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Carol appreciated the relative safety of the prison. She always had. But she wished, just occasionally, for a real kitchen. A stove rather than a hot plate. Utensils. Tools. All the modern conveniences. Oh, and electricity. Trying to cook under these conditions was miserable even before considering that everything there was to make was bland and boring … if they were lucky.

The woman Michonne was doing push-ups on one leg near her, keeping her injured leg to the side. She was impressive, Carol had to give her that, even though she wasn't completely sure she could be trusted.

And then Merle came in, sitting gingerly down next to Michonne. She ignored him, and he ignored Carol. He wanted to clear the air, claiming he had hunted her down only because those were his orders.

Carol believed him, for as far as that went. Merle would do anything if it meant ensuring his personal safety.

"Like the Gestapo," Michonne said quietly, and Carol smiled a little. She stopped smiling when Merle agreed with the sentiment.

"Hope we can get past it," he said. "Let bygones be bygones." And he got up and sauntered from the room.

It was hard to imagine a less convincing attempt to smooth things over, Carol thought. She wished Daryl understood the differences between himself and his brother better. They weren't the same like he thought. They might be of the same blood and bone, but not the same heart. Not at all.

She considered saying something to Michonne, but there was something dark and heavy about the other woman's silence that made Carol think better of it. If Michonne could be trusted, she'd be quite the ally, she thought.

Last time Daryl saw Andrea, she was alone in the middle of a pack of Walkers. Now here she was marching up to the gate with a Walker on a leash, bold as you please. Whatever else you might say about her, she was one tough lady.

She was also someone who had assumed a relationship that just wasn't there anymore. The time between the farm and now had changed them all—and it hadn't made any of them more trusting. Except, maybe, her.

All of them held their weapons steady on her while Rick frisked her. She looked … clean. Startled to find them so hostile. She'd been living soft for too long, it looked like to Daryl.

They brought her into the prison. Daryl thought that might be a mistake—they could have talked just as well outside, and she wouldn't have seen so much. But they were easy targets out there, and there was always the chance she was bait for the trap.

Carol hugged her, and maybe that broke the ice some. They started to catch up, but it was mostly a litany of the dead, opening Andrea's eyes to what the rest of them had been through. And then telling her what the Governor had done to them. She claimed he'd said they fired first, but that was a crock, and she should have known it.

When every face was closed against her, Andrea turned on Michonne. "What have you told them?"

"Nothing."

"I don't get it. I left Atlanta with you people, and now I'm the odd man out?"

"He almost killed Michonne and he would have killed us," Glenn told her.

She pointed at Merle. "With his finger on the trigger. Isn't he the one who kidnapped you? Who beat you?" Silence answered her, and she sighed, covering her face with her hands. "Look. I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out."

Andrea had always thought she could force things to go her way—and had never understood how much that made things go wrong, Daryl thought, putting a hand to his head and the scar from her bullet.

"There's nothing to work out," Rick told her. "We're going to kill him."

Daryl wished he thought they could—or that it would do any good.

"There is room at Woodbury for all of you," she said, and Merle laughed.

"You know better than that."

It was clear she had come on her own, that no one knew she was here, and that she had no authority to make any promises. She was here to tell them they had to knuckle under for their own safety, and they'd already known that.

"Look at you," Andrea said. "You've lost so much already."

Andrea, the big hero, protecting all the poor people. Daryl snorted and got up to follow Rick out of the cell block. One big waste of time even letting her in the gate, if you asked him.

After she talked to Michonne, Andrea came back in, and Carol invited her into the cell block. Andrea had seen enough to harm them already, a little bit more wouldn't hurt. And Carol wanted her alone. "You can't leave without meeting Little Ass-Kicker," she said, holding the baby.

Andrea took a turn with her, looking down into the sweet little face. Nothing like a baby to soften a person up, Carol thought. Or toughen them, when that baby had no one but you to protect them.

They talked, and Carol filled Andrea in on the details of their losses since the farm fell.

"Rick's become cold. Unsteady," Andrea said.

Carol nodded. She wasn't wrong. "He has his reasons." She paused briefly, then got to the point. "The Governor. You need to do something." She took the baby back.

"I am." There was an edge to Andrea's voice. She was feeling unappreciated.

"No, you need to sleep with him," Carol told her. "Give him the greatest night of his life. You get him to drop his guard. Then when he's sleeping, you can end this." How many times had she imagined that, while Ed snored next to her? More than she could count. She knew just how she would have done it, if she'd ever gotten up the nerve.

Andrea stared at her in silence, and Carol turned back to the baby, cooing at her softly.

Simple. Easy. And they would all be safe. If Andrea had half the nerve she'd always claimed to, that is.

They gave Andrea one of their cars so she could get back safely. She looked around her before she left, hoping for a friendly face, a fond goodbye.

Once she was behind the wheel, Rick handed her back her knife and gun and told her to be careful. It was the most any of them could do.

Later that night, while Beth sang in the dark, Rick and Hershel and Daryl stood together. "Some reunion, huh?" Daryl said.

"She's in a jam."

"We all are," Hershel agreed. "Andrea's persuasive. This fellow's armed to the teeth. Bent on destruction."

"So what do you want to do?" Daryl asked.

Rick looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. "We match it. I'm going on a run."

"I'll head out tomorrow."

"No, you stay here," Rick told him. "Keep an eye on your brother. I'm glad you're back. Really. But if he causes a problem, it's on you."

Daryl couldn't argue with that. "I got him."

"I'll take Michonne."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'll find out," Rick said. "And Carl. He's ready. You hold it down here."

It was good to hear Rick sound like himself again. "You got it."

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it wouldn't. But they would face it together, and that was what mattered.