Reviews:
SlumberingVoid — Agreed. Twd is so appealing (at least to me) because most of the prejudice assholes are dead or get kill, aha. Maybe one of the areas the last season kinda fell a tiny bit flat for me was the commonwealth being so obsessed with the old world order... it almost made the villains feel dumb, like why do care about creating class divide when there are literal zombies Pamela?! Whenever we were in the commonwealth it just felt a little boring to me, like, nothing looked like it was in a zombie apocalypse. Haven't started Dead City yet, but I'm excited to watch some good ol' survival stuff.
-Carl-
When I wake up, Rhys is in a funny position, his arms up over his face, bicep covering his eyes in light-hearted defiance of the morning sun. His teeth are showing as he snores lightly into the pillow. After taking a few minutes just to enjoy the fact he's home, I leave him to rest.
The sun is just about up, and Michonne is in the kitchen with her back to me. She's cleaning her sword thoughtfully with a wet rag at the kitchen sink which she slides firmly against the steel. The blood that comes off it is thick and smells rank even from across the room.
I clear my throat.
Michonne doesn't jump, even though she's surprised. Her shoulders slump a little, and she turns her head so I can see her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't be," I say back.
"I know I said I'd stop. It's just—" she pauses, putting her sword down on the counter before turning and looking at me, "—it's harder now. With the charter, and your dad being gone..."
"I get it."
She smirks, still full of guilt. Her eyes follow mine to a smear of blood on her shoulder. She licks her thumb and rubs it away.
"Are you gonna tell your dad?" she asks.
"Why would I?"
"I dunno," Michonne sighs. "Are you?"
"No."
She frowns at something I can't see.
"Is it Negan?" I ask.
She looks out the window towards the front of the house.
"I guess he got to me yesterday."
"How?"
"He's desperate," Michonne says. "He's desperate and lonely, but some of the shit he says just gets to me."
"What did he say?"
She smiles at me like it's dumb. "That I'm worried I'll lose you, your dad, Judith. He wants to prove I'm like him. That having you all makes me weak."
"You know it doesn't."
"I do," she tells me softly. "He's just good at making it sound like I don't."
I move past her to take her sword, reaching out so she hands me the sheath. I put them together like estranged pieces of a puzzle before leaning it against the table and hugging her.
"That's out there," I tell her. "We're in here."
When we pull away, she smiles, touching my cheek, but her eyes quickly get dark and serious. "Rhys is right to stay away from him."
"What do you mean?"
"He's just waiting for the right person to walk in there. He knows how to get to all of us. That's his power." Michonne shakes her head, touching my cheek again, brushing her thumb against it. "I don't wanna think about what he'd say to Rhys."
I know what he'd say.
I remember the last time I spoke to Negan.
It was just before I left for the bridge camp.
I'd gone to see him.
"Carl... it has been a minute."
"How are you?"
"Me? Oh, I am as dandy as a daisy down here. I like the dark. Reminds me of what all those people see... you know the ones... bloody and brainless in that clearing."
"I know what you're doing."
"You do, do you? Why don't you tell me what I'm doing, Carl."
"You do it every time. You want to die."
He had gone quiet after that.
"Dad and Michonne haven't realised it yet. They buy that you still think you're getting out of here one day. You know you're not."
"Is that so bad?"
His voice had changed. He doesn't talk to me like it's a performance. He always starts with it, like he has to, like forgets he doesn't have to. But eventually, we end up just talking.
"I get it, Negan. But you're not going to die. That's the point."
"Not much of a point from in here. Shit, it's cold and dark."
"They'll never kill you. You won't annoy them into it. And you won't convince me to help you."
He had put the performance back on for what he said after that, I didn't get it at the time, but after what Michonne just said, it's starting to make sense.
"How's that sweet little boy toy of yours?"
"I'm going to see him."
"That wasn't my question, Carl..."
"I know."
"When do I get to see that little psychopath? Fuck, I'd like to trade notes with him... I mean I've killed people in fucked up ways, but that kid... the way he took Paula out... hot damn. I still think about that shit."
