"How are you today?"

"Good," I answer.

"Why's that?"

"Don't know," I shrug. "Just am."

"Do you know why Maggie sent you to me?"

I nod. "Because you're our new doctor, and she's worried about me."

The lady with dirty blonde hair smiles at me, pushing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses up her freckled nose.

She told me her name's Denise Cloyd, Doctor Denise Cloyd... although she didn't seem comfortable with the title, and she laughed awkwardly at herself when she realised she'd introduced herself like a spy.

"Maggie sent you," she goes on, "because I was a psychiatrist before the turn."

"And she's worried I'm bottling things up?"

The doctor nods, then asks me, "So is there anything you want to talk about?"

"What is there to say?" I roll my eyes, rolling my head back in the comfy chair she offered to me when I arrived, herself sat down in a swivel chair opposite. It reminds me of my audition for this place.

"Why do you think Maggie wants you here?"

"Well... three days ago, Rick killed the last doctor."

Denise swallows, nodding.

I continue, "I haven't talked about it because- what is there to say?" I lean forward to face her. "No point dwelling on that. So much has happened since then."

Dr Cloyd clicks her dainty metal pen, bringing its nib to kiss a pad of paper sitting in her lap. "Like what?"

I realise what she's doing, so I frown at her, trying to get across my disdain of being analysed. And Denise waits like a cat. An old and tolerant cat, one with too many degrees and too many mice under her belt.

I sigh, giving in. "Tara is better, which is great, but... I'm worried about her. She isn't rejoining the run group. She's just helping you and Rosita in here."

"Well," Denise chuckles, pushing a blonde strand of hair behind her ear and going red at Tara's name. "God knows we could use the help, especially with this big plan Rick has."

"That's another thing," I fold my arms, "Rick and Morgan found a giant horde at the bottom of that quarry the other day... a giant horde, thousands of walkers that could get loose any day now and head straight at Alexandria. We had a meeting about it yesterday. It sucked."

"Why did it... 'suck'?"

"Because Sasha's being stupid... she volunteered to lead the horde away from the quarry with Daryl."

"Sounds brave to me."

I start to picture Denise as a cat now. She's the type of cat that's scared of her own shadow, the kind that hates going out when it rains, a cat that likes to watch and stay away from passing feet.

I find my way back to the conversation, saying, "I volunteered to go with her. She said no... so she knows it's dangerous... but she's going anyway."

"Maybe she asked you stay behind- not because she wants it to be more dangerous, but because she wants to keep you safe?"

I think about that but shake my head. "That's not like her." I shrug, "At least Abraham's going with her... can't say no to him."

Denise is nodding. Looking down at her pad as she scribbles notes. Her scratches are too hard to read, even when I unsubtly crane my neck to peek.

"Ron and Mikey," I add. "I'm worried about them."

"You are?"

"Mikey hasn't left his house since his dad died... and Ron refuses to spend any time near Carl since Rick killed his dad. So it's pretty much just Carl, Enid, and me now."

"Ron blames Carl for what his dad did?"

"I guess."

"Anything else?" Denise stops writing to smile. Her smiles are queazy, and they feel like she puts a lot of effort into them, like they don't come easy.

"It's weird having new people..." I say, searching for things to say.

"New people?" Denise looks confused.

"Yeah... that run group that got back yesterday."

"Right," she snickers. "Sorry, you mean Annie, Heath, and Scott. They're not new, per se. They've been on a supply run for a long while. Since before you folks arrived."

"Uh-huh." I look at the door, ready to leave.

"Speaking of new people..." The doctor leans in, about to say what I've been dreading since we started. "Morgan."

"Morgan?" I try to sound like I forgot he existed but end up sounding like the name frightens me.

"Maggie says she thinks you've been avoiding him..."

"Maybe," I look away, "what does it matter?"

"You should talk to him..."

"No."

"Rhys..."

"Why?"

"Look, I have trouble with social encounters too, but Alexandria isn't a big place... you can't avoid him."

"I can try."

The session comes to an end, and I leave, thanking Denise politely, despite not planning to do as she suggests, perfectly fine with just avoiding Morgan.

I meet Carl outside the infirmary, which Denise has moved into since the night of the meeting.

Carl asks me how it went, and I shrug, telling him I haven't been fixed, so he smiles and tells me I don't need fixing.

We make our way to the armoury.

Since Deanna is now listening to Rick more, she's finally agreed to let everyone have guns inside the walls.

Enid lets us in through the back door.

We make our way through the pantry to the armoury room, Olivia's inside, appearing stressed out. Jessie is here too, fumbling over a box of bullets.

Olivia looks uncomfortable handing over Carl's trusted pistol. The idea of giving a gun to a kid probably not her first instinct. It takes her a while to find my Beretta, so I tell Carl to head home, that I'll catch him up.

Jessie is still here, browsing a selection of handguns now, the lot laid out on a wooden bench. She smiles over her shoulder at me, and I look away awkwardly, realising I'm staring.

Olivia hands me my gun, and I check the magazine, flicking the safety on before slipping it into my SOB holster, which I'd put on especially for the occasion.

Jessie watches me over her flanneled shoulder before turning to face me, a pistol held upside down in her hands.

"Sorry about Pete..." I say, not sure what else to do.

She shakes her head. "Don't be," she tells me coldly, nothing in her voice but contempt for the man.

"You're holding it wrong..." I tell her, pointing at the gun.

She gives me a cocked eyebrow, and I apologise.

Her face softens. "Never was one for guns."

"Me neither," I admit.

"Who taught you?" She asks, pushing a stray strand of blonde behind her ear.

