Dearly Beloved
Timestamp: Season 11
(—Six Months Later—)
With her eyes closed, Taraji held on for dear life as her mom maneuvered Bolt through the streets of the wilderness. The side of her face burned from where it had been buried against her mom's back since the moment they'd ridden out of the Union; with every gallop, her skin would rub up against the rough fabric of her denim shirt.
"Taj, baby?" Her mom's voice slapped against the whistling wind when she called back at her. "You're squeezing me a little too tight."
Taraji loosened the lock of her slick with sweat fingers, from where they were intertwined around her mom's waist, but still couldn't let go. "Sorry, Mom."
She felt her mom's gloved hand rub along the top side of her arm before it rested there for a second. "It's okay, baby. We're almost there. You're doing so good."
Taraji tried not to feel embarrassed for being a scaredy cat; Carl and Andre had been way younger than her when they'd had to live out in the wilderness and here she was terrified of a quick jaunt with two of the bravest women she knew surrounding and protecting her.
Get it together, she told herself. Remember what Dr. Okemi told you.
Taraji took in a deep breath and practiced what the community's Psychologist, who her mom and dad made her and RJ start seeing after Andre died, had told her to do when she was out here: in through her nose and out through her mouth. Push the scary thoughts away and replace them with safe ones; Taraji pictured home, the space in the bed in between her mom and dad, sitting in her classroom behind the steel door and barred windows they'd put in place in case of emergency, and playing on the playground with her friends.
Before Taraji knew it, her heart rate slowed. Testing the waters, she popped one eye open and then the other. The forest was a blur as they sped past the trees at top speed, but that's all that was in sight.
See, it's fine. You're fine. Her stiff body loosened enough for her to enjoy the scenery for the rest of the ride and when the horse slowed to a stop in front of the massive building, which was bigger than any other she'd ever seen before and overgrown with greenery sprouting along its walls, her eyes bugged. Taraji read the dingy, cobwebbed sign: Eastland Mall.
Her mom jumped off Bolt and held her hand out.
Taraji climbed off and stayed close by her mom's side as she tied their horse to a nearby signpost.
"Should be clear, Glenn and his crew have picked through this place twice over, over the years," Priya said to Taraji, her mom, and the other three women—Lucia, Frannie, and Imani—who climbed off their horses too. "But as per usual, keep your eyes open." She unholstered her pistol and checked the cartridge, before slamming it back in place.
Taraji nodded and her fingers curled around the strap of the katana she'd only had for a couple of weeks. On her and RJ's tenth birthday, her parents had gifted them each a weapon—RJ had been given a bow and arrows. It was only when they turned sixteen that they got their first gun—she dreaded the day. And though the weapon around her shoulders felt light, it was still a heavy weight she carried.
"Hey." Taraji looked up and saw her mom staring down at her with an encouraging smile. She gently pinched her chin. "Stay close to me, okay?"
"Yes ma'am."
Her mom slid her own sword out and nodded for Taraji to do the same. "Alright, let's go," she said to the whole group, before leading the way to the front entrance.
Taraji followed behind her mom with her sword up and her cowgirl boots tipping heel-to-toe as the group moved through the third floor of the mall. She surveyed the display pictures in the windows of the picked-through stores they passed by, illustrations of what life had been like before she'd even been born. Carl and her parents told her stories of what the world had been like before the walkers invaded, but it had always felt like make-believe: cities and states and countries and planes. Her world history textbooks taught her that it hadn't all been Saturday morning cartoons and little league games, that that world had had its problems too. Like, try as she might she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that a long, long time ago, she and RJ wouldn't be allowed to go to school with people of the same color as Carl. Or how they wouldn't have been able to sit with her dad and Carl in a dining place at one time. When she'd run home from school after learning about segregation, distraught at what people were like and afraid that maybe it could happen again, her mom had told her stories of people who'd fought to make sure no one was judged by the color of their skin. She made Taj a promise, that if she had anything to say about it, there would never be a time in their future that it went back to that.
Standing in this place, that was part of that world, it all sort of pieced together in Taraji's mind, like the bits of a puzzle clicking into place. She could picture it, what Carl had told her: their dad and his mom Lori walking through the mall together on hot summer days, just for something to do. Or the large Christmas tree he'd told her about, that every mall had, where Santa would sit and take photos with the kids. Sometimes she wished she could transport back in time and spend just one day in life like it was before.
Taraji did a double take when her eyes caught on something moving within a store—that for some reason had only stuffed bears inside of it. Then she froze, squinting at the back of a figure's head she unmistakably could make out as a little girl.
As if sensing eyes on her, the girl turned around and Taraji's sword slipped from her hand and clanked onto the concrete when she took in her sunken-in, young-but-old-looking, skin-and-bones face.
"Taj, what is it?" Her mom ran in front of her, blocking her view of the thing. "Did you see something?"
"No. No. I'm fine." She knew if she told her mom what she'd seen, she would– Taraji couldn't even go there. "I– it just slipped. I'm still getting used to holding it."
Her mom stared at her for a moment, before bending down to pick up her sword. "Okay. Here you go." She placed the handle of the sword into the palm of Taraji's hand. "You sure you're okay?"
"Fine."
Her mom's scrunched forehead and knit eyebrows were a sure sign she didn't believe it and before she had a chance to question her, Taraji moved past, back toward the front of the group.
"Rick!" He heard the slam of the front door, right as he was taking the first bite out of his ham sandwich.
Rick set it on his plate, wiping his crumb-covered hands down his pants as he stood and moved through the open space of the first floor: out of the dining room, past the kitchen and living room, on his way to the front door.
At the sight of Carl and Coco, he dropped down to a knee and opened his arms for the young girl to run into them. "Ooph," he wheezed when she rammed into his chest. "I didn't know you two were coming over." It'd only been about twelve hours since he'd last seen them, at their weekly family dinner, but no one would catch him complaining about the impromptu stop-over. He genuinely found joy in every moment he got to spend with his granddaughter. That's how he saw her now, even if it was only in his head where he referred to her as that.
Before Rosita and Abraham had died, his relationship with Coco had been interchangeable with any of the other kids in the community, meaning he genuinely cared for her well-being but had never felt a kinship with her in the way he did with his own children. All that had changed, though, once she'd become part of his family. He could only correlate the new bond they shared, with the relationship Carl had had with Deacon. He had a feeling she felt it too, just in the way she interacted with him now. But even though their relationship was markedly different, he hadn't quite gotten upgraded from first name status yet. And because it was confusing for Coco to continue to call him and Michonne Uncle and Auntie when she'd warmed up enough to call Carl and Priya her version of Mom and Dad, simply Rick and Michonne was what they'd settled on.
He let go of her. "Hey, Son."
"Hey, Dad."
"What are you two up to?" Rick asked Coco.
She sat on his bent knee and slung her arm around his shoulders. "Daddy Carl and I just had a Spanish lesson with Mrs. Juarez and then we went to the park."
"You did? How was your lesson?"
"Muy bueno..." She gave him a serious look. "Have you been practicing?"
"Yup." He cleared his throat and looked down, getting his words together before glancing back up at her. "Hola." He placed his hand on his chest. "Mi nombre is... Rick Grimes. Cómo is… te llamas?" he said slowly, trying to suppress his deeply ingrained Southern accent.
Coco giggled. "Me llamo Socorro Amelia Ford-Grimes."
"Mm-hm." Rick smiled. "How'd I do?"
"Better. But you're still speaking Spanglish. There's no is, it's just es." She patted his shoulder. "Work on it, we'll try again later."
"Yes, ma'am."
She hopped off his leg and took off up the stairs, yelling, "RJ!"
Rick pushed off the ground, his muscles groaning from the five-mile run he'd endured earlier that morning. He'd never had an affinity for running—well unless it was for his life. But, he and Michonne had been trying to find new things to do as a couple, and running through the town at the crack of dawn hadn't been his first choice but it was Michonne's favorite past-time. Seeing as a belly was at the very early stages of forming around his middle, he'd decided to start tagging along. "You hungry?" He asked Carl when he managed to get upright again. "Just made sandwiches for RJ and me."
"Nah, I'm good. We already ate. But, can we sit? I wanted to ask you something."
"Sure." Rick made his way back into the dining room. He folded up the schematics which he'd been perusing along with his lunch, that covered the entirety of the table.
"Are those plans for the Farm to Union roadway?"
"Yeah." Rick set the papers on the empty chair beside him and sat down. "Ronnie wants to break ground after the wedding."
Carl lowered into the chair across from him. "That quick?"
"He wants to get the road done and the wall up before phase one of District Two breaks ground."
"Damn, it's really happening." Carl's face was stuck in a state of astonishment. "We're building a whole city. Creating infrastructure from the ground up."
"We are." The Council had been brainstorming the idea for over a year now. But it was only within the past few months that they'd gotten the ball rolling on plans for what they hoped would one day become the city of Alexandria, divided into districts, with the Union being the first. He doubted he would be alive to see it in full bloom, but Rick was excited at the prospect of steering the inception of something this big. "And District Two is gonna have its own council. Everything we have here, they will too, and more." He leaned forward. "I've been talking to some of the other council members and we want you to lead the charge. Handpick the other members and as a group, oversee the development."
Carl sat up. "Me?"
"Everyone agrees that what you do around here, behind the scenes, to keep this place running– these people look to you just as much as they do your mom and me. You are the future of this place. You and Priya." Priya had been Abraham's successor, as Commander of the Army. And her former Lieutenant, Spencer Monroe, stepped up as her number two. Priya getting the hang of her new position—as well as Carl and Priya finding their rhythm with Coco—had been a root cause for the delay of the wedding.
"I don't even know what to say."
"How 'bout a yes?"
Carl stared at the table, lost in his thoughts for a brief moment before looking up with what Rick noticed was indecision.
He'd never wanna push his son into anything he didn't want to do, but Carl had such a strong leadership bent. Rick saw so much potential in what his son could do, given the opportunity.
"It's not a no, but I need to discuss it with Priya."
"Fair enough."
"And there's someone else I need to speak to about it too."
"Not a problem."
"What about you, are you planning on staying on the council long-term?"
Rick leaned back in his seat. "Yeah, at least until District Two gets up and on its feet. But I've talked to your mom about stepping back a bit–"
"Mom? Really? She wants to retire?"
"No." Rick laughed a little. He didn't think the word 'retire' was even in his wife's vocabulary. "Have you met her? No. It's not in her to take a back seat. And she still has a lot left to give. A lot more to do here."
"So do you."
"I don't think I do, or else I would." For a decade his main focus had been building a better future for Carl, Taj, RJ... and Andre. Now that they were finally at the destination, they'd literally paid in blood to get to, he thought it'd be nice not to have the world on his shoulders anymore. It felt like the time to focus on other things; like being the best husband, father, and grandpa he could be. "We all still have to do our part. I just don't know what that looks like for me yet."