I'd lost my temper a little at that.
"Never. You never get to see him."
"Carl, Carl, Carl. Did I strike a nerve?"
I had calmed down after that.
"Like I said... you'll never convince me. You know I don't fall for your bullshit, asshole."
"Oh, I know..."
He had purred like a cat.
"I know that you call my bullshit..."
His grin showed in the shadows.
"I like that, kid."
He had moved closer to the bars.
"Not everyone is as strong as you are..."
His grin was terrifying. I still regret that I took a step back from it.
"And I can't wait 'till I see that boyfriend of yours again."
-Rhys-
Downstairs I find Michonne sitting at the kitchen island with Judith, jotting down notes from a book on the American judicial system, while Jude threads a string through the seashells that I brought her from Oceanside.
"Morning, Rhys," Judith says, grinning from her stool beside Michonne at the kitchen island.
"Can't believe you slept so long," Michonne comments, glancing up from her papers to sip some coffee out of her 'Have a nice day!' mug. "Carl's gone to gun training lesson."
"Carl takes gun lessons?" I ask.
Michonne shakes her head, pouting her lip as if she found that funny. "He teaches some of the younger classes."
I nod, sure he told me that at some point. I sit down opposite them with my own drink when Michonne points me in the direction of the coffee pot.
"What are you making?" I ask Judith, watching as she keeps rearranging the order of the shells on the string.
"A bracelet," Judith sighs like it was a silly question.
"Oh, with the shells?" Michonne asks.
"Mm-hmm."
"That's gonna be pretty," Michonne tells her.
"I want one like Rhysies," Judith adds, pointing at the woven guitar strings around my wrist. They're older, the colours faded."
Michonne smiles. "You know your brother made that for him?"
"Yes," Judith says, again like it's a silly question. "Carl has one, too."
Michonne nods back at her. "Sure does."
"Do you know why he made it for me?" I ask her.
"Because you're in love?" Judith asks with a sneaky smile.
I can't stop the stupid grin on my face, and Michonne laughs at me for it.
"Actually, not quite," I tell her. "People didn't know we liked each other like that when he made these."
Michonne clears her throat, sipping some coffee with raised eyebrows.
"Okay," I laugh. "Apart from your mom and tía Rosita... nobody else knew."
Judith frowns. "Then why'd you make them?"
"It was for when we became best friends."
Judith finds that interesting. I've noticed that her eyebrows knit together when something interests her. She actually does it with most things. She turns to Michonne. "Mommy, do you think the creatures in these shells were friends?"
"Oh, the ocean is so big, baby. I don't know if they ever met... but if they did, I don't see why not."
"Even though their shells are different?"
"Even though their shells are different."
Michonne goes to sip her coffee again but groans at the dark circle the mug has left on one of her notes. She picks it up and shakes it while I grab a cloth from the sink behind me.
There's a knock a the door. It's open, so Scott walks in.
"Hey," he sighs. "Hope I'm not—"
"No, no," Michonne smiles, handing me the paper, which I put in the sun of the kitchen window to dry. "Come on in."
Scott nods, watching me funny as Michonne gets up and walks over to him. I wave. He doesn't.
"Maggie's here," he says, eyes still on me.
Mine must go wide because his narrow.
"Aunt Maggie," Judith says with a grin and all the joy in her voice that none of the rest of us are showing.
Scott shifts his weight, glancing at Michonne. "Teddy at the gate told me she just came in."
"What?" Michonne hisses.
Scott looks at me again, talking out the side of his mouth to Michonne. "I think we know why she's here."
Michonne takes a heavy breath and nods.
I can't breathe.
It's happening.
"Know anything about this?" Scott asks me, raising an eyebrow.
"What?" I stutter. "No."
"Maybe it's best if I take him to the church. Just 'till this blows over."
"I didn't know," I tell him. "Scott... c'mon, man. You know me."
