Reviews:

BabySlothXYaoi- I'm really thrilled that you enjoyed me spending so much time on Deanna and the interview, I loved creating it! Deanna is going to pop up often going forward, I really want to spend time on lots of the Alexandrians, which I'm sure will be noticeable as we continue. Honestly, Deanna is so interesting to me, she's a great leader, like Rick, just in very different ways... Rick knows how to protect people, Deanna knows how to read them. Thank you again for the lovely words.

Guest- Maggie was weirdly written in the 4B/5A arc... I tried my best to work around it, without changing too much, but I'm actually going through and rewriting a lot of previous chapters atm, so I may add some Maggie missing Beth stuff, thanks for the idea! Wasn't she pissed at Hershel when she didn't hug him? Because he ran off while Beth was in shock? Gosh, I don't remember now, it's been a little bit since I watch S2, but yeah, Maggie could be a brat sometimes! Kinda curious what you think of Maggie after the S6 finale. Thank you for reading!


Chapter Warning- Includes sexual references between minors, which are written inexplicitly and for the sake of the story's progression.


When Tara comes out of the Monroe residents, full of smiles and blowing air through her cheeks, we all stand up from the clean cobble. The lady from earlier, Olivia, is asking for our guns.

I pull the Beretta from its holster behind my back. Putting it down is much harder than I thought it would be, my fingers lingering on the grip for a few extra moments.

"Still full," I tell Daryl, moving to stand by him.

Carol struggles to put her gun on the trolly, and it makes me angry knowing I fell for this act once.

"Should have brought a bigger bin!" Olivia says, all chipper.

Carol pretends to find her funny.

Deanna comes out of her house, beginning a longwinded speech about how are guns still belong to us. As the appeal starts to get boring, Aaron appears, offering to show Rick where we'll be living, to which Rick nods, clearly not enjoying the speech either. Carl asks, and Rick agrees to let us come.


Aaron walks us down one of the many clean streets, telling us something about how someone called Mrs Neudermeyer wants a pasta maker.

When we reach the end of the street, we stop in front of two grand houses.

The house on the left stands outlandish before the azure. Light grey paint fills the wooden panels that stretch around the house, reaching smooth shutters as they rattle gently in the afternoon breeze. There are too many windows to count across the three floors, each one painted a clean white, matching the colour of the house's front porch. The last step leading up to the grandiose porch has a number showcased in brass metal, 101.

The second building, situated on the right, across the swept street from us, is shorter but seems more spacious. The house's backside almost reaches the community wall, the top floors most likely having a good view over it. The colour scheme is almost exact with 101, only this house has the number 99 written on both its steps and door.

I start wondering which house is ours.

"These are yours," Aaron smiles as the three of us gawk.

"Both of 'em?" Rick asks, unbelieving of the gesture.

"At your disposal." Arron points to the smaller one, 99, "I'd call dibs on that one. It's got more... curb appeal."

What the hell is curb appeal?

"Listen," Aaron's talking directly to Rick now, "I know you're still feeling us out, but I'm glad you came. Deanna's asked everyone to give you your space... so they aren't all coming at you at once. Take your time. Explore. If you need anything- you call me."

All three of us look at him with wide eyes of disbelief.

"Oh- we don't have phones. I mean- I'm four houses down." He points.

Rick doesn't speak, so Carl does, "Thank you."

Aaron starts to leave.

"Hey," I call out.

He looks back, smiling and blocking the blazing sun with his hand.

I hesitate, "Do you- do you have showers?"

Aaron chuckles, pointing at the houses. 101 and 99.

"Go see for yourselves."


Everyone else is catching up with us now, and we have two houses to pick from. 101 has a custard-yellow coloured door in opposition to Deanna's chocolate one. 99 has a liquorice-black door. I think I prefer 101, and it seems everyone else does too since we all shuffle inside, leaving the liquorice house to sit empty.

