ground.

"Priya," Michonne called, and the woman gave her a quick glance, as she ran behind the whisperer. Priya shoved her boot into the whisperer's stomach, sending it stumbling back toward Michonne, who swung her sword clean across its neck, slicing it in two.

Michonne and Priya stood around, catching their breaths. "Where the hell did they come from?" Priya asked, rhetorically. "We gotta call it in. Their camp can't be far. Looks like they could have been a perimeter watch or something." She lifted her walkie-talkie.

"Wait. Shhhh..." Michonne grabbed Priya's arm and jumped with her into a nearby dug hole. "Look," she whispered as they peered over the dirt edge: two whispers appeared out of the woods and surveyed the slain bodies.

Michonne crept down the line of the lengthy wall of the hole they stood in, following the whisperers as they walked toward a rocky, dark cave opening, she hadn't initially seen. "There it is. The other entrance," she whispered to Priya. "There's two of them guarding... they wouldn't do that for no reason. It has to be where the herd is."

"We gotta call it in. "

"Not here. They'll hear. I'll stay and keep watch... Go."

Priya hesitated, before tiptoeing to the other end of the hole and climbing out. Michonne kept an eye on her, her gaze going back and forth between Priya and the cave entrance, until she disappeared into the trees.

And when Michonne turned back to the cave, like a gift dropped down from above, Alpha emerged, leading a group of walker's out of the dark opening.

With her eyes, Michonne tracked Alpha as she retreated. But soon, her figure was disappearing into the tree line. She looked back, checking for Priya. "Come on. Hurry up."

Michonne turned back, and fuck, she'd lost sight of Alpha.

She was getting away, once again.

No, not this time.

But you can't. It's reckless. You have no walkie to call it in. You promised you wouldn't be reckless.

I have to. The woman who killed Andre was right there. What if this was her last shot?

Fuck it.

"I'm sorry, Rick," she whispered, climbing out of the hole.

---

Michonne tracked their fresh footprints until she spotted Alpha and the walkers again. She kept a safe distance between herself and the back of the group, hiding behind tree trunks and overgrown shrubs, looking for a break in the herd that would provide her a chance to isolate Alpha, but it was packed too tightly.

Shit, I can't follow them for much longer, she thought. If she gets back to her camp, I'll be outnumbered. She had to make a move.

When Alpha reached the water and began escorting the walkers over the narrow stretch of grass and sand that acted as a bridge, connecting one side of the river to the other, Michonne planted her feet at the foundation of the tree she hid behind and leaned forward against it. She used the side of the trunk to anchor her arm when she raised her gun, closed one eye, and aimed at one of the whisperers. She took a deep breath, in and then out, before squeezing the trigger. The bullet flew fast and connected with the intended whisperer's shoulder.

"Ah!" The whisperer fell to the ground as the walkers around swarmed, eating on her.

Alpha, who lifted her shotgun at the commotion, and the two remaining whisperers, looked around searching for the source of the bullet. Michonne moved back behind the tree and cocked her gun. There was no way she could get another shot off without revealing her position. It was now or never. She squeezed the handle and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Michonne pushed off of the tree and ran toward them, firing off shots.

She hit one of the whisperers in the chest, it fell to the ground.

The last standing whisperer and Alpha retreated, running for the trees.

Michonne sprinted across the sand bridge, passed the feeding walkers, and shot discriminatory bullets off toward the two retreating bodies. A bullet hit the back of the last remaining whisperer's head and when Michonne aimed her gun at Alpha, it clicked.

Michonne threw it to the ground and pulled the pocket knife out of her side holster. She flung it at Alpha, the blade landing squarely in her shoulder.

The woman pitched forward, tumbling onto the ground, her shotgun rolling away.

Michonne picked up speed, running for her, but before she could get there, a walker cut off her path, grabbing her shoulders. She elbowed it in the face, and when the walker stumbled back, Michonne quickly withdrew her katana and stabbed it in the head.

She turned back toward Alpha, as the woman who was wielding the knife that had been lodged in her back ran the short distance to Michonne.