"I don't like being that guy, Rhys." He frowns. "You can't say it doesn't seem suspicious that she turns up the day after you. After the two of you refuse to visit for over a year, you're just good with it now?"
"We're good, Scott," Michonne says. "I'll handle it."
He nods, giving me raised eyebrow that might be saying sorry. "How about Sasha?"
"Go find her," Michonne says quickly, nodding to him. "Nothing unpleasant. Just keep an eye on her until I sort this."
"You got it," Scott says before leaving.
Michonne turns to Judith and me, the two of us watching the whole thing. "Baby, can you go finish your shells in your bedroom? I'll tell you when you can come out, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy!" Judith smiles, scooping up her shells before running past me and upstairs.
Michonne looks at me. "I need you to be honest with me."
"I am."
"Did you know she was coming... is that why you came here?"
"No," I bark at her, apologising when she raises her eyebrow. "No," I say again, quieter.
Michonne walks over to where her sword is mounted on the wall, takes it down, and stares at me. "Then you need to pick a side right now, before Maggie gets here."
I never wanted to walk down these steps. People normally have that one thing in their lives. That one thing they would never do. For Carl, it's skydiving. Just the word makes him feel ill and get a splitting headache. Rosita would never touch a snake. Mikey and Enid have nightmares about ending up alone. Siddiq is terrified of spiders. Those are all things you can avoid if you try hard enough. But I've tried hard. I've tried harder to avoid the steps to this cell than anything else in my life. But here I am, standing with Michonne at the bottom of them, waiting for Maggie.
I guess that's two things I've never wanted to do.
Walking down these steps and stopping Maggie from being happy.
Maggie turns the street corner at the top of the steps, a twisted metal crowbar in her hand, Earl's blacksmith brand on its handle. Maggie's face is equally twisted at Michonne standing in her way. When she sees me, though, that's when her face untwists; un-rages. Seas calm, and ships sail to their harbours in the respite. It softens until I worry she'll start to cry. But she doesn't. Instead, she walks down the steps towards us the same way I had — one at a time, thinking about how each one takes her closer to him.
"Maggie?" Michonne asks in a high voice like she didn't know she was coming, like they just bumped into each other in the avocado section of the grocery store. Old friends that really need to set a date to get coffee.
Maggie's face is back to stone, her emerald green eyes focused on Michonne like they're trying ever so hard not to see me.
"Get out of my way," she whispers at Michonne.
I guess I'm making it easy for her not to see me, standing off to the side a little. Not in her way, but not by her side.
"You're willing to turn this into something else?" Michonne asks. "For him?"
"Not for him... for me. For others. For Glenn. For Rhys and Hershel. Negan should have died under that tree."
"But he didn't die, Maggie," Michonne tells her. "And Rhys is standing here, right now, because he knows that despite what he wants... it's not right."
"He's standing there now because he's made promises he can't break. Because he's like Glenn was. I'm standing here because Glenn is gone, and I need to do this."
"It's done," Michonne says.
"Because Rick decided it was?"
Maggie steps closer, Michonne squares up to her, and I back up against the wall until I can't go any further, the cell window above my head.
Michonne warns Maggie through her teeth. "Step. Back."
"You were there, Michonne," Maggie hisses, keeping her voice low to stop the trembling in it from showing. "You saw what Negan did."
"You think Glenn would want this?" Michonne grimaces at her. "For you to go through me to get to him?"
"I don't know what he'd want... I don't know because I never got to say goodbye."
"He wouldn't want it, Maggie," Michonne snaps at her. "Your father wouldn't want this. You know this."
"The only thing I had, the one thing I had, was knowing I was gonna see Glenn's murderer die, and you took it from me."
"You have two boys," Michonne whispers at her, a loud whisper in a way that only Michonne can do. "Takin' it back... what the hell is that gonna do?"
"It's gonna start things over!" Maggie snaps at her.
"No... it's gonna start something else!"
