Chapter 7

Michonne returned to the prison a few days later, empty-handed. She left again the next morning without saying goodbye.

Andrea continued to go up to the main building for meals and to use the facilities, but otherwise, kept mostly to herself in her tower. It wasn't that the others weren't kind to her, she just couldn't stand their pity and concern, especially when she still wasn't sure she deserved it.

She had recovered from most of her physical injuries by now, except the lacerations on her wrists, where the handcuffs had cut almost to the bone as she struggled against them.

"Those cuts are healing up nicely," Hershel told her when she met him at the infirmary for her weekly check-up, examining the ugly array of scabs. "Looks like you might not even scar that badly."

On her body, at least. Her mind and heart were a whole different story.

He finished redressing her wounds and she thanked him, letting him walk her out. Rather than head out with him, though, she pretended she was going in the opposite direction, waiting until he turned the corner to slip back into the infirmary. She needed something from their collection of medical supplies and she didn't want to have to ask him for it. They took everything that was left at the warehouse. She was sure they must have something that could help her.

Carol came in with a basket of fresh sheets and towels while Andrea was still rifling through the cabinet. When she wasn't helping in the kitchen or taking shifts watching Judith and the other kids, she'd been shadowing Hershel, learning from him, now that they had more people to tend to. "I didn't know you were still here, Andrea," she told her, when she noticed her by the open cupboard. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Realising how shifty she must look, Andrea forced a casual smile as her hand closed over the box she was searching for. "No, thanks, I'm good." She slipped it into her pocket, but not before Carol could recognise the packaging, her eyes widening in a mixture of surprise and alarm.

It was exactly the kind of reaction Andrea was hoping to avoid. She didn't want to talk about it - at least until she was sure there was something to talk about - but knowing that this could be a problem for the whole group, she felt obligated to say something. "I'm late," she explained. "Just a few days."

Her cycle had been erratic since the turn, but this was the first time she'd been worried about it. She didn't think she could be pregnant because she was careful, but she needed to be sure. No method of birth control was foolproof and she wouldn't put it past that bastard to slip one over on her as a final "Fuck you".

"It's probably just stress," Carol assured her. "You've been through a lot."

"I haven't been sick or anything," she agreed, aside from a few explainable instances like after she killed Martinez and the next morning when she was hungover from drowning her sorrows with Rick. "That means it's probably fine, right?" She wasn't really sure what she should be looking out for, aside from the obvious.

"When I was pregnant with Sophia, I barely had any symptoms for the first few months," Carol admitted, which didn't do anything to alleviate Andrea's anxiety.

She felt repulsed at the thought of his hands on her now after the violent ways he touched her at the end. She didn't know if she could handle a permanent reminder of something that, while consensual at the time, felt like a violation in hindsight now that she knew it was all based on manipulation and lies. The memory of the last night she spent with him, when she went to his bed with the intention of cutting his throat, made her skin crawl. She didn't want to have to think about it every time she looked at the result.

"Only one way to find out then, I guess," she said. She turned to leave, to find the nearest bathroom to put herself out of her misery, then stopped as a disturbing thought occurred to her.

It was bad enough that Carol knew. She couldn't bear it if the others found out. She'd just earned back their trust and respect. She was afraid to lose it again. Not to mention the panic it would cause if word got around. "Please don't tell anyone."

Especially Rick, she thought.

He'd been so good to her. She knew he would try to be supportive, but she was afraid he wouldn't be able to hide his horror at the Trojan horse she'd be bringing into their midst. She didn't want it to change anything between them.

And Michonne. Michonne would be disgusted with her. If she ever came back long enough to catch up on prison gossip.

"I promise, I won't," Carol told her. "But if you are pregnant, you know you can't keep it, right?"

Under different circumstances, Andrea might have welcomed the unexpected blessing, especially now that their little community was thriving. But while the idea of being connected to him forever was bad enough, what was even worse was the thought of what he would do if he ever found out. He would never leave them alone. Not until she was dead and the child was with him. He'd kill everyone in the prison to get to them if she stayed, and if she tried to run, he'd hunt her to the ends of the earth to take back what he thought was his. Her only option would be to kill him first, and so far, she'd failed every time she tried.

She couldn't let that become her life, couldn't put them all at risk that way. "I know," she agreed.

"If it comes to that, I'll help you figure out a way to do it," Carol promised, squeezing her arm.

Andrea nodded, grateful that she wouldn't have to deal with it alone. Carol might be the only person in the prison who understood what she was going through. After all this time, they finally had something in common.