Beyond the custard door, we're lead straight into a capacious living room. Tara immediately belly flops onto the closest of two white couches, and Maggie yells at her for leaving a tremendous dirt stain on the otherwise unblemished material. Abraham walks into the adjoined kitchen, searching through draws for something to drink. I'm able to watch as he does, the first floor almost completely one giant room. The decor is random and feels thrown together from scavenging trips beyond the walls. A miniature, metal Ferris wheel hangs from the wall by my head, a half-finished game of Chinese checkers framed on the adjacent. I look around in awe, everything clean, tidy, and different.

Carol starts ordering people to wash up as she grabs a cloth from the kitchen and begins to furiously scrub at the stain Tara's feeling guilty about.

I spot something, and before anyone can beat me to it, I race into the downstairs bathroom, locking the door behind me and ignoring Eugene's banging on it from the outside as he starts complaining about calling dibs.

The bathroom definitely beats the prison's. I open the crystal clear glass doors leading to the shower, switching it onto full heat- no pumping required.

While the room fills with steam, I start taking off my clothes, throwing everything onto the white bath mat, dropping Ty's hammer on top of the sink. I try to look at myself in the mirror, but the vapour has transformed me into a foggy silhouette, oscillating behind a layer of mystery.

When I finally step under the hot water, I'm swept away from the community, pulled beneath an ocean of quiet, the surface dancing above. Dirt and filth wash away under my feet, sucked between my toes, into the drain in a surge of grime. I scrub at dried mud on my sunburnt arms and massage shampoos and conditioners I've never heard of into my lengthy hair, letting streams of soap race down my skin. I could stay here forever, with the door locked and the shower on, washing everything away like a fresh start that doesn't stop.

But excessive knocking gets me out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my waist and open it to find Carl.

He looks stunned for a second. "I didn't recognise you," he laughs, handing me a change of clothes.

"This brings back memories," I tell him, thinking of the first time we spoke.

Carl kisses me, letting his hand wrap around and explore my soaked back.

"Woah, dude, don't get your dirty hands on me!" I chuckle, pushing him off gently.

He leaves me to get changed. Before I close the door, I notice Eugene standing not far away, waiting for me to vacate, a scowl of betrayal on his expression that makes me laugh.

I dress, tucking Tyreese's hammer into my new jeans as I leave the room with my dirty clothes in hand. Eugene proceeds to the bathroom door, but Tara races past him and into the room, shouting, "Snooze ya lose, card shark!" I leave, laughing hard, as Eugene goes back to banging on the bathroom door and shouting about the terms of our deal from the RV.

Maggie takes the dirty clothes from my arms when I step into the living room, adding them to a pile on the floor. She's still covered in dirt, while Rosita, on the other hand, is spotless as she trots down the stairs, a towel over her shoulder, rubbing her frizzed-up hair.

I find a seat on the sofa between Michonne and Glenn, both clean as well. I wonder how many bathrooms we have. Rosita drops onto the other sofa.

I lean back and listen to the others talk, more people slowly appearing. Everyone is clean and completely different looking. When Carl steps out, my mind is blown into pieces across the sitting room, no one ducking for cover like they should. His face is so clean, every freckle bright on his pale face, the cowlicks on the ends of his hair are gone and full of life. His hat joins the pile with his old clothes, everything gone from before except his knife.

Glenn nudges my arm with an unsubtle grin, then gets up to sit on the other sofa, letting Carl set himself beside me.

"You look cool..." I stutter to Carl, Michonne snorting at my awkwardness from my other side, silencing herself when I shoot a glare.

Rick is the last to go and clean up after everyone else has eventually had their turns. Carl asks Tara to teach him how to play cards, and I leave them to it- asked to leave by Tara actually, once I laugh at the prospect of her being the one to teach him.

I step onto the front porch, an unwashed Daryl sitting out here already, gutting the possum he shot at the gate. I notice the weapon beside him.

"They let you keep the crossbow?" I ask.

He grunts, "Guess they don't think I can do much damage with it."