"Well... once we become an actual city, we're gonna need a sheriff. A police department. Sounds like that's right up your alley," Carl said with a sly smile.
Rick snorted, echoes of Deanna's words blaring in his mind. There's gonna be a government here one day, that's why I want Michonne to work with me. There's gonna be a police force, and that's why I want you to start it.
He'd really fucked it up the first go around, and a chance to be the one to make Deanna's vision a reality seemed mighty alright. "Yeah, we will... so why'd you come by? You said you had something to ask me."
"Oh, Right. It's about the wedding." Carl clasped his hands and rested his forearms on the table. "I– uh, I wanted to ask if you'd be my best man. I was gonna ask Andre..." he trailed off, his gaze falling to the table.
"Of course," Rick said quickly. "I'll stand with you." He reached over and slapped his son's shoulder. "Of course, I will."
Michonne was in front of Priya in the tiny dressing room of the saree shop, holding her arms out wide as the other woman tugged and pulled at the cotton fabric around her waist, spinning her as if she were a piece of yarn on a spool.
"This reminds me so much of home," Priya said, draping a piece of fabric over Michonne's shoulder. "My mom ran a small seamstress shop. Can't tell you how many sarees I helped her fit... okay." She reached around and tucked a piece into the back of the skirt, before smoothing her hands down Michonne's sides and taking a step back to appraise the fit. "You can look now."
Michonne shifted around and came face to face with herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Wow," she breathed, staring at the robe—canary yellow, with gold accents stitched all over—cinched and draped over her body. "It's beautiful."
"Yes. You are." Priya dropped her chin onto Michonne's shoulder. "How do you feel in this?"
Hmm, she pondered, chewing over the question. She vaguely recognized the woman in the mirror, who at a point in time had been the most eccentric dresser in any board or courtroom: tribal patterned print suits on a workday and vibrant color-blocked wears on an off one. Nowadays her wardrobe consisted of the same four pairs of pants and a rotation of tank tops and button-downs she shared with her husband. Both phases of her life had been authentically her, but she couldn't lie, it felt nice to feel pretty again. "Feels vaguely familiar," she intoned.
"Come out already!" Michonne heard Frannie shout, from the other side of the curtain. "We wanna see what we're gonna be wearing." As she and Priya had been planning the wedding together alongside the coordinator, Yael, Michonne had gotten to know Priya's friends well, all of whom Priya had lived and still worked alongside in the Army. Granted, Michonne had met each one during their intake into the community, but she hadn't gotten to know the women who were all at least ten years her junior, beyond that day of questioning. The community had steadily been growing so large that most of the people she interacted with within it now were the found family she'd forged closer to the start, council members, the community kids who Taj and RJ invited over, their parents, and next-door neighbors.
Michonne and Priya stepped out of the dressing room and into the mirrored roundabout space.
"Gracious sakes," Frannie, the pint-sized woman with a pixie cut and deeper country twang than Michonne had ever heard before, said. She walked in a circle around Michonne. "You look amazing. This color is absolutely perfect." Michonne had noticed early on that Frannie was by far the most outgoing of the group. She remembered that Frannie had been a boutique owner before, but she was now the Army's most skilled sniper.
She couldn't recall what the svelte and fiery, dark-featured woman—Lucia—or Michonne's fellow Kappa—Imani—had done before the start. But it didn't matter, all she needed to know was that all three of these women in front of her were the epitome of the word 'formidable' and she was proud of the young women who fought tirelessly to protect their community.
"Where's Taj?" Michonne asked when she looked around the dressing room area and couldn't find her daughter.
"She said she wasn't really feeling it," Imani said. "She went to sit out in the showroom."
"Is she okay?" Priya asked. "She seemed off today."
"I think being out here is stressing her out." Michonne sighed. "I only made her come because she's refused to train outside the walls with the rest of her class... I thought a low-stress trip would help her get used to being out here, you know? I hoped maybe it would help her gain enough confidence to kill her first walker."
"Poor thing." Lucia frowned. "Can't even begin to imagine what it's like growing up in all this."
"That's the thing, though, Rick and I don't wanna push her too hard, but she has to be prepared."
"Hell, when shit hit the fan, me and my cat hid in the basement for two years," Frannie admitted. "Which means Taj has got me beat."
"She'll get there Michonne," Priya assured.
"Yeah... but you know what? You guys finish up here, I'm gonna change and sit with her. I'm sorry Priya, I know you wanted us all to see your dress but–"
"No. Go. It's absolutely fine."
Michonne stepped back inside the changing room and slid into her jeans and denim button-down. She walked past the girls who were gushing over Priya in her bridal saree—she only got a glimpse, but my God, Carl was gonna lose his mind when he saw her.
"Taj?" She moved into the large showroom and did a once-over. It didn't immediately alarm her when she couldn't locate her daughter; they'd locked and chained the door behind them. It was only when her gaze settled on the cracked open glass door and the chain on the floor that she took off in a full-on sprint out of the store.
After a few minutes of frantically running through the entire third floor of the mall, her heart and mind racing as she yelled out for Taj, Michonne happened upon the open door of a Build-A-Bear.
Creeping into the store, she found Taj tucked under a shelf of neatly arranged stuffed animals. With tear track marks on her cheeks, Taj clutched her blood-drenched katana in her shaking hands as she stared at a little walker-girl laying dead and face down on the ground with a stab wound in the back of her head.
Michonne relaxed, her sword falling to her side. "What are you doing running off like that?" She was careful to keep her tone even, sensing an ill-tempered admonishment would ratchet up the dramatics ten-fold.
"I couldn't leave her." Taj kept her eyes on the walker. "You wanted me to kill one. I did," she said flatly.
Michonne sat beside her daughter and crossed her legs. "You should have come to get me. You should have told me you were–"
"I thought– I wanted to do it by myself." Taj looked at Michonne, her eyes dusted with water droplets. "So you wouldn't be mad at me anymore."
"I am not mad at you. Why would you think that?"
"I can't do what RJ and the other kids do. I'm not brave like them, or you."
"Baby..." Michonne swiped at a tear that escaped and rushed down Taj's cheek. "The walkers. All of this. It's not... normal. We've lived in it so long that it feels like that, but it's not. And you being afraid to be out here, not wanting to kill, that's normal. Especially after what happened."
Taj contemplated Michonne's words for a moment, then looked back at the walker. She watched it, wide-eyed and in a daze. "I thought, maybe if I set her free, maybe I'd stop seeing them."
"Them? The walkers?"
She shook her head. "The kids you killed to save me. Jocelyn's kids," she said, her voice soft and haunted.
What? "You saw that?"
Taj's body trembled and her voice shook when she said, "They told me to hide in the trailer. And then I heard you calling my name. But I wasn't sure if it was you. So I looked out the window and I saw it all."
It had been carnage, a blood bath. Michonne hadn't wanted to, but they'd given her no choice. For each one, so they wouldn't have to suffer, she'd made it quick—an even slice through the neck. It had been up there, as one of the most difficult things she'd ever had to do. "Oh, baby." Michonne took Taj's chin and steered her head to face her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were carrying that. Why didn't you tell me? You acted like–"
"I couldn't. I thought if I pretended, it would go away. If I didn't say it. And I knew it wasn't easy for you, what you had to do."
The hand she had on Taj's chin moved to the side of her face and Michonne took a quiet moment to clean her wet cheeks with her thumb. "What I did, it wasn't–"
"I know. They weren't good– Jocelyn did that to them, but still, they made their choice." Taj covered the wrist of Michonne's hand that rested on the side of her face. "And I know you didn't wanna do it. You had to... that's what happens when you're out here, you have to do things. And I don't want to. I'm sorry."
Michonne watched her daughter, working through how to put what she knew she needed to say in a palatable way that her young soul could accept. "You know what amazes me?" she finally said. "The fact that a kid born into this world could have such a tender heart– it gives me so much hope. You give me hope, Taji Rose. And I never want you to lose that. One day, I hope we won't have to do these things anymore. All the killing and fighting. But for now, while this is how things are, it's not an option, baby girl. I need to know that if push comes to shove, and we end up out here, you can handle yourself. Because I can't lose you."
Taj nodded and moved her face from out of her mother's grasp, seemingly unsatisfied by her response. She tucked her knees into her chest and rested her chin there.
Michonne didn't have the luxury of sugarcoating the shit for her, though. She wished she could, but as far as Michonne could tell, the harsh reality was not changing any time soon. And Taj killing her first walker was a huge step, but Michonne still wasn't convinced her daughter could or would do it again. It felt familiar, but it wasn't the same as Andre's reluctance. Taj's unwillingness to put down the dead and be out in the wilderness was rooted in something much deeper, something she still needed to work through. "Have you talked to Dr. Okemi about this yet?"
Taj shook her head.
"How about we make a deal? You talk to her about what you saw. We'll get her take on how to deal with it. While you work through things, we don't have to come out anymore."
Taj looked over at Michonne.
"Once she says that you're ready, I'll teach you what you need to know. Me and you, we'll come out here together. We'll go slow, at your pace. And after that, after your dad and I know that you can handle yourself out here, we won't make you come out anymore."
Taj nodded her head slowly. "Deal."
Later that afternoon, Carl stepped into the Smithy and found Earl, who had sweat droplets dribbling down his withered face, hammering at a fiery metal stick that was angled on an anvil.
Carl wiped at his forehead and wasn't sure if the sudden perspiration was from the flame blazing in the hearth or the dread of what he had to say to the man who'd been like a second father to him for more years than he could remember.
Their relationship had been slow growing. Earl, a rather reticent man, had barely said a word outside of instructing Carl on the craft of blacksmithing, for the first few months of his apprenticeship. It was only when his wife, Tammy Rose, passed away from cancer—just over a year after Carl's mom had been killed—that the two bonded over their mutual loss.
"You just gonna stand there like a damn phantom?" Earl asked, not even bothering to look up from his work.
Carl stepped further into the room. "Hey, Earl."
"Finally here to work?" he groused, but when he looked up, Carl saw a ghost of a smile on his face. The man was a stickler for hard work and there was more that he didn't tolerate than that of which he did—no lateness, tardiness, leaving early, and absolutely no excuses. But over the past few years, and maybe even longer, Carl had been guilty on all counts.
He wasn't proud of it, but his life was transitioning in a way that didn't seem to leave much room for his blacksmithing duties. He'd been taken aback though, at the grace Earl had given him and felt like a complete asshole for taking a mile from the inch he'd been granted. Carl shuffled over to the metal chair at the side of Earl's work desk. He crossed his arms and stroked his beard, psyching himself up.