Maggie glances at me. When our eyes meet, I'm so worried that they'll ask for help. Worried that she'll ask me to help her from somewhere deep down. That place where Sasha once asked me to help look after the prison when people were sick. That place Rick spoke to in the church when he told Carl and me that we were not safe. The place deep inside that told me to fight the horde after Carl got shot, and fight the Saviors when Glenn was killed. A place so desperate that if Maggie asks for it, I don't know what I'll be capable of. But her eyes don't ask for anything. Instead, she takes something from me, but I don't know what.
Maggie's eyes go back to Michonne. "If he butchered Rick in front of you instead of Glenn—"
Michonne's neck cracks from the tension in her stance, her sword clutched under white knuckles. "Maggie—"
"If you had children to raise alone because of him, he would have been dead a long time ago, and you know it!"
Michonne doesn't want to picture it, but I can see it in a single tear that falls from her eye. Rick's mangled brain in the dirt. Carl and Judith, alone with her. Carl told me once that she had a child before — Andre. He told me that it's something she still struggles to talk about without getting grit in her throat and tears on her cheeks.
"Stop acting like this is a choice," Maggie tells her. "Stop actin' like I can just turn it off. Because it has been a year and a half... and I can't."
Michonne sniffles behind her hand, wiping away that tear filled with an alternate timeline. Brushing it against her leg and away.
"You're gonna have to find a way."
"Tell me how..."
Michonne stares at her blankly. What can you say to that?
"If there is something else that I can do, Michonne. Because I can't keep livin' like this."
She looks at me then. "I can't fail Hershel like I've failed you..."
"You haven't," I whisper, my voice dry and hoarse.
"I see how much it hurts you," she sobs. "Not seeing this place because of me. This is the only way. After this, we can all move on. The three of us can finally move on from what happened a year ago."
Michonne's crying like we are. It's quiet and private. "I... I can't..."
"Because there's nothin' you can say," Maggie tells her softly. "There's only what you do."
I can only imagine that he is in there now, listening and waiting for his sentence.
"And you can live with what comes after?" Michonne asks coldly.
"Have to." Maggie nods. "Can't live with it now."
Michonne hands her the keys and steps aside without making another sound.
Maggie looks at me before she goes in there to change the world. I guess she's waiting for my approval or maybe my objection. I can't give her either, so she tells me to wait for her outside.
I sit under an apple tree across the street, rolling one of the rotten fruits that fell too early with the toe of my boot. Michonne stays at the bottom of those steps. I don't hear any crunches or squelching. When the door opens, I hear the two talking before Maggie comes up the steps. She's got no blood on her like I had imagined she would. The heavy, twisted crowbar in her hand is clean. She crosses the street towards me.
"You didn't kill him," I say, not sure if I meant it as a question — not sure why I feel relieved. I try to force the small amount of anger to get bigger and scarier inside of me, but it fizzles out like fireworks dancing on the water.
She sits beside me under the tree, leaning her shoulder against mine, warm and comforting as her steady breathing matches mine.
"I couldn't," she says.
"Because he's already dead?" I ask. "That part of him anyway."
"How did you—"
"Carl tells me about him..." I shrug. "I didn't believe it. But I guess it's true."
"I guess so."
"Do you feel better?"
She shakes her head.
"Do you feel worse?"
"No."
"Can we still move on?" I ask then.
"I don't know that either, baby."
She puts an arm around the back of my head to cradle it, fingers in my hair as she pulls me into her. She kisses my forehead, running her hand through my hair gently.
"I'm here, sweetie."
"Me, too."
"You need a haircut," she whispers then.
I chuckle into the crook of her neck. "Dream on."
Michonne crosses the street to us, smiling a sad and knowing smile. I'm sure she has these moments with Carl. He's told me they do.
Suddenly, and almost too out of nowhere, a red-in-the-face Dianne sprints up the street, waving a walkie-talkie at us.
"Hi," I say while she catches her breath.
"Maggie, Michonne," she wheezes, nodding at me, "something's up at the camp."
Michonne barks at me to get Carl.
And I run.
Faster than I've ever run through these streets.