I snort at this.

Daryl squints at me. "Get a job?"

"No," I reply, "You?"

"Nah."

"Maybe you can be the chef?" I suggest as he rips guts from the animal below him. Blood spilling onto the clean deck, spilling between the cracks. I lean against the porch railings, watching the neighbourhood. I can see people in widows down the street, but nothing else. The house opposite us, 105, looks unnervingly lifeless.

Time flies by. I have no idea how long Daryl and I have been on the porch, enjoying the harmless silence of Alexandria, but I realise it must have been a while when Rick steps outside... I even reach for my knife at first, not recognising him without his feral-looking beard, which he has now completely clean-shaven off. His hair also cut shorter.

"You look... tame," Daryl comments.

"Yeah," Rick sighs, rubbing his face.

Carl joins the three of us outside, Carol too, making it five. Six, when I notice Judith in Rick's arms, also with a change of clothes and a clean face.

Carl's staring at 99, our other house, still sitting there like an unopened birthday present. I can tell he wants to explore. Apparently, Rick can too because he tells his son, "You can look, just be quick."

"Okay," Carl beams, grabbing my wrist and pulling me down from the porch and across the lawn. I notice Carol follow us after she's given a sharp nod from Rick.


Although smaller seeming on the outside, 99 is just as grand as 101 on the interior. There's a magnificent glass chandelier hanging in the hallway, below and to the left, another kitchen and sitting room combo, with a dining room to the right. I go straight for the bookcase beside an unlit fireplace in the sitting room, a lacklustre tv hanging above. I sort through books while Carl runs the tap in the kitchen, laughing giddily at the amount of water spraying over his outstretched hand.

"These are like mansions," Carl looks above him to all the colourful cookery books on the fridge, his voice going nasally from his craned neck.

"Mm-hmm," Carol agrees as she walks in, cracking open a window above a comfy looking window seat that I was about to sit on, I hover awkwardly instead when Carol stays standing by it. "And they're just giving them away," she whispers sceptically.

"Where Deanna lives is bigger," I point out, more to Carl than Carol. "The Brownstone apartments is what Aaron called them."

"I wonder who lives in the other ones..." Carl replies, "looked like the Brownstone's had, like, a bunch of houses."

Carol goes to leave, picking up a notepad and pencil from an oak side table.

"You coming?" She asks us.

Carl doubts the likelihood of me answering her, so he does, "Yeah, in a sec."

Carol leaves, and I go to sit on the comfy looking window seat, a copy of war and peace on my lap, which I start to flick through the pages of, a nice breeze coming from the window Carol opened.

Carl wanders into the dining room, and I hear him start gushing over more furniture. I decide to follow but catch voices coming from the window still ajar above my head.

"They're right next to each other, but-" Carol's voice says to someone outside the window.

Rick replies in a low grumble, "They took our weapons and now they're splitting us up."

"Yup," I hear Daryl out there too.

Rick goes on. "We'll all be staying in the same house tonight."

They keep talking, but I hear a thud from the floor above, snapping my attentive eyes towards the stairs, something I'm yet to use in either house. Carl must have heard it as well because he pokes his head around the arch that connects the dining room to the sitting room.

I close war and peace, leaving it on the window seat as I pull Tyreese's hammer from my belt loop. Carl keeps his knife holstered as we both creep up the creakless stairs. Once on the landing, we hear another thud, the door at the end of the hall hiding whatever's making the sounds.

Carl pulls his knife out now as we both approach the door. I ready the hammer as Carl reaches out for the silver doorknob, nodding to me, then twisting it slowly.

We hear the click, and Carl flings the door open, both of us rushing in, weapons raised.

The room is empty.

We look around, realising it's only empty of people. There are beanbags and pillows scattered around a VCR with a fake skull on top, wearing yellow sunglasses and a Christmas cracker crown. A bunch of other toys and some art books sit messily stacked in a corner.

Carl picks up a comic from the mess that reads- Wolf Fight!