Before he could get a word out, Earl groaned and meandered over to another chair in the corner of the room, dragging it across the cement floor and setting it in front of Carl. "So, not here to work?" he asked, dropping down.
"Unfortunately, no. My dad is watching Coco for a bit, but I gotta get back." He looked up at the man. "Listen, Earl–"
Earl held his hand up. "I already know. Known for months. Been waiting for you to figure your shit out."
"My dad wants me to lead District Two. After the wedding– as soon as we get back from our honeymoon, I'll be leading the build with Ronnie and the new council members."
"Welp." Earl's eyebrows raised. "That tracks. It only took me a few days of teaching you, to know this little shop was only gonna be a pit stop."
"No. What you taught me here... I'll never forget any of it. And I'm not just talking about blacksmithing."
Earl looked away, but not before Carl saw the sheen in his eyes. "Don't get all sentimental on me now," he said, wiping at the corner of his eyes, before turning back to Carl. He stood and extended his hand. "It's been an honor."
Carl set his hand inside Earls and the man surprised him by pulling him in for a hug and slapping his back a couple of times, before letting him go.
"Got something for ya." Earl turned around and walked to the shelf where they kept finished projects. He reached into the wooden box of small sundries, but Carl didn't catch what he pulled out before he turned back to him. "Finished them this morning." Earl made his way over and handed him a tiny satin bag.
Carl dumped the contents into his palm: two simple, silver metal bands tumbled out. The one with a crust of diamonds was Priya's, he assumed. "Earl, they're beautiful."
"Now, I know Priya was specific. Nothing flashy. But I figured a few diamonds never hurt anybody. Tammy once told me diamonds are timeless."
"She's gonna love them. Thank you."
Jessie's eyes darted all over the place, she couldn't hold focus on a single thing. There was too much to take in and her mind worked overtime as it tried to associate the community she'd once known with the bustling town now before her, that looked more like the world before than anything she'd ever seen. She hadn't stepped foot into Alexandria– the Union, in at least ten years. Even the year before, during the blizzard, when the rest of her community had gone on to the Union, she'd opted to stay at the Farm and ride it out there. Now, seeing what the place had become, she felt foolish for never taking Michonne up on her unrelenting offers to come and visit.
"Ma'am? Name?"
Jessie shook herself out of her reverie and looked at the straight-faced soldier standing in front of her with a clipboard. "Yeah, sorry. Jessie Ander–" She bit her tongue before her old moniker could slide off it. Even after nearly a decade of going by her maiden name again, she still sometimes slipped up. "Jessie Metcalf."
His eyes dropped to the clipboard and he scanned a list with names scrawled on it, before lifting his walkie-talkie. "Watch One, for Michonne."
The two of them waited in awkward silence for a few moments before Michonne's voice came through over the radio. "Copy, Watch One. Go for Michonne."
"I have a visitor at the gate for you. Jessie Metcalf."
"Confirmed." Michonne's voice brightened. "On my way to escort her in. Thanks, Lt. Blane."
He stood up a little taller at the praise. "Copy, Ma'am. over and out." He motioned for a bench at their side. "Have a seat, if you'd like. And I will take her." He reached for the reins of her horse. "She'll be in the guest stables for you when you're ready to leave. Just give them your last name. And..." He tipped his hat. "Welcome to the Union."
"Thanks." Jessie walked a few steps over to the bench and took a seat. She was ever so grateful for a moment to collect herself. Though the place looked nothing like it had before, she still felt it, the presence of her sons who were laid to rest here. On the ride over, she'd gone back and forth on whether or not to visit them. That life was all but a distant memory, and though she was ashamed to admit it, her sons were too.
Jessie had pushed them so far out of the scope of her rearview that their memory was just as good as a speck, and she had no one to blame but herself. She'd run away to a place where no one had known them, out of self-preservation, at a time when the constant reminders of them threatened to be the death of her. She'd done such a fine job of blocking them out, that she no longer could picture their faces or voices. Ron and Sam were a figment of her imagination. Jessie decided at that moment that she wouldn't visit their graves. Because though she still held on to the love she had for them, they were part of a past better left untouched.
"Hey!" Jessie looked up and found Michonne jogging toward her.
She stood. "Hey!"
Michonne was quick to embrace her, once she was close enough. "Oh... I am so glad to see you."
"Sorry I'm so late, we had a council meeting and it went long."
"All good. I know you must be exhausted after that ride. I'll get you settled into your room so that you can get some rest, before the party tonight."
They walked along the endless sidewalk, passing row houses and people, who stopped Michonne to ask her about this or that; most of the questions pertained to the wedding.
Jessie stood to the side as Michonne gave answers about flowers and seating and food. It took them nearly thirty minutes to finally get to the Grimes' house.
"Sorry," Michonne said, looking back at her as she walked up the steps. "Everybody's rushing to get things done for tomorrow."
"Oh, no. It's fine."
"You'd think this was the royal wedding or something." She pushed into the house and stepped aside for Jessie to enter.
"It sort of is– of our world that is. Priya and Carl mean a lot to everyone. To have them bring this part of that world back is kind of a big deal."
When she made it into the house, she was assaulted by the pleasantly pungent smell of freshly baked cookies, which had her mouth watering. She did a quick once-over of the home, which was neat but definitely lived in: drawings and polaroids on the fridge, puzzles and games on the coffee table, dishes in the sink, shoes of all sizes lined up by the door, and book bags disregarded on the floor.
Michonne snatched up the backpacks, with a deep sigh that was only recognizable to those who were privy to the repetitive nature of mothering. "Sorry about the mess. I haven't been home all day." Craning her head toward the stairs, she yelled, "Taj! RJ! What did I tell you about leaving your backpacks in the entryway?!"
A second later, feet stampeded on the level above and then Taj and RJ came running down the steps, pushing each other as they vied for space on the staircase. "Sorry, Mom," they said, grabbing their backpacks, before they turned, and raced back up.
"Hey! Say hello to Mrs. Jessie, please. You remember her from Oceanside, right?"
The twins paused on the stairs and turned. "Oh, hello," they said in unison.
"Hi, guys. Good to see you again." She'd only briefly met them when they'd come to Oceanside to welcome their mother back from the fishing expedition, and looking at them now, she wondered how she had missed how much these two looked like Rick and Michonne. Taj, with her cascading brown bushel of curls and light brown eyes, was the spitting image of her father. But RJ had sharper features and looking at him was just the same as looking at Michonne. Jessie staved off the feeling of envy that reared its ugly head; she'd give anything to have a family again.
"You too," they replied, again in unison.
"You guys go get packed," Michonne said. "You're staying at Uncle Daryl and Connie's tonight."
"Sweet!" Taj pumped her fist in the air. "Coco too?"
"Yes. And they'll bring the three of you to the farm tomorrow because Daddy and I are going early."
"Okay," RJ said. "Bye, Mrs. Jessie." He bolted back up the stairs, leaving his sister frozen on the steps with a worried look on her face.
Michonne gave Jessie an apologetic look. "Give me a second?"
"Yeah. Of course." She turned her back to them as Michonne walked up the few steps to stand in front of Taj, but tuned her ear to the quiet conversation.
"Are you alright with making the trip to the farm without Daddy or me?" Jessie heard Michonne ask her daughter. "It's only a few miles... it's okay if you're not, I can come to get you before I leave and you can come with me. But I wanted to give you the choice since Coco will be there too."
They were quiet for a moment before she heard Taj say, sounding a little uncertain, "Okay, I'll go with Uncle Daryl."
"Alright. Go get packed."
Jessie peeked over her shoulder and saw Michonne watching her daughter walk back upstairs. She looked away again when Michonne rubbed her hand over her face, seemingly exasperated, and she only turned back around when Michonne said, "Come on, I'll show you to your room."
A party store had thrown up in the Grimes living room, or so it looked that way to Michonne, who sat in the center of the chaos at the coffee table, marveling as she watched Jessie draw an intricate design on her skin with thick red-orange paste. And Michonne wasn't sure what amazed her more, the fact that she'd let Priya convince her to wear the identical pink satin pajama short set she and her other bridesmaids also wore or that in just under twenty-four hours she'd be attending the wedding of her eldest son.
Stuck in a state of bewilderment, Michonne looked over her shoulder and stole a stare at Priya—who donned a sash with 'bride' written on it and a costume tiara veil. Priya sat on the couch beside Lucia, Imani, and Frannie chatting; each of them delicately held glasses of wine, careful not to smear the drying henna on their hands.
She hadn't been able to picture it before, what Priya as a bride would be like, but it had been fascinating to watch the woman's hard edges soften as she gushed over the details of her and Carl's special day. Every time she figured she was getting a handle on who Priya was, another layer revealed itself.
"Almost done with this hand."
Michonne turned back to Jessie and watched her swirl the tip of the ink pen over her hand. "How'd you learn how to do this?"
"A friend's grandmother. Before. I used to do a lot of weddings– hair, and then I started doing makeup too. We had a big Indian community, which meant lots of Indian weddings... it was extra money, and I had a lot of time on my hands once the boys started school..." she trailed off and her hand stilled only momentarily before she resumed her work.
Michonne reached out and gave Jessie's forearm a gentle squeeze. Every few months she'd invite Jessie over to the Union, to get away from all her responsibilities as part of the growing communities council, and honestly, she really just missed her friend. But every single time, Jessie had turned her down.
When Priya had been in search of someone who knew how to do henna, and couldn't find anyone in the Union, Michonne had asked Jessie to check with her people. She'd been surprised when Jessie not only offered to come to the Union for that but also to do hair and makeup on the wedding day. "Thanks for agreeing to come."
"I've actually been meaning to make it back here."
"Yeah?"
"Hadn't been able to work up the courage all these years. Figured me being the only one who knows how to do this, it was a sign." Jessie set the hand she was working on aside. "Done. It takes about thirty minutes to dry, so don't smear it on anything alright?"
"Got it."
Jessie took Michonne's other hand and began marking the blank canvas, but after only a few strokes of the pen, she paused her work and looked up at her. "The fishing trip looked like it helped, but I, more than anyone, know that looks can be deceiving. So, how are you? And I mean how are you, really?"
She'd been asked that question so many times, by so many different people. And coming out of others' mouths, the question had seemed obligatory, what you asked anyone who'd lost someone. Michonne couldn't explain it, but behind Jessie's eyes, she saw an understanding that hadn't been present in anyone else's, besides her family's. "Better. I'll admit, it was touch and go for a while."
Jessie smiled. "Oh, I know that place well."
"He left us these home videos. And I still watch them pretty much every day. But the other day, I watched for the first time without shedding a tear. So that's a win I guess."
"A small victory is still a victory..."
"And you? How are you?"