Michonne felt the harsh sting of pain on her face the moment the knife sliced across the glands above her eyelids; blood seeping from the fissure, her view blurred red.

She heard the snarl of walkers behind her and brandished her sword, blindly swinging it at whatever came close.

Michonne wiped her arm across her eyes, her vision clearing enough for her to see two walkers within spitting distance. In one long swipe, she sliced through both of their necks.

Right as she made a move to turn around in search of Alpha, her knees buckled when the blade of a knife pushed through the bone and cartilage and settled into her calf. The pain was unlike anything she'd ever felt, but she had no time to process it.

She swung her sword around, missing Alpha when she ducked and punched Michonne in the gut. Michonne doubled over, but gained enough momentum to run for and tackle Alpha. They both went tumbling, rolling a few times as they fought for leverage.

Michonne gained the upper hand and straddled Alpha. She reached down and pulled the knife out of her leg, before slamming it into the center of Alpha's neck.

The woman froze and took in a sharp breath, staring at Michonne.

And Michonne stared back, couldn't take her eyes off of Alpha as she gurgled for breath. She pulled the knife out, and blood seeped from the woman's mouth and the hole Michonne had created in her neck.

Watching the life drain out of Alpha, Michonne felt the life drain out of herself too; her head swam and was weightless. She couldn't hold herself up any longer. She fell over and lay next to the dying woman, staring up at the sky. The rudderless clouds were the last thing she saw.

---

RJ was perched in the chair beside his mom's hospital bed, chin propped on his folded arms which rested on the edge. He stared up at her face, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of it since his dad had brought him and Taj in to visit her. He didn't know what happened, his parents didn't tell him stuff like that, but from the looks of it, she'd gotten in a fight with something vicious. Her face was puffy and swollen, stitches held together the sliced-up pieces, and a bandage covered her eyes.

Taj was on the other side, staring with saucer-wide, watery eyes at their mom. He reached his hand across the bed and patted Taj's shoulder. "She's gonna be okay."

"She looks…" Taj trailed off.

"I know, but Dad said she's gonna be okay and he doesn't lie."

Taj nodded and used the top edge of her shirt to wipe at her eyes before tears could spill out. "I know." She looked down at their mom's bruised arm. "She has goosebumps. You think she's cold?"

"I don't know."

Taj took her mom's arm and moved it under the covers.

"Stop it. Dad said not to touch her."

"All I did was move her arm. He said to keep an eye on her until he comes back. That's what I'm doing. Besides, you're not the boss of me. Just because you're five minutes older, doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do."

RJ sighed. What if she could hear them? "Dad also said not to argue in front of her. He said she needs peace."

Taj sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. "Then don't boss me around."

Gah! His twin sister could be such a brat sometimes. He'd learned the easiest way to get her off his back was to just let her have her way. "Fine. Sorry."

"You're forgiven," she said, with a small smile.

Whatever. He rolled his eyes back to his mom. He was trying to put on a brave face for Taj, but looking at his mom, it didn't look like she was gonna be okay.

"RJ? Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah. What?"

"You know how when we turn ten in a little while, we have to start training outside the walls?"

Random, Rj thought. RJ glanced over at his sister, who was still staring at their mom. "Yeah."

"I don't think I wanna go back out there, like ever."

"Why? You went out there for the fair and when we went to Oceanside."

"We were in the wagon the whole ride and there with soldiers protecting us the whole time. Both times. Even then, Andre died... but that's not even it."

RJ sat up. "Is it because of what happened out there, with Jocelyn?" Taj never talked about what happened when they were younger, when she'd been lured out of the Union by Jocelyn and her kids, but when she'd returned, she hadn't been the same.

Taj sniffled and nodded her head. "Every time you go out there, you have to do things. And if you don't want to do those things, you die. Just look at Mom, what do you think she had to do in order to get back home?"

RJ was quiet, thinking that his sister had a point.

"I don't wanna have to do those things," Taj said, and RJ wasn't sure he did either.