I look out the open window, a rope leading down to the grass below.

"Someone was in here," I tell him.

"Yeah, I think it's Jesse's kids," Carl replies as he looks down at the comic that I can tell he's already desperate to read.

"Who?"

"Jesse," Carl says again even though I heard him, "She came and offered to cut Dad's hair when you were out on the porch. She's got two kids, one of them's our age."

"Well, they're gone now," I tell him, putting Ty's hammer away.

Carl sheaths his knife, "Sure are."

We remember that we don't get long alone, so we decide to kiss, and it lasts this time. We start moving as we kiss, dancing, or maybe just stumbling. I slip on a comic, Carl tumbling down with me. We're laughing until we hear Rick downstairs, "Everything okay up there?"

"Yeah!" Carl shouts back, still on top of me, shushing me with a hand over my mouth when I try to stifle a giggle.

"Come on, we're heading back," Rick calls up again.

We hear the front door open and close, the house falling silent below us. Carl's still on top of me, our chests pressed together, rising and falling against one another.

"We should go-"

"We have time," Carl cuts me off.

"Yeah? Again?"

"Again," Carl nods, his hands reaching beath my shirt, running across scars and skin.

We're kissing again... Again and a lot... A lot and again.

Carl's hands keep exploring, eventually moving down to my belt buckle.

The situation is getting me flustered, my head whirling as my body fires up beneath his touch. Carl watches me. We both realise how worked up I am.

"Do you want me to do it for you again?" I ask him nervously.

"No," he tells me, his face full of focus, "Can I? ...I want to- for you this time..."

"Okay," I nod, breathing deeply. "Okay."

Individuality slips away as we lose ourselves in each other's eyes and touch.


Rick's waiting on the porch of 101, watching us leave the liquorice door of 99, Judith in his arms as he leans against the railing.

"What took so long?" He asks.

"Jus' exploring, Dad."


When night creeps into the community, Glenn and Maggie start lighting candles, only for Carol to switch the lights on, reminding them and everyone where we are. Carol then goes to sit on the sofa corner, her legs curled beneath her as she writes down thing like, 'Olivia- guns,' and 'Nicholas-guard,' on the notepad she got from 99. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask her why.

Carol doesn't look up, saying, "If we want them to trust us, we should remember what to call them."

Carl and I help push furniture around, making space for the whole group to be in the sitting room. We throw sofa cushions and blankets on the floor, most of us seeming to be more comfortable down there.

Aaron brings by a fold-out crib at some point. It's similar to the one we had back in the Prison, and Judith falls asleep the moment her head touches it, with Daryl perched over her, sitting on a cabinet with his wings. He looks like her guardian angel. Carl sits not far from them both, reading the 'Wolf Fight!' comic that he found in 99. I leave him to it since he's smiling.

I head to speak with Sasha, who's moved a side table away from the wall, her legs hanging off the back of it as she sits on top, staring out the window. I decide not to approach her when I see Abraham staring at her, thinking that maybe he'll talk to her instead.

Tara, Rosita, and Eugene all set up their blankets and bags by the empty fireplace. Tara's reading 'A Storm of Swords' while Rosita stitches a hole in her supply bag. Eugene just hunkers there awkwardly and embarrassed after he accidentally hit his head on the mantle above the fireplace.

I decide to settle by the front door on the chair Rick has jammed under the handle. I watch as Noah searches through a chest of drawers, curious as to what he might find.

Michonne comes out of the downstairs bathroom, Katana in her left hand, toothbrush in her right. Like Daryl's crossbow, I find it amusing that they let her keep it.

"How long was I in there for?" She grins, her teeth pearly.

"Twenty minutes," Rick checks his watch.

Then she's looking at him like something's wrong. I tense up, waiting for inevitable shit to hit the perpetually spinning fan.

"Huh, I've never- seen your face like that..." Michonne tells him.