"I'm okay, I think. I'm... it's been so long. That life with them, it just feels like a story I tell myself sometimes. It's how it had to be. So I could keep going. But I do feel guilty for not keeping their memory alive. Especially being here." She glanced at the wall to the side, where the portrait RJ had drawn of Andre was hung between the two windows. "Seeing how you honor Andre's memory."
"You did keep their memory alive, Jessie. You're here. It means they still are too."
After they were all tattooed, the ladies—with everyone except for Michonne on their third or fourth glass of wine—sat around the living room watching Priya open her presents.
Each gift was more raunchy than the last and ranged from edible gummy lingerie Michonne was sure had to be expired by now, to actual lingerie so risque it had her cheeks heating up. She was no prude, but Carl was her son, and it felt a little strange.
She couldn't help but chuckle at the idea that these women had actually gone out and scavenged for these gifts—it brought a whole new meaning to risking it all.
She'd most definitely missed the memo on what a bachelorette party gift entailed. When the whoops and hollers faded from the gift revealed before, a sex position card game from Lucia, Michonne watched Frannie pick up the small box she recognized as the one she'd brought. Oh, how she wished Priya had opened it first, as it was sure to bring the mood down.
"Okay, this one is from Michonne." Frannie set the box in Priya's lap.
Priya shot Michonne a nervous smile, before tearing into it.
"Don't worry. It's not anything you can use on your honeymoon, but I know you still need something new for tomorrow. So..."
The ladies sat on the edges of their seats as Priya slid the lid of the box up and reached inside. She lifted the thin and gold, flat patterned, hard-edged bangle, with floral cutwork, that Michonne had gotten Earl to make.
"Goddamn," Lucia said. "That's beautiful."
Staring down at the bangle, Priya's hand went to her chest and she took in a sharp breath as she read the inner inscription silently, then aloud. "This circle is round, it does not end, not only are you my daughter-in-law but also my friend."
A round of "awe's" and "oh my god's" chorused through the room.
Priya looked up at her with tears in her eyes. "Michonne..." She stood, unfazed by the box and wrapping paper sliding off her lap, and went to her.
"Sorry to make things sappy," Michonne whispered, as they hugged.
"Don't be. I love it. It's absolutely perfect."
"And true." Michonne had been blessed with many friendships since the start, but there was something special about the relationship she and Priya shared.
They moved apart at the sound of the front door opening; Rick stepped into the house with a wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights look as all the women's gazes zeroed in on him. "Uh– excuse me, ladies. Don't mean to interrupt. I–"
"It's no problem at all," Lucia all but purred, giving him an elevator once-over.
He looked over at Michonne, nudging his head in the direction of the stairs. "Forgot my suit. Don't mind me. Could use help finding it."
Her eyebrows furrowed. She remembered handing him the garment bag with his suit in it before he'd walked out of their bedroom hours earlier. It wasn't until she saw the brown paper bag at his side, that a lightbulb went off in her head. "Oh. Right. Your suit." She hurried toward the stairs. "Keep going, ladies. I'll be back," Michonne said, jogging up the steps, with Rick right behind her. When she made it into their bedroom and heard Rick shutting the door behind them, she turned and asked, "You got it?"
He unrolled the brown bag and pulled out the HCG test kit.
Minutes later, Michonne sat on the lip of the tub as Rick, who kneeled in front of her, poked a sharp lancet point into an uninked spot on her finger. A tiny bubble of blood welled up, and with the pipette he held in the other hand, Rick suctioned the blood, then stood and went to the sink to squeeze it into the test cassette that lay flat on the counter. While she waited for him to finish adding the diluent solution to the test cassette, she blotted the blood with a tissue and covered her finger with a bandaid.
Every last pregnancy test in the world had expired by now, but with babies being born at a steadier pace than ever before, the small team of doctors at the Union had put their heads together, and Macgyvered makeshift at-home pregnancy blood test kits. Michonne had been apprehensive, but the tiny contraption they'd created had yielded faultless results for other women in the community, thus far.
"The instructions say to wait ten minutes." Rick set the timer on his stopwatch and laid it flat on the counter, before shuffling over to sit next to her.
The waiting was the hardest part, having to sort out her feelings on a clock. In her mind, she oscillated, weighing the pros and cons of each possible outcome. And one con stood out to her as more weighty than the rest: how could they bring another child into the world after they'd just buried one?
"If you are, we'll get through it," Rick said as if reading her thoughts.
"Is having a child something to get through, though?"
Rick sighed. "No... damn, we– I should have been more careful." It wasn't his fault alone, of course it wasn't. It took two, and after the dry spell that had been a result of the injuries Michonne had incurred during her fight with Alpha, coupled with the grief they'd both endured, they'd practically been in heat when the need had returned. Condoms were obsolete, they had been for a while now and they'd always been careful, but she could cop to the fact that after months of no sex, they'd been reckless. Granted, they'd only had a couple of slip-ups, but they knew better than anyone that all it took was one time. And it had been all fun and games until she'd missed her period.
They sat in silence for a while, before Rick said, apropos of nothing, "You know... when Carl was maybe three– I lost him."
She glanced over at him, the look on his face was one of sheer shame. "What?"
"Yeah. For a little while too. I took him to a Braves game. And I set him down for a second to grab our hotdogs and he was just gone. I lost my mind trying to find him. Took me at least fifteen minutes. I was this close to alerting security."
"Where'd you find him?"
"Something told me to double back to our seats. And there he was, just sitting there watching the game like it was nothing. I know he doesn't remember, but it was the scariest fifteen minutes of my life."
Michonne covered her mouth, trying to hide her laughter as she pictured Rick frantically running through the baseball stadium juggling hotdogs in his hands. "I'm sorry," she said when a snort escaped. "I don't mean to laugh, but..."
"Never told anyone that?"
"Not even Lori?"
"You kidding me?" He chuckled. "Hell no. She wouldn't have let me take him anywhere else after that."
"Good point."
"And now that I've thoroughly embarrassed myself, it's your turn. Tell me something you did, that no one knows– or knew about you."
Michonne swiveled to face him, propping her leg up on the tub. "Hmm... okay. So, after my father died during my junior year, remember how I was telling you that my mother went back to Uganda and I convinced her to let me stay here with a friend and her family?"
"Yeah."
"Well, there were a few months before our house sold, that I still had a key to it."
"Oh god, I have a sneaking suspicion where this is headed."
"When my friend's parents went to sleep, we'd sneak out and ride our bikes over to my house to meet boys in the middle of the night. I won't go into details, but I'm pretty sure you can guess what we got into."
"And they never found out?"
"Never."
One of his eyebrows lifted. "You know what worries me about that story? You always say Taj is a carbon copy of who you were when you were younger."
"Yeah. We should probably lock her bike up at night, just in case."
They both laughed.
"And I guess it's a blessing in disguise that out there is the last place she wants to be," Michonne said when they sobered. "Oh. I forgot to mention, she agreed to go with Daryl and Connie tomorrow."
"Good. At least she's trying, now."
"Yeah. You know, in the back of my mind, I always think about the prison and when we had to leave Alexandria. What we've built, I'm confident we won't lose it, but I've felt like that before. If she ever ends up out there, I want her to be able to survive." With or without us, Michonne thought. She'd never admit it to Rick, because she knew he still held onto the guilt, but her fear was based on the fact that she couldn't stomach the thought of Taj ending up like Sophia.
"She'll get there. Just like her brothers did."
And just like that, all the lighthearted air was sucked out of the room. As they'd been finding their way to a place of peace, they were still learning how to allow Andre's memory to dwell there too. Along with Taj and RJ, Rick and Michonne had a standing therapy session with Dr. Okemi, as a couple and separately. She challenged them not to shy away from speaking about their son to each other, even in moments when it hurt to utter his name. "Do you still think about him... Andre?" she asked.
"All the time," he drawled. "I see his face first thing when I wake. Every single day. And I think about the farm a lot now, trying to remember moments I missed before I knew what he'd mean to me."
Therapy had opened her eyes to Rick's grief. When everything had happened, she'd been so clouded by her own loss, that she hadn't stopped enough to check on her husband. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."
"That's not how I see it."
"I made it about me– he was yours too. I know you loved him just as much as I did."
"He was, and I did. But I made it about you too. It's what I needed. Focusing on being there for you, that helped me get through."
The timer beeping drew their attention. Rick blew out a breath and stood, going over to the counter. He leaned down and squinted at the test strip, staring at it for a long moment.
Michonne white-knuckled the edge of the tub, her body tense as she waited.
"It's one line."
Michonne's fingers relaxed. "Oh, thank god." She had pushed her true feelings for the outcome of the test down deep because if she was indeed pregnant, she didn't want a single speck of resentment toward their child. And truthfully, she couldn't see herself having another baby. Even though they were in a better place than the first time, on all fronts, her first pregnancy had left her with a lot of residual trauma. And with the odds now stacked against them, she couldn't chance it. But looking at Rick's face, she wondered if they weren't of the same mind. "Are you disappointed?"
He sidled back over to sit next to her and stared at the ground for a moment. It wasn't until he looked up at her with a slight smile that she relaxed again. "No. It feels like our family is complete already. It has felt like that for a while. But you have to admit, we make really cute babies."
"We do." She laughed and raised a pointed eyebrow. "But, if we can help it, let's do what we can to not make any more."
Rick's cheeks shaded. He let his head drop and peeked over at her, out of the corner of his eye. "Understood... so you think it was just stress, then? Why you missed your period."
"Yeah, most likely. But I'll go see Jada after the wedding to make sure everything's okay." Michonne patted his back and rose. "I better get back down there." She walked toward the door, and when she heard no movement behind her, turned around and saw Rick looking her up and down. His eyes lingered on her barely covered behind. "What?"
"I like that," he said in a low voice, before biting on his bottom lip. "You look good."
She made her way back over to him to drop a quick kiss on the lips of his tilted-up face. "I'll wear it again for you sometime."
Rick ran his hand up the side of her bare legs and rested them on her hips, and when she moved to walk back to the door he grabbed her arm bringing her in for another, deeper kiss.
This is exactly how we got here, she thought, amused. "Come on."
He grumbled, but stood, allowing her to pull him out of the bathroom, through their bedroom, and down the stairs.
When they descended, they found the ladies still in the middle of the gift-giving portion of the party, the rip-roaring mood was back again as Frannie comically demonstrated a position—bent over with her ass in the air—on the sex pillow she'd gotten Priya. "Oh, shit." Frannie scrambled off the pillow when she saw them approaching.
Rick just shook his head, averting his eyes, and ignoring the foolishness. "See y'all." He waved, before turning back to press another kiss to Michonne's lips and pulling her into his arms. "Goodnight," he whispered. "Love you."