"Um... a lot of people," I admit.

"Like who?" She seems oddly interested.

"Well, Sasha..." I shrug, pulling on my sleeves, feeling exposed. "She taught me how to shoot a rifle straight."

Jessie looks disappointed. "Well, she's leaving for the quarry tomorrow."

"Oh." I realise why she's asking me this. "I could ask Rosita to teach you... she knows a tone about guns. If it wasn't for her and Carl, I wouldn't be able to name almost every gun in this room," I try my best to smile, despite hating how that sentence sounds.

Jessie thinks for a minute, then nods. "Thanks, Rhys."

I mean to go home.

I aim to go eat dinner with everyone as the sun sets.

But a wise cat keeps whispering in my ear, so now I'm standing outside the Brownstone basement. The place where Morgan has been staying since his arrival.

I shake my whole body before I knock on the grated door, entering when a soft tempered voice reaches out, beckoning me in.

The inside still feels like a cell, despite Morgan being allowed to come and go as he pleases. Maybe it's because Rick was kept here after he beat up Pete, or maybe it feels like a cell because of the decor- a small room with a toilet in the corner and a cot to sleep on pushed against the far wall, a wooden stool beside it. Morgan stands in the centre of the room, swinging his stick around with purpose.

"You didn't do that before..." I tell him from the doorway, interrupting his exercises.

He smiles at me, holding the staff in his hands fondly. "No. No, I didn't."

I nod, not smiling back, just standing and watching him with a particular caution. He gestures to the wooden stool, sitting on his cot and leaning his staff against the wall behind him. I shake my head to his offer of sitting.

"What can I do for you, Rhys?" Morgan asks, rubbing his hands together in a way that makes him seem in control. Like he masterminded some plan I haven't seen come to fruition yet.

"Last time we met," I start. "You were different."

"I was."

"You killed people... said you had to." I rub my wrist, fiddling with my acoustic bracelet.

"I did..." he nods, taking a moment before catching on to why I'm here. "You're wondering if I still have to kill people?"

I swallow, nodding as I anxiously await his answer.

"I don't kill, Rhys," Morgan tells me. "Not anymore."

Feeling uncomfortable and wanting an end to the conversation I started, I smile at him uneasily. I notice his bag at the foot of his bed, packed.

"You leaving?" I ask, not sure how I feel about that.

"No," he answers, looking at the bag. Then he pauses. Then he stares up at me. "Rick has offered for me to move into 101."

"Oh..."

"If you're not okay with that, then I can..."

"It's fine," I blurt.

"You sure?"

"I don't even live there, so..."

"True," Morgan nods. "But people you care about do."

"It's fine," I say again. More certain this time. Morgan can tell.

"Thank you."

Suddenly I think about what's behind my back. Hiding from Morgan.

I reach behind me, pulling out my gun.

Morgan sits up a little. I find that funny because when he gave me this gun, he wasn't worried.

I hand it out to him, and he takes it.

"You gave me this," I tell him.

"I remember."

"You said it belonged to your son."

"It did..."

"Can I ask..." I hesitate, feeling stupid.

"Duane..." Morgan tells me as if he knew what I was going to ask. "His name was Duane."

I nod.

Morgan hands the gun back to me.

"It's yours," I tell him.

He shakes his head, almost amused. "I don't kill."

"Right," I take the gun.

I spin on my heels to leave.

"Have you killed, Rhys?" Morgan stops me with his words.

Halfway out the door, I turn to look at him.

"Why?" I ask.

"You tell me I'm different. Well, you're different too." Morgan squints like he's trying to figure out what's different. "More confident. More ready to handle things."

I elect to not answer his question, instead asking, "You're going with Rick tomorrow, right? The dry run, to practise leading that horde in the opposite direction of home."

"I am."

I nod, turning to leave for real this time. "Good luck."

Eugene is sat on the porch of 99. There's a grim look on his face and a jar of pickles in his hands.

"Everything cool?" I ask.

"Define your distinct definition of cool," he mumbles back, taking a pickle and nibbling on it.

"Erm, are you okay?"

Eugene puts the pickle back into the jar, sealing the lid and putting it aside. I want to tell him how gross that is, but I know he has no plans on sharing them.

"Maggie told me we are having tacos for chow this evening," Eugene tells me. "She asked me to head on a fetch quest for some ingredients of her liking to go in said tacos... I enjoy tacos... so I accepted the mission."

"Right..."

"But," Eugene grabs the pickle jar again, hugging it close. "When I arrived, I decided to grab pickles for myself... a reward of sorts."

"That's... erm, good?"

"No, Rhys," Eugene glares at me. "I overheard Carter speaking with others about a mutiny on Rick... on us."

Now I'm worried. "What do you mean?" I take a step closer, knowing that Rick already thinks Carter is trouble. I didn't even know he existed until the meeting about the horde. Carter was the first one to push against Rick's plan to lead the horde away from us. "Have you told Rick?"

"There was no need," Eugene shakes his head. "Rick walked in while Carter was debating putting a bullet in my brain."

"Did Rick kill him?"

"No," Eugene shakes his head. "Just frightened the bejesus out of him."

I give him a sigh of relief, going to head inside. Eugene stops me.

"There is a storm on the horizon, Rhys."

"What do you mean?"

"Tensions are cooking, and there's a horde on the way."

"Not if Rick's plan works."

Eugene opens the jar again, taking a bite out of a new pickle, the crunch loud and snapping as he stares at me. "Not if Rick's plan works."

Next time: Half the Alexandrians leave to practice leading a horde away, the other half stays home, trying to return to normality.