I relax, realising she was just experiencing 'the beardless Rick effect'- A name Tara had given it after I pointed out to her that everyone has commented on his new face.

"That's how I felt," Rick nods, "before and after."

Michonne then takes her conversation with Rick into hushed whispers.

I try to listen but lose track after a cushion hits me directly in the face.

"Ow!" I hold my nose, looking around for the culprit.

"It wasn't that hard," Maggie grins from the sofa, now pushed against the wall for space.

"What was the for?" I pick the cushion up and hug it.

"Just thought you look down in the dumps."

"So you threw a pillow at me to cheer me up?" I laugh.

"Worked, didn't it?"

I shrug back.

"Y'know..." Maggie starts, sounding hopeful, "Rick got a haircut..."

"No," I grumble at her.

"I think it's only fair..."

"No."

"Come on, Rhys. Your hair's starting to look like Eugene's."

Eugene looks up from a book he'd picked off the shelf beside the fireplace, "I respect the hair game Rhys. Business in the front means you get to party out back."

"I see your point..." I tell Maggie.

She looks hopeful.

"But still no," I finish.

She frowns, sinking back into the sofa with a disappointed pout.

Then something sends me jumping out of my skin, out of the chair, and over the sofa. That big scary something was a knock from the front door behind me.

Glenn chuckles but still keeps his hand on his knife as Rick moves the chair. He opens the door, and Deanna is standing behind it.

"Rick, I-" she stops, staring astounded at Rick's shaven face. I look over to Tara, who mouths "beardless Rick effect" at me from the floor. I can't help my snicker.

"Wow," Deanna exclaims. "I didn't know what was under there."

Rick nods along, clearly wishing he'd never picked up the razor.

Deanna goes on, "Listen, I don't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were all settling." She pokes her head around the door frame, seeing us all staring back.

"Oh, my," Deanna exclaims, "staying together. Smart."

She nods firmly at Rick, who, in acknowledgement, tells her, "No one said we couldn't."

"You said you're a family," she's now over the doorstep and in the house, "That's what you said." Deanna looks at us all, scanning the room with her cunning eyes. "It's absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?"

"Everybody said you gave them jobs," Rick turns the conversation to his tide.

"Mm-hmm. Yeah. Part of this place." She then starts laughing, "Looks like the communists won after all."

Rick smiles politely, "Well, you didn't give me one."

I'm watching the interaction with enthusiasm. Trying to imagine Rick Grimes before the outbreak... real smiles at the door and taking Carl to school in his police cruiser. I wonder if I would have ever met them... maybe I would have stayed with Dad, and he would have moved us to King County. Maybe I would have met Carl in school. Rick would open the door and smile at me in a way that I don't think he can anymore, not without faking it like he is with Deanna. Maybe Carl and I would still have found each other, I would meet both his parent the conventional way, over Sunday lunch that Lori made especially.

"I have..." Deanna answers Rick's question, bringing me out of my daydream. "I just haven't told you yet." Deanna's face is so wise as she looks at Rick. "Same with Michonne. I'm closing in on something for Sasha. And I'm just trying to figure Mr Dixon out, but I will. Rhys, your a tricky one, but I think I'm close."

I just stare back, not sure what to say, so I don't say anything.

Deanna turns to leave, telling Rick, "You look good."


The room is dark.

Everyone is asleep.

I can hear the ticking of Rick's watch on the other side of Carl. Beside me, Michonne sleeps silently, like she always has, short breaths slipping past the darkness in reticence. Then the ticking stops, Rick gets up, throwing a blanket over Carl, then me, then Michonne. I can feel the breeze of the other blankets landing. My eyes stay closed as I lie on my back.

I hear Rick go into the kitchen... a draw opening and closing gently, then I hear nothing besides the breathing of everyone else, fast asleep.


A/N

I'm not sure why, but I find Maggie throwing a cushion at Rhys's face very amusing.

I also like to think that no matter how divided the world may become... we've all experienced 'the beardless Rick effect'.