"Love you too." She watched him walk out of the door, before turning back to the women. "You guys are something else," she said with a laugh, walking back to the coffee table to pour her first glass of wine of the night; she was definitely gonna need it, to last through the rest of the party with these ladies.
"No disrespect Michonne," Lucia said from behind her glass, her words slurred slightly. "But that right there is a sexy man. Muy caliente."
Michonne almost did a spit take, managing to cover her mouth before the wine she'd just sipped could escape. She heard an "mm-hmm" and a "yeah, girl".
Priya shook her head and shot Michonne a look that was half apologetic and half embarrassed. But Michonne waved Priya's displeasure off. She wasn't naive to the stares Rick got from some of the women in the community. Hell, she couldn't blame 'em, her husband had aged like fine wine.
"Ugh." Frannie flung her head onto the ledge of the couch, the back of her hand going to her forehead as if she were a character from a harlequin romance. "My kingdom for a Rick Grimes of my own."
The women, including Michonne, burst into a fit of laughter at the drama of it all.
Imani reached her hand out to slap fives with Frannie. "I heard that. Can't wait to see his fine ass in a tux tomorrow."
"Oh my goodness." Priya stood and took Frannie and Imani's glasses. "I'm cutting both of you off."
"Hey!" Frannie sat up, her head tilted to the side like a scorned puppy.
Michonne took another sip from her glass and settled back into her seat, thoroughly enjoying the show. And she could not lie, picturing what her husband would look like in the jet-black tux all the groomsmen were wearing, made her heart skip a beat.
Glenn poured Carl a one-fourth glass tumbler of whisky. "Let's see if you can handle something a little stronger, aye."
Carl stared at the tan liquid and mentally prepared himself. He'd never been much of a drinker; had his first sip of wine at ten and it'd been so gross he hadn't touched alcohol again until Priya came into his life. Her love for a glass of fine wine and the occasional spirit had made him wanna try again. And now, he didn't mind a glass of wine with dinner, but whisky... oh, he didn't fuck with whisky. But then again, it was his bachelor party, so what the hell.
He took a sip, the liquid burning on its way down his throat. "It's good," he croaked, through a cough, looking at the amused faces around the table in the dimly lit basement.
"You ain't gotta lie," Daryl said, cracking a smile all the while puffing out a cloud of smoke from the cigarette between his lips, as he shuffled a deck of cards before dealing them out to the group of men—his dad, Glenn, Ronnie, Spencer, and Jerry—who were also his groomsmen. He'd invited Earl too, but the older man had taken a hard pass.
"Yeah, it tastes like crap."
His dad took the tumbler from his hand and took a sip, not batting an eye, then handed over an unmarked bottle of the homemade ale Daryl had only perfected just recently. "Stick to what you know, Son."
"Alright." He chugged the beer, trying to extinguish the taste still stuck in the back of his throat.
"So," Ronnie said, slapping Carl's shoulder. "You ready to get hitched, or what?" he asked.
Carl glanced over at the large, bald, Italian man who barely fit in the folding chair. "Yeah. Think so."
"Yous guys got any advice for the kid." Ronnie took in a pull of nicotine, from his cigar, and tilted his head toward the ceiling when he puffed it out.
"Don't eat the last of... anything. Especially if she's pregnant," said Glenn, whose wife had just recently given birth to their second child. Carl put that one away in the back catalog of his brain, the pregnancy part that is; he and Priya had their hands full with Socorro, and he couldn't picture bringing another kid into the picture just yet.
"Mm-hm," his dad, Jerry, and Spencer murmured in agreement.
His dad cut a sideways glance at him, with a serious look. "And do whatever you have to, to keep stocked in toothpaste."
Carl nodded but he had a feeling that his mom's fastidious attention to her dental routine was specific to only her.
"We gon' keep gabbin' or we gon' play?" Daryl groused.
"You don't got no advice for the kid?" Ronnie shot back.
"Why you askin' me? Shit, I ain't married..." The guys exchanged looks, seemingly scoping out whether or not the others felt brave enough to call bullshit. Daryl and Connie had met when she'd joined the Acquisition crew. They'd kept their relationship low-key, and when Connie and her sister had moved into the rowhouse Daryl shared with Aaron—with rumors milling that Connie slept in Daryl's room—everyone had begun to talk. The two still hadn't made any announcements or anything, but it was Daryl, so Carl didn't expect that would ever come. Still, he was happy for the man.
"I will say, though," Daryl said with a serious face. "A lady don't appreciate when your dog sleeps in the bed with y'all."
"Noted," he said, even though the advice was definitely not applicable.
Michonne looked through the windowless mirror of the wagon she sat in and her jaw almost hit the floor when it chugged through the tall gates of the seven-acre Union Farm, Animals roamed in their own sectioned-off enclosures on one side of the acreage, and on the other, a field of white tulips, grown just for this day, sprouted up on either side of six hundred chairs arranged in rows bisected by a strip of flat grass running down the middle to make an aisle. And at the end of the aisle, there was an arch that teemed with flowers of the same kind, built in front of an imposing oak tree.
She stepped out of the wagon alongside Priya and the other women, all of them in utter awe at what they saw. The sight was ethereal, it seemed too pure and perfect for this world.
"Don't start," she heard Frannie say. "You're gonna get me going."
Michonne turned around and saw Priya standing there, wonderstruck, with tears welling up in her eyes. She stepped in front of her, pulled out the handkerchief her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Smith, had made her, and patted the corner of Priya's eyes. "Are you good?"
"Yeah. Just... I didn't know what to expect. This is... beyond."
"And you haven't even seen the reception space yet." They both looked behind, at where a white tent the length of half a football field was situated.
"Oh. That must be where Yael is. Will you go check with her– make sure everything's good? She wanted me to come see her when we arrived, but with all due respect, I can not with that woman today."
"I got it. Go with Jessie and get your hair and makeup done. And don't worry about anything."
"Thank you."
Michonne handed her garment bag to Jessie. "Will you hang this up for me?"
"Of course."
When the women departed toward the twenty-five-room barn-turned-condominium that housed the farm workers and their families, Michonne made her way over to the tent.
Pushing the plastic curtain aside, she stepped in; her eyes darted up to the greenery snaking the panes of the tent's glass ceiling, then over to the mile-long row of round tables each adorned with tall and ornate draping centerpieces. Finally, her eyes landed on a massive vinyl dance floor at the back of the tent, with a stage positioned before it.
"Oy Vey! There you are!" The tiny woman—whose glasses were perpetually resting on the bridge of her nose—carrying a clipboard in her hand, fast-walked toward Michonne. "Please tell me the bride is with you?"
"Hi, Yael," Michonne said. "And yes, she's getting ready."
She stopped in front of Michonne, propped her hands on her hips, and looked up at Michonne over the rim of her frames. "Why are you girls late?"
"We ran into some walkers on the road."
"What?!" Yael threw her hands in the air. "Am I the only one following the plan here?" She lifted the walkie-talkie from the utility belt around her waist—which was impressively stocked with a sewing kit, tissues, scissors, and anything you might or might not need on a wedding day. "Glenn's crew was supposed to clear that."
"Relax." Michonne placed her hand over the walkie-talkie, lowering it, just before Yael could press the transmitter to rip Glenn a new one. "It was just stragglers. Glenn and his crew did their thing this morning. Don't worry. We're good there."
"Fine, fine." She looked down at her clipboard. "What's Carl's ETA? I can't get a hold of him."
"Rick radioed. They leave in an hour. They will be on time. I promise."
"Fine, fine."
"It looks incredible in here." There were at least twenty people working in the room: setting tables, tuning instruments, fixing centerpieces, and such. She was confident that under the watchful eye of Yael, every 't' would be crossed and every 'i' dotted. "Anything I can help with?"
"No. You go. Get ready. We're behind schedule enough as is. Don't need the matron of honor holding the show up," she said pointedly.
"You sure?"
Yael motioned for her to go away. "Shoo."
Michonne held her hands up as she retreated. "Yes ma'am." She stopped and put her hands together, bowing slightly. "And thank you. What you're doing for our family, it means everything to us."
Yael breathed out a heavy sigh. "I– I never thought I'd get to do this all again." Her eyes filled with water—Michonne figured there'd be a lot of tears today—and she slid her fingers underneath her glasses, swiping at her wet lids before pushing her spectacles up at the center. "I just want to make it nice for them," she said. Her typically loud voice was soft and quiet.
Michonne could surmise where the tears were coming from. Before the world ended, Yael had been the Social Secretary at the White House, planning parties and state dinners for five administrations. And before that, she'd been one of the most sought-after event planners in New York City, specializing in Bar Mitzvahs and Jewish weddings. In the world before, they probably wouldn't have been able to afford her, and after seeing what she'd made happen in just a few short months, Michonne understood why.
She rushed over to the woman and pulled her in for a hug. "They're gonna love it, Yael."
Yael was still for a moment, before closing her arms around Michonne."Fine, fine. That's enough." Yael wiggled out of her embrace and looked over Michonne's shoulder. "Eugene! No, no, no!"
Michonne glanced back at where Eugene was hanging black curtains along the tent wall.
Yael fast walked in his direction, her arms flailing. "Those curtains don't go. Can't you see?! The colors are white and gold. We've been over this."
"These here curtains are soundproof regulation so unless you want a herd of the undead descending upon the gates of this place tonight while party guests are trying to get jiggy with it on the dance floor then I suggest you let me continue my work."
"They will not do. Figure something else out."
Yeah, no, not getting involved in that one, Michonne thought, sneaking off.
Priya's bridesmaids were piled into a tiny vacant condo, each woman in their own corner, fixing their hair and faces. It was the first time since the start that Michonne and most others had worn anything but chapstick on their faces.
Michonne had never been one to overdo it. Her mother had always told her that makeup was to enhance, not hide, and she hadn't allowed her to wear any until she was a sophomore in high school. It felt odd to don the paint once again; her hand shook a little as she slid the matte lipstick over her mouth and she wasn't sure why.
It was only when she sat staring at herself as she worked her locks up into a neatly coiffed bun atop her head, that she realized her nerves were not rooted in the beauty enhancers themselves, but what they represented.
Michonne had long since compartmentalized her two selves; she was pretty much the antithesis of the woman she'd been before. But staring at herself all done up, it was as if the two iterations were finally meeting. She wondered whether her old self looked back at her with disappointment, pity, or pride. Everything she'd promised herself she would never do she'd done in this world—get married, change her last name, have more than one child, and the list went on and on. Before the start, she'd believed that she couldn't be the best lawyer if she was focused on being a wife and mother too. But, Michonne didn't regret any of the choices she'd made and realized that she'd been limiting herself, because never once had she felt like she was giving up any part of who she was in order to be a mother, wife, and leader. Who she was now, it felt like, was who she had always been meant to be.