---

(—One Month Later—)

Carl leaned against the doorway of the bedroom in his and Priya's rowhouse, watching as his fiance spread the bed for the fifth time. Priya had spent the majority of the day in this very room making it "homey". He really wasn't sure what constituted homey and had tried to lend a hand, but Priya insisted she had it covered.

"Alright." She stood in the center of the room and clasped her hands together, looking over everything she'd poured her heart into, not just that day, but all week. "I think it's ready. What do you think?"

He was pretty sure the question was rhetorical and any answer other than perfect, was not in the realm of what she was looking for. And if the room really hadn't been sheer perfection, his baseline of brutal honesty might have bitten him in the ass. "You knocked it out of the park. Seriously, this is amazing."

Priya gave a relieved sigh and shuffled toward him, snaking her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. "Are you sure we can do this? I mean it's a whole life we're gonna be responsible for."

"You've been in war zones before and this is giving you pause?"

"I was trained for that." She leaned her head up, to look at him. "Just tell me we can. I trust you... I just need to hear you say it."

Carl tilted his head down, pressed his lips onto hers, and kept them there for a long moment. When they parted, the hands he had on her hips went up to the side of her face. "You and I, we can do anything. We can do this."

"Okay, yeah. We can."

The doorbell rang.

Carl's hand trailed down to clasp their fingers together. "You ready?"

Priya smoothed the front of her knee-length dress. "Ready."

A few minutes later, Carl swung the front door open to his entire family crowding the steps of their stoop. "Hey... everyone?" Carl gave his most earnest smile and met his mom's eyes, which were still stitched up and healing. He sent her a silent, questioning look; they'd decided to make Coco's first night with him and Priya as low-key as possible, seeing as she was already skittish about her new living situation.

His mom rested a hand on Coco and Taj's shoulders, the two girls stood in front of her holding hands, Coco's duffel bag at their feet. "Coco needed help with her bag," she said in an overly-chipper tone that led him to believe there were more—possibly dramatic—details to their sudden change of plans.

"Well, the more the merrier?" He looked at Priya. "Right?"

"Exactly. Come on in."

They moved aside, making room for the five of them to step into the house and Carl kept an eye on Coco; she hadn't looked up from the ground one time.

RJ stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. "Are there cookies? I smell cookies." He made a beeline for Priya and hugged her waist, looking up at her. "Please tell me there are cookies."

She pinched his cheek. "There are cookies. I made them fresh this morning, go grab one."

"Please be chewy, please be chewy, please be chewy," he chanted to himself on his way to the kitchen.

The rest stood in the foyer, a cloud of awkward silence hung over them, until his dad cleared his throat, and stepped out from behind the girls. "Hi, Priya." He hugged her and kissed her cheek, before moving over to give Carl a hug too. "Hey, son," he said, patting his back and stepping off to the side.

His mom followed his dad's lead. She hugged them both, before going to stand next to his dad, leaving Taj and Coco in front of him and Priya. His fiance was the first to move. She kneeled down in front of Taj and Coco. "Hello, girls."

Taj stepped forward and gave Priya a one-armed hug, keeping hold of her friend's hand. "Hi, Priya."

Once they pulled apart, Priya turned to Coco. "Socorro," she said, softly, reaching out to give her arm a gentle squeeze. "Can you look at me, honey?"

The young girl kept her eyes on the ground.

Priya glanced over her shoulder at Carl and mouthed help.

Carl kneeled down beside his fiance.

"Come on, Coco," Taj encouraged. "You already know Carl and Priya."

They'd been around Coco, her entire life. But, to her, they'd just been Taj's big brother and his girlfriend. Neither of them had formed a close enough bond with the girl, for her to be immediately comfortable with the situation.

He couldn't fault her for being apprehensive. Because, for all intents and purposes they were meeting for the first time all over again. Not to mention the girl had just lost both her parents in the span of two months. It was a lot to throw at an eight-year-old, all at once.

"I know this feels kind of weird," he said. " But, you don't have to be scared or nervous. We're so excited you're here."

"Yup," Priya agreed. "And it's gonna take some getting used to. But, that's okay. Because Taj, Uncle Rick, and Auntie Michonne, they're only two houses down. So you can visit anytime you want."