"Oh my gaaaaawd! Michonne!" She turned at the sound of Lucia's voice. "Girl, you look bangin'"
"Thanks, Lucia. You look stunning yourself." She glanced over at Frannie and Imani, who'd just finished up too, they all wore the same canary yellow sarees as her. "You all do."
"Mom!" Michonne whipped around and found Taj running through the open door, holding hands with Coco. They wore identical dresses—a tulle, princess skirt, with a lace bodice—and their hair was arranged into a milkmaid braid, courtesy of Connie. She stood and took both of their hands, twirling them around. "Oh, girls, you two are so beautiful."
"We would be even more beautiful if you let us wear some makeup," Taj said.
Michonne bent down and pinched her daughter's chin. "Nice try."
Taj folded her arms and huffed. "Chapstick is so basic."
"Your face isn't basic, though," she retorted. "You don't need anything else."
"Alright," Taj said begrudgingly. "You look pretty too, Mom."
"Yeah," Coco agreed. "You look like a princess, Michonne."
"Thank you, girls. How was the ride up?"
"She did so good, Michonne." Coco slid her arm around Taj's shoulder. "Had her eyes open and everything. And only squeezed my hand once."
Her daughter's cheeks shaded a bit, at the compliment.
"I'm so proud of you, baby girl."
Coco looked around the room. "Where's my Mama Priya?"
"Getting ready next door." Michonne held her hand out. "I'll take you to her."
Rick draped Carl's tux jacket onto his son's shoulders and smoothed his hands across the fabric. It seemed like just the other day he was teaching Carl how to ride a bike. From that moment to this one a whole hell of a lot had happened. So much of it had made Carl the person he was today and if Rick did say so himself, he was looking at one hell of a man.
"Help me with the bowtie?" Carl asked.
Rick stepped in between Carl and the mirror. "I'll give it a try." He smiled up at his son. "It's been a while... before and after." His own bowtie hung flatley around his neck; he hadn't quite worked up to trying to tie it yet.
"Yeah. You've never been much of a suit-and-tie guy... you look great, though, Dad."
"Back at you." His eyebrows knit as he focused intently on working the rigid material in his hands into something resembling a bow tie.
"You ever thought about doing it?" Carl asked.
"Doing what?" he replied, absently.
"Having a wedding– you and Mom."
Rick was too focused on the task at hand to look at his son's face, but the corner of his mouth hitched up in a sideways smile. "I think we're about ten years too late for that, don't you think?"
"I don't know. I mean ten years is a milestone. You could renew your vows."
Rick looked up at Carl. "That something people do?"
"Yeah. Or did. Before. But since we're bringing things back, I don't see why you couldn't do it."
He thought for a moment, flashes of Michonne in a white dress walking toward him had his heart palpitating, but he quickly shook the thought away. He couldn't see Michonne, or himself for that matter, wanting to go through the whole rigmarole of planning a wedding. "Your mom and I aren't ones to stand on ceremony."
"Doesn't have to be as big as this."
"How about we focus on getting you down that aisle first, huh?"
"Fair enough."
The door burst open, just as Rick was pulling the loops together to make the bow. Not so bad, he thought.
Yael scurried into the room. "Oh, don't you two look so handsome." She walked over to stand in between the two of them, patting Rick's cheek and then Carl's. She grimaced when she laid eyes on his son's tie. "But this will not do." She pressed her clipboard into Rick's chest, before undoing his work. "Who did this?"
Carl had himself a good chuckle, as Rick slunk away.
The members of a string quartet, led by Luke, plucked at their instruments as Carl walked beside his dad down the lengthy aisle, with his groomsmen trailing in a line behind them. The magnitude of this day, to not just Carl, but everyone in attendance wasn't lost on him and as he looked over the many misty-eyed faces of the over six hundred, seated on either side of him, he gave as many as he could a smile, silently thanking them for being a part of their special day.
They made it to the end of the aisle, to stand next to Gabriel, who wore the clergy uniform he had lived in since they'd met him.
Carl shifted his weight when the string quartet transitioned to "Canon D", signaling the beginning of the processional. A wide smile split his face when Taj and RJ came through the doors of the condominium and walked the short distance to the aisle.
Taj strutted down beside RJ, who walked stiffly, clutching the pillow with the rings atop it, and looking like a deer in headlights. His little sister, on the other hand, multitasked between dropping flowers and waving at everyone she knew. Halfway down, she stepped in front of RJ and stole the spotlight. Carl looked at his dad, who was shaking his head slightly and holding back a burst of laughter. When she reached the end of the aisle, Taj blew a kiss to Carl and their dad, before she and RJ went to sit beside Daryl, Connie, and Kelly. Daryl gave them both a high five as they hopped into their seats.
Carl turned back to the aisle just as the bridesmaids were walking down. He knew his mother was among them, but he couldn't see her yet. It was only when Lucia, Frannie, and Imani passed him by that she came into view.
"Wow," he heard his dad mutter.
Carl could attest to that sentiment. He'd always thought of his mother as beautiful, but today, she was beauty personified. His mom's eyes connected with his and she gave him a smile and a wink before her gaze panned over to his dad.
Carl glanced at him too and found his dad all but drooling at the sight of her. He wondered, offhandedly, if he'd be just as taken with Priya after they'd been together as long as his parents had.
"Mom looks amazing, huh?" Carl whispered to him.
His dad cleared his throat. "Yeah," was all he could say, mesmerized and unable to take his eyes off her.
Carl's gaze bounced between the two of them, but he finally looked away, a bit uncomfortable, when the two of them started making eyes at each other as his mom went to stand on the other side of Gabriel—she was first in the lineup of bridesmaids.
The music faded out, the air went silent, and the birds singing their own song were all that could be heard for a moment. Everyone seemed to sit up straighter, in preparation for the main event. "Please rise for the bride," Gabriel called out.
This is it, he thought. Standing up straighter, Carl adjusted the lapels of his suit when the striking first note of the "Wedding March" blared.
Carl looked at the ground, he didn't want to see her until she was standing right in front of him, at the top of that aisle.
Only a few moments passed before he sensed Priya's presence, and when he looked up, their eyes locked. Like an angel, she stood there in a white bridal saree, her heavy-looking veil was draped on her head and waterfalled down to the ground as if it were her halo. Everything she wore was drenched in specks of gold that the sun made glimmer. On the center of her forehead was a red dot, which Carl remembered Priya explaining to him was a bindi; Indian brides wore it on their wedding day for good fortune.
Soaking up the image of her, he had to revise his initial thought; she wasn't an angel... she was a goddess. He'd never seen anything so breathtaking.
Priya prompted his gaze down when she looked at their daughter, who stood beside her holding Priya's henna-inked hand. At the sight of his sweet girl the dam broke.
Water trickled down Carl's face as he watched his girls walk toward him.
Only a few minutes later, Carl and Priya stood hand-in-hand, before Gabriel. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Marriage is a sacred and joyous covenant, which should be entered into soberly. Husband and wife should give each other companionship, comfort, and support in times of prosperity as well as in times of adversity. Marriage has been esteemed through the ages for the stability and happiness it brings to the individual, the family, and the community. Therefore, the uniting of two individuals to establish a new family is an important and memorable event. The bride and groom have asked that we begin the ceremony by honoring not only their loved ones who could not be here but those of everyone in attendance today." Gabriel looked down at the piece of paper atop his Bible and cleared his throat. "Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer writes...
At the rising sun and at its going down; We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter; We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring; We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer; We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of the autumn; We remember them."
Gabriel read it like a prayer and as the words flowed through him, faces flashed in Carl's mind, of all those who would have found joy in this moment. All those who had gotten him to that day. He closed his eyes and thanked them silently, then he looked over at Priya, and when he saw her eyes closed too, he knew she was doing the same.
"At the beginning of the year and when it ends; We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make; We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share; We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs; We remember them.
For as long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as we remember them."
Gabriel folded the piece of paper, his face solemn. "What a beautiful and sobering reminder, on such a joyous occasion. That all the ones who have departed, are still with us on a day like today."
Carl glanced to the side, at his mom, who was wiping the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief, and then at his father on the other side, whose head was bowed.
Priya tightened her fingers around his and he squeezed hers back and didn't let go, not even through the tearful exchange of vows and rings. It was only when Gabriel said the words he'd been waiting all day to hear, "You may now kiss the bride," that Carl let go of his wife's hand, but only to place it on the sides of her face.
The sun was long gone, fancy plated roasted pork and potatoes had been passed, long-winded speeches had been spoken, the cake was cut, and now the party was in full swing. Michonne had hit her quotient of tears for the rest of the year, when Carl had pulled her onto the dance floor for the mother-son dance and when Rick offered to step in for Priya's father for the father-daughter.
Now, Luke and his band jammed out on stage and Michonne was proud of herself for not batting a single eye at the music blaring through the sound system as she danced with RJ to Micheal Jackson's greatest hit. Every so often, she'd look over her shoulder at Rick, who had Coco and Taj in stitches at his goofy dance moves.
The song ended and when the high-tempo beat faded into a slow ballad that Michonne hadn't heard in ages, but recognized as "Come Away with Me", the dance floor emptied, with only couples remaining.
Michonne walked hand in hand with RJ, back to their table. "Mom, I gotta go to the bathroom," he said, doing a little dance.
"Okay. I'll walk with you." They did an about-face and moved toward the front of the tent and just as they were about to walk out, a hand grabbed Michonne's arm. She turned and found Rick there. "Where you going?"
She pointed at RJ. "Bathroom."
Rick bent down, so he was at eye level with their son. "Go find Uncle Glenn or Uncle Daryl and ask one of them to take you, okay? And don't go by yourself. I don't want you getting lost."
RJ nodded and ran past Rick.
"I don't mind taking him." She searched the tent. "Where are the girls?"
He took her hand and steered her toward the dance floor. "Getting a piece of cake and then having a seat, if they do as I asked–"
"Doubtful."
"So I can steal a dance with you." They reached the center of the dance floor and Rick swept an arm around her middle and offered the other hand for hers to rest in.
"Oh?" Michonne set one hand inside his and the other on his shoulder.
"Yeah."
They swayed in silence listening to Nora Jones' soulful, soft alto voice, and stared into each other's eyes. It shook her, thinking that despite all the ways Rick had held her, in this way it was the first time. They'd experienced so much life together but still had a lot of catching up to do when it came to the simple things. "Today was perfect," she whispered.
"It was. I couldn't picture it. A wedding, in this. But now... I can see so much more."
"Yeah?" She pulled back, a little. "Like what?"
He looked up at the ceiling, as he pondered, then dragged his eyes back down to her. "Taj, RJ, and Coco going to college and getting married. More weddings. Celebrating holidays again," he rattled off. "I see RJ all grown up with his own art store or gallery or teaching. And Taj... well there's no telling."
Michonne laughed.
"But whatever she ends up being or doing... she'll be great at it."
"Agreed... and us? What do you see for us?"
"Well, I– I've thought a lot about that."
"Have you?"
He nodded. "As the Union gets bigger, we're gonna need to restore order again. Create the infrastructure for a proper justice system... we're gonna need lawyers again."
"Hmm... and we're gonna need people to enforce the law."
"Mmm-hmm... but that's not all I see." He brought his lips close to her ears, his breath tickling her skin when he said, "And in our near future, I also see a lot more getaways to Oceanside, just the two of us."
Oh yeah, she could get all the way on board with that.
The party lasted into the wee hours of the night, with no one wanting it to end. It wasn't until around three the next morning that the wagons and horses carrying party guests began heading back to the Union, though Rick and Michonne stayed the night at the farm, so they could see Carl and Priya off to their honeymoon in the morning.
"Mom, wake up! Wake up!"
Michonne startled out of her sleep, shooting up even before her eyes were open, at the sound of her daughter's frantic voice. "What is it? What's wrong?" Her lids peeled open and her eyes landed on Taj who was on one side of the bed.
"Nothing," RJ said flatly from the other side. He fit his sister with an annoyed look. "Why do you have to be so dramatic? You know she has PTD."
"It's PTSD. And she was dead to the world. I had to do something." Taj turned back to Michonne. "We've been trying to wake you up for five minutes."
"That, she's not being dramatic about," RJ said, his face scrunching up in a look of concern. "You alright? You usually wake at the drop of a feather."
"Oh. Sorry." Michonne wiped her hand over her face and dropped her forearms back onto her pillow. "I'm fine..." Clearly, the one shot she'd had the night before had been one too many and though she wasn't hung over, she might have been a little tipsy. "Just tired."
She and Rick had promised the kids they'd take them horseback riding after they saw Carl and Priya off to their honeymoon. Michonne looked over at the clock, hoping it wasn't a reasonable hour, so she could tell her kids to give her more time to sleep. 10:30. No such luck. "Give me twenty minutes to get ready."
Taj and RJ hopped off of the bed. "And wear your burgundy long-sleeve shirt," Taj said, as they ran toward the door.
Michonne dropped her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Five more minutes.
"Clocks ticking Mom!" RJ sing-songed, before slamming the door shut.
"Ugh." She threw back the covers and stumbled out of the bed.
When Michonne walked down to the lower level of the condominium, brighter-eyed and markedly less drowsy after her shower, she found her kids snickering at each other as they stared out of the front window.
She tiptoed toward them and tapped on their shoulders.
"Shit," Taj said, when she and her brother, startled by Michonne, jumped. "I mean–" she slapped her hand over her mouth.
"Oooh." RJ's eyes went wide and he pointed at his sister. "Get her, Mom."
Michonne placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head down at Taj, who shrugged and gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. It just slipped out."
Michonne's hands fell away from her waist. She, Rick, Carl, and Priya did their best to watch their tongues around their young ones, but apparently, they weren't doing a good enough job. "I'll let it slide, this time."
Taj and RJ looked over their shoulders, at the window.
"What are you two looking at?" Michonne stepped around the twins and went to look through it. When she saw what was outside, she whipped her head back at the kids. "What's going on?"
In Lieu of an answer, they both took one of her hands and steered her out the front door and toward the field of flowers where her closest friends and family—people like Glenn and Jada, Daryl and Connie, Jessie, and even Carl and Priya—sat in the first two rows of the chairs left out from the ceremony the day before.
Everyone was dressed down in their normal everyday wear. And as Taj and RJ escorted her toward their father, and she began to realize what was going on, she was all the more thankful she'd followed her daughter's orders and had worn her nicest shirt. Rick stood in his khaki button-down and jeans, in front of the flower arch next to Gabriel and Luke, who played "At Last" on his acoustic guitar; her favorite song. She remembered telling Rick that one night when they were laying in bed.
The music tapered off and her kids disappeared when she reached Rick. He gave her a sweet smile, took her hand, and guided her to stand in front of Gabriel, who waited patiently, with an amused smile on his face.
She cut her eyes sideways, to look at her husband. "Rick. What is–"
"I once told you that I wanted it all with you…" he leaned over and whispered. "I meant that. I want us to have a moment, to look back and mark our commitment to each other... you up for it?"
Was she up for it? This was quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. She nodded, unable to speak, and they both turned back to Gabriel.
"Rick and Michonne... the two of you have shared in the delights, blessings, and yes, the challenges of married life for ten years. And today you wish to reconfirm your commitment to working together to make your marriage grow and blossom in the years to come. May this ceremony, renewing the commitment you made as husband and wife, remind you that despite the trials inevitable in every life, your love, respect, trust, and understanding of each other will continue to increase your contentment and heighten your joy in living... please face one another and join hands."
Michonne turned and placed her hands over Ricks.
"Rick has informed me that he's prepared vows that he'd like to share... take it away."
Rick took a deep breath and dropped his gaze to the grass, his thumbs sweeping over the upside of her hand, as he gathered himself. When he finally looked up, there was a slight sheen to his eyes. "Michonne, you're my best friend. You were, even before you were my love. You gave me RJ, Taj… and Andre. And you still had room in your heart to love Carl, just as if he were your own. The things we've done, tough and heartbreaking at times, I don't know that I could have done them without you. You are the biggest part of what has made me who I am today," his voice went low and she could tell he was trying with all he had to keep it together. "You are... the love of my life and the single greatest thing that's ever happened to me." He lifted her hands and placed a kiss on each one.
"Michonne," Gabriel said. "Would you like to–"
"Yeah," she replied, without looking away from Rick's face. Michonne had nothing prepared and in that moment, she let the words flow from a place deep within the wellsprings of her heart. Even she, herself, wasn't sure of what was coming out of her mouth until the words were uttered. "We were strangers that day in that house. Strangers who would have just passed each other on the street before the start. Andre and I were in trouble. I was lost and afraid and I couldn't see a safe path out of the darkness. You put yourself in danger when it would have been easier to just pass us by. Because that's the kind of man you are. You are the best person I've ever known, Rick. And you chose to be there for us that day a long time ago. That was the decision that changed everything. You did this." She sniffed and wiped at her wet cheeks, before stepping toward him to clean his wet face too. Standing so close to Rick, he was all she could see; everyone else in their vicinity was a blur. "We've been through so much," she whispered, the rest was only for him. "So much love and joy and loss. And I don't know what our future holds, but with you right next to me, I know whatever we have to do to get there, it'll all be worth it. Thank you for being a safe place for the kids and me to land every time. I love you, Rick."
A fresh tear slid down his cheek and before she could wipe it away, he took a step toward her, closing the space between them with his lips.
The moon lit the night's blue-black lake, the water glowing a reflection from its shine. "God, it's so beautiful out there," Priya said, resting against Carl's chest, where they lay naked and only covered by a thin sheet in the center of the bed as they stared out of the one-room lake house's open door.
They'd been planning to go to Oceanside for their honeymoon trip, but Rick and Michonne had surprised them with a map and keys before they'd departed from the Farm. The lake house belonged to the Wayfairs, an older couple who'd retreated to it from New York at the start. They'd lasted six years, fishing and hunting to get by. The house was so tucked away that no one knew to look, and walkers had no reason to venture off this far, without any prospects for food.
It had been Michonne, who remembering their story from intake had asked them to lend the house to Carl and Priya. Glenn and Daryl had come through only days before to check it out and make sure no one had made it theirs and walkers still avoided the place.
When she and Carl had arrived six days prior, they'd found it in perfect condition. "Will you teach me how to fish tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yeah, of course." Carl laughed. "We should probably leave this house at least a little while we're here."
Out of the six days that they'd been there, they'd only spent one day in the water, too caught up in their newlywed love bubble to leave the comfort of the bed. But it wasn't just for the sake of sex, they'd also put a dent in future planning too, opening up to each other about what they wanted for their newly minted family. "We have to bring Coco when she's old enough to be out here."
"She would love this. Ever since I told her stories about the fishing trips with Deacon and Dad, she's been begging me to teach her. It's the perfect place to learn. "
Priya leaned her head on his shoulder and tilted her face up, so Carl could see it when she said, "You're such a good father."
He blushed. "I'm just following your lead. To be honest, when we first got her, I was terrified."
"Really? I couldn't tell."
"Yeah, because I tried to play it off because you were..." he trailed off, giving her a shy smile.
"Go ahead, you can say it."
"Losing your shit."
"Okay, easy," she said with a laugh, holding her hands up. "I feel like I had a normal level of anxiety at the prospect of becoming a mother pretty much overnight," she defended.
"You did. And as soon as I saw what a great mom you were, it gave me confidence that I could be a good dad." Carl's relationship with Coco had blossomed quicker and there had been moments here and there when Priya felt a spot of jealousy at the way their daughter had taken to him so easily. It had only taken Coco a couple of months to start calling him Daddy Carl. And while Priya had waited to be given that special title of 'mom', she'd tried to be patient and not take offense to still being called and referred to by her first name. And then one day, at Coco's parent-teacher meeting, she'd introduced her teacher to them by saying, "This is my Daddy Carl..." and when she'd looked over at Priya, she could see her make the conscious decision to say, "And this is my Mama Priya." She'd tried her best to hold it together, but right there, sitting at the too-tiny wooden desk in her daughter's classroom, she'd shed a couple of tears. She was amazed at how easy it had been to fall in love with Coco and couldn't wait to open her heart to another child...
"I have something for you." Priya slid off of the bed. She took the covers with her, leaving Carl on display on the mattress, as she rifled through her travel bag for the tiny box she'd wrapped the day before they left. "Here."
"I thought we weren't exchanging gifts for the wedding."
Priya settled onto her knees next to Carl. "I figured this was a worthy exception. Open it."
Carl carefully ripped at the wrapping paper, then stopped abruptly. "I feel bad for not getting you anything."
"Just open it, my love," she said, the anticipation killing her.
Carl went back to the box, ripping through the rest of the paper, until he held in his hand a cardboard box. Carefully, he lifted the lid and reached inside, pulling out a small piece of rolled fabric. "What is this?" he mused, unrolling it.
She couldn't see his face, the unraveled onesie he held up blocked her view, but chill bumps raised up on her arms when she heard him gasp as he read what was printed on the front: can't wait to meet you Daddy.
He dropped the onesie and at the gobsmacked look on his face, it was all she could do to hold her laughter.
"You're pregnant?!"
"I am!"