"Why can't I stay over there?" she murmured.

Carl exchanged a look with his parents. They'd discussed what to do with Coco since the day Abraham had died in a fight with Alpha's second in command, Beta, on the same day Michonne had killed Alpha and the army had taken out the herd and the rest of the whisperers. Abraham and Rosita hadn't left clear wishes for who they'd want to care for their daughter, should they pass. Initially, the obvious choice had been his parents, but taking on the full-time care of another child, while they were still mourning Andre, felt dangerous to them. But Coco was family and there was no way they could just give her away to a community member who hadn't known Abraham and Rosita like they did. So, Carl and Priya had discussed it and as a family, they decided that it made the most sense for them to adopt Coco.

A week later the four of them sat a stoic Coco down and let her know that she'd be moving in with them, permanently. It hadn't gone well. There'd been a lot of tears. It was understandable, Taj was the only person, who felt like family, that Coco had left. They'd considered moving into his parent's house and raising her under their roof, but Carl and Priya had plans to grow their family and they needed their own space for that. And his mom was of the mind that it was best for Coco to get acquainted with her new family unit, without any hindrances.

"Well, honey," Priya began. "We're gonna be the ones taking care of you from now on and their house is full. Plus we have so much space here. You'll have your own room and I can't wait for you to see it. I decorated it just for you. If you want to take a look now we can. "

Coco stared at them skeptically and shook her head.

"That's cool too," Carl said. "We can save that for after dinner."

"Oh, yes. Guess what we made?"

Coco shrugged.

"A little birdie told me that you really like Arroz con pollo. Your mom used to make it, right?"

Coco's lip poked out and quivered and her eyes watered. Oh no, Carl thought.

But Priya soldiered on. "And for dessert, I made flan."

Coco sucked her lip back in and dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. "What kind?"

"Peach, of course."

Carl was ever so grateful his Type-A fiance had done her homework, when Coco asked, "Can I have two pieces if I clean my plate? My Mom always used to let me have two pieces if I ate all my food."

Taj nodded, with a serious look, and co-signed. "She did. I heard Tía Rosita say that before."

Priya turned to Carl, "What do you think?"

"I think that's fair, but only if I can have two pieces too. What do you say, Coco? Can I join the clean plate club?"

Taj rolled her eyes, immune to her big brother's jesting, but a smile cracked the surface of Coco's lips. She held her finger up. "Okay, but Taj and me have to check it."

He held his hand out and they shook. "Deal."

Apparently, the way to Coco's heart was through her sweet tooth. Over the course of dinner and dessert, the Coco they'd known, resurfaced. He'd never been so grateful for his baby sister as he was watching her not only pull Coco out of her funk but do her best to endear her best friend to Carl and Priya. Granted, some of it was a lie, like when she'd told Coco that Carl was the best bedtime story reader when in actuality he was Taj's very last resort. But he appreciated the effort.

He'd held his breath, though, when his parents and the twins got ready to go. But, to both of their surprise, only a few tears were shed at the door when hugs were exchanged.

Late that night, Carl sat beside Priya in front of Coco's bed. "What do you think of your room?" Priya asked, tucking Coco under the covers.

"I like it, but can I bring some of my stuff from Taj's room?"

"Of course," he said. "We can go over tomorrow after school and get everything."

Coco settled the side of her head onto her pillow and stared at them, her eyes bouncing back and forth, between their faces. "So, are you guys like my new mom and dad?"

"For now, we'd like for you to get to know us," Priya said. "We wouldn't mind if you thought of us as your friends."

"Like me and Taj?"

"Kind of," Carl replied. "But it's a little different. It's our job to take care of you. Make sure you're safe and happy. Just like your Mom and Dad did, but over time you'll get to know us better and we'll get to know you. And we hope we can become a family. But it's up to you. Whatever you decide to call us, that's also up to you too. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Priya pressed a soft kiss to Coco's temple and flipped the light off. They walked hand in hand to the door. The two of them stood in the frame watching over her as she fell asleep and Carl closed his eyes too and called on his brother's angel, asking him to be a guardian over their little girl.