"We're having a baby!" he exclaimed, pumping his fists in the air.
Priya woke in the middle of the night, at Carl's side of the bed dipping. She looked back, squinting through the darkness and her crusted eyes, at her husband, who was sliding his boots on. They'd spent the night celebrating the news and though the sun was quickly making its ascent just outside their door, they'd only just fallen asleep. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," he murmured, before kissing the nape of her neck. "I'll be right back."
She snuggled onto her pillow as Carl slid the patio door open and stepped outside. It wasn't long before she faded back to sleep.
Priya wasn't sure how long she'd been out, when she woke again, to the coldness of nobody beside her and the chilly morning air flowing through the cracked open patio door. She rolled back over to Carl's side and found it empty. "Carl?" she called, sitting up to look around the open space; the kitchen and living room area were quiet. "Honey?!"
Her eyes went to the glass door; it had been first light when Carl had gone out and now the sun shined fully, so Priya figured she had to have been asleep for at least half an hour.
He should be back, she thought, breathing evenly to keep herself calm. He probably just went back out again. Priya settled back onto the bed and stared at the blinking light on her tracker, which sat on the nightstand. She looked behind her, at Carl's nightstand, it was empty. Nothing out of the ordinary; she'd seen him swipe it and click it onto his pants on the way out.
He'll be back any minute, stop catastrophizing. She lay in her bed for a few more moments, her mind racing.
But you never heard him come back in, she thought, just as a harsher wind gust blew through the cracked door and a chill ran down her back. Priya swung her legs off of the bed and reached for the satin robe on the ground, sliding it over her underwear-clad body, before stepping outside onto the deck and into the orange glow of the morning light. She looked out at the dew-dusted trees. "Carl?" She called, evenly. But nothing.
She walked down the porch steps, her eyes catching on what had to be his footprints in the mud, leading into the trees.
It was only when two more sets of boot prints appeared—beside and then treading on his—that her pulse picked up speed.
The part of her that was a concerned wife was pushed aside and the soldier within kicked into high gear. Priya ran back into the house for her gun, quickly pulled on her clothes and boots, sprinted back out, and ran through the forest using the footprints as her guide. Her head was on the swivel, her eyes bouncing between the ground and her surroundings. She stopped when she reached the road; no more footprints to follow. And when she looked up, she saw one of Carl's boots in the center of the gravel.
Rick's Colt Python dangled from one of his raised hands. He stood back to back with Priya and Michonne as a group of surly-faced unknowns wielding rifles and handcrafted sharp objects surrounded the three of them. His eyes darted around; he did a quick and shoddy count. At least fifty.
Wordlessly, one of them accosted him. Unceremoniously patting all three down, he removed the trackers on their hips, before he proceeded to stomp them to pieces. Another approached and grabbed his revolver, Michonne's katana, and Priya's pistol.
"Move." Another nudged them toward a camouflaged-with-greenery set of metal doors that swung open just as they approached. Rick walked with Michonne on one side and Priya on the other, through the dark hallway that led into what looked like a small arena, the walls of the place were built up on all sides with junk.
Moving in a synchronized manner, the group circled the three of them, until they were surrounded two rows deep. Rick subtly looked up at the high edges of the place, certain it was where help would come from.
"Are you a collective or does one lead?" He turned at the sound of a brisk, monotone voice and found a tall, slender, short-haired woman.
He stared at her a moment, gauging how to approach, but before he could get a word out, he felt a hand shove him forward. "This," a blonde woman with a severe face said.
The short-haired woman, who he assumed was in charge, slunk toward him. She appraised him from head to toe, before settling on his face. "We own your lives," she said with a small smile.
"We don't want any trouble–"
"You want to buy them back?" She tilted her head. "Have anything?"
"I believe you have my son. Carl. I want to see him first, then we can talk."
The woman's lip twitched, and the smile dropped off of her lips. She glanced at the lazy-eyed man standing at her side, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "Can't help you. We still own your lives. You can still buy them back."
Rick's hands tightened into fists at his side. He wasn't sure what game this fucking woman was playing, but clearly, she didn't understand what time it was. He didn't have to look behind him to know that Michonne and Priya were probably looking at him with "I told you so" written all over their faces. As soon as they'd gotten the coordinates of Carl's last known location, the two of them had wanted to bust in guns blazing.
"Haven't we been through this before?" Michonne asked. "We know what happens when we don't deal with people like this with a firm hand."
"I agree," Priya added.
"We can't just keep murdering everyone that crosses us," Rick argued. "We don't know who they are–"
"What?! They abducted him! That tells us EXACTLY who they are," Priya shot back.
But his gut had told him that killing first and asking questions later would be the wrong move here. He'd dug his heels in and convinced the women to go his way. But he was no fool, and they'd put a plan in place for what to do if Rick was wrong; he'd been hoping he wouldn't be. "We know you took him. We know he's here. And I know you know that, because you destroyed his tracker."
"Okay." The woman bopped her head from side to side, a quiet confirmation. "We take. We don't bother."
"So, he's here?"
"No."
"Bullshit." He stepped toward her. "Look, lady. We will trade you for him if that's what you're after. We have food. Supplies. Whatever you need, we can give it to you. But there is a time limit to my offer. And either way, we're gonna get him back." Rick's ears perked up at the sound of a distant duck call. He looked behind at Priya, who gave him a single nod, then he turned back to the woman. "This doesn't have to end badly for you."
"Me?" She chuckled and looked around at her people. "And us?" Then back at him. "You," she spat, then cut her eyes to Priya. "This." And over to Michonne. "And That? We win."
Rick twisted his neck, his bones popping. "Let me put this as plainly as possible. You have two options here." He held up one finger. "Give me my son back." Then held up another. "Or your people die. All of you have a chance to survive here. Can't guarantee it anytime but now."
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "Bull. Shit."
"Okay... you're gonna make me count? Okay." He stepped back, nodding his head. "Okay. I'm counting." He glanced at Priya again and nodded.
She pressed her lips together and let out a tuneful whistle, and in reply, the same tune sounded from somewhere outside the junkyard.
"Ten..." he began.
The woman looked around, unsettled, before raising her finger and making a circular motion. "Brion. Tamiel. Julisa. Take them to the containers," she said quickly, not taking her eyes off Rick.
"Nine. Eight. Seven–"
"A or B?" the blond woman asked.
"A. All three."
"Six. Five. Four..."
The man beside the woman in charge walked toward Rick with a lazy lean. The blond and another woman moved toward Michonne and Priya...
"Three!" Rick yelled. "Two!"
Before the man and the women could get their hands on Rick, Michonne, and Priya, three succinct gunshots pierced through the quiet air. The man and both women dropped and blood dripped from identical bullet holes in the center of their heads.
There was a brief moment of stunned silence, before the woman in charge screamed, "No!" She dropped to the ground beside the bodies as the rest of her group scattered and fled toward the doors, but they were met by a group of Union soldiers, led by Spencer, who pushed through the entrance with rifles raised. "Drop your weapons!" Spencer yelled. "And get on your knees! Hands on your heads."
Rick grabbed two handfuls of the wailing woman's jacket and pulled her off of the ground. "I told you what would happen."
"What did you do, you son of a bitch!" she screamed, recklessly swinging her fist and clocking him in the jaw."
Rick stumbled back, the woman slipping from his hold. Out of the corner of his eyes, as he struggled to stand, he saw her reach for the gun in her side holster. Michonne charged the woman, tackling her to the ground and grabbing the gun before she could. She set it on the woman's forehead. "No more games! Tell us where the hell our son is before we make you watch us kill the rest of them one by one."
The woman looked to the side, where her people were being lined up and shoved onto their knees by the Union soldiers. "Take a good look," Michonne said. "We win. So you better start talking."
Michonne stood at the door of a narrow, floor-to-ceiling wood-paneled shipping container that had a bed and a sunroof, wondering how the hell the battered woman—whose name they'd learned was Jadis—sitting tied up to the chair on the other end of the room had built all this.
"I told you, I don't know where he is," she shrieked, her strange stilted speech suddenly normal again. Michonne figured an hour of brutal interrogation would do that to you. They'd given Priya free rein and she'd taken her angst over Carl's whereabouts out on the woman's face. Michonne couldn't judge, she was pretty sure the woman would be in worse shape if it were Rick who'd been missing.
"We know he was here," Priya said, slowly. "And your people confirmed that." She leaned in. "So tell us where he is or I swear on everything I hold dear, that I will fuck you up," she practically growled. "And I will enjoy every minute of it."
Rick glanced back at Michonne. Neither of them had ever seen this side of Priya; even in the most tenuous of circumstances, her cooler head had always prevailed. Michonne wasn't quite sure how far Priya's rage would take her and they needed this woman, who seemed to be the only one who held the answers. The soldiers, just outside of the shipping container, had interrogated the rest of the group but no one knew anything, beyond the fact that Carl had been there and now he wasn't.
Jadis swallowed and leaned away from Priya, turning her head to the side, as she seemed to contemplate the threat. "I was out scavenging, in the beginning. I saw a helicopter crash..."
A helicopter?
"So I went to see. The men were alive. In bad shape, but alive. I saw they had radios, so I called it in, to whoever was on the other end. They came and got them and said they could take me in, but they weren't prepared to take in all of my people. And the ones that didn't pass muster, they were going to..." She shook her head. "It wasn't a deal I could take. So, they offered me another. Over time, they asked that I give them... people. For what they were trying to do. And in exchange, they'd give us food and supplies. The more I give. The more we get. I did it for my people. So we could survive."
"Are you saying that you traded my husband?!" Priya roared.
Jadis nodded. "They came and got him yesterday."
"These people, where are they? Who are they?"
"I don't know."
Priya cocked her gun and held it to Jadis' temple.
"I swear," she shouted. "I– I don't know."
Priya pressed the gun into her head.
"Okay. Okay," she said quickly. "When they were gonna take me, they told me about the place they were from. Said it was far away."
"A community?" Michonne asked.
"No. Bigger than that. A whole city. Said it was like life before, they said I could have a life like I couldn't imagine. But– but now, they don't tell me anything."
"We heard something about 'A' and 'B'," Rick stepped forward and said. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It's how they classify the pickups. 'B's' are assets that they make join up. And 'A's'... they're test subjects. "
"Test subjects for what?" Rick questioned.
"A cure, I think. But, clearly, they haven't made any progress, because 'A's' are what they always ask for."
"And they trust you to decide, what people are?"
"Yes."
"And what did you tell them Carl was?" Priya asked, her voice shaking.
"I'm sorry." Jadis looked down at her lap, for a moment, and when she glanced back up at Priya, Michonne's blood ran cold at the steely look in her eyes. "I told them he was an 'A'. Your husband is as good as dead."