Thankfully, the test was negative. Andrea wasn't sure she trusted that she could be that lucky, so she asked Carol to get her a second one to be safe. Also negative. But when her period finally came, she still cried with relief.

From where he was working, building pens for the livestock with Hershel and a few other men, Rick could see Andrea up on what was now her guard tower. He watched her pace the length of the platform, wearing holes in it with her boots, clutching her rifle in a death grip. 'Hypervigilant' was the word that came to mind.

"She seem okay to you?" he asked Hershel, tipping his head in her direction as he held pieces of wood together for him to hammer.

The night after the skirmish at the warehouse, when she was drunk off her ass, was the most upbeat he'd seen her in a long time. Her giddiness would have been cute if he wasn't so worried about what lurked underneath. The next day, once she'd sobered up, her good mood was gone, and if anything, she was worse - more withdrawn than usual, if that was even possible. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was avoiding him – all of them, really. She'd barely left the tower, except occasionally at mealtimes, when she took her rations and hightailed it out of the cafeteria before anyone could try to engage her in conversation. The few times he had managed to catch her, she'd brushed him off like she was in a hurry to be somewhere. He wasn't sure if it was her guilt over killing Martinez, the fact that Michonne had gone out looking to stir up trouble, or that she'd left her behind, but something wasn't right with her.

"As okay as she can be after what she's been through," Hershel pointed out. "We don't even know the half of it."

They still didn't know exactly what the Governor did to her before or after he put her in that room. She'd been evasive whenever anyone tried to talk to her about it.

But details aside, Hershel was right. They'd all been through things, all done things just to stay alive. He wasn't sure any of them were okay anymore.

"I guess we probably all have PTSD from one thing or another," he agreed. A psychiatrist would have a field day with their group, if they weren't already too traumatised themself.

Hershel chuckled. "That is true. You're a good man, Rick. She's lucky to have you looking out for her."

Like he was when he left her behind at the farm? When he told everyone they couldn't go back for her? "If I was looking out for her, she wouldn't've been there in the first place. And none of this would've happened," he argued.

Hershel put a hand on his shoulder. "You've heard of the Alcoholics Anonymous prayer?" he asked.

Rick had referred plenty of drunks to AA when he was a cop, but he'd never paid much attention to what they did with them afterwards. Maybe he should have. "Something about 'serenity'," was all he could remember.

Hershel recited the words for his benefit: "'God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.' We do what we can, when we can. You're helping her now. That's what matters."

Rather than keep waiting for Andrea to come down from the guard tower, Rick decided to take Judith and go check on her. Using his daughter was a shameless ploy, he knew, but it was the only surefire way he could think of to get through her defences. She wouldn't be able to turn the baby away.

She was out on the platform as usual, leaning on the railing, staring off into the dark woods like she was a million miles away. But she turned when she heard his boots on the gravel, watching him make his way towards her. Then, when he was almost to the tower, she went inside to open the hatch for him.

It wasn't easy climbing the ladder one-handed. Once he was close enough, she reached down to take the baby from him so he could finish his ascent.

As he expected, she nestled Judith against her chest, letting her wrap her tiny fingers around hers, and there it was: the smile he was afraid he'd never see again.

"We missed you at dinner," he greeted her.

Again, he wanted to add.

"I wasn't hungry," she insisted, her attention still on the baby, even though he couldn't understand how that was possible when she hadn't put in an appearance at breakfast or lunch, either.

He wasn't sure when she was eating, if she was even eating at all. She looked exhausted. He guessed she still wasn't sleeping much, either. He wondered if she was still having nightmares.

He produced a small container from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. "Good, because there's no way I'd call that food."

Still balancing Judith, she peeled the lid off, wincing at the brown concoction inside in disgust. "What is it? I mean, aside from prison slop?"

"Roast beef and gravy, according to the can it came in," he told her.

"Gravy is right," she agreed. She replaced the lid and set the container aside without any real interest. "Still, it was kind of you to come all the way out here just to bring me that."

He wondered how she would react if he admitted it was really just an excuse to see her. That after weeks of keeping close tabs on her, he'd started to miss her whenever she wasn't around.

He knew he should probably go now that he'd done what he came there to do, but she was still holding the baby, so he decided to test the waters by continuing the conversation.

He lowered himself to an empty spot on the floor, wrapping his knees in his arms. It was the first time he'd been back there since the day he helped her move in. He was expecting something a little less Spartan; aside from making up a bed in the corner, she hadn't done anything to turn it into a home, like she wasn't sure how long she was planning on staying. He hoped that meant she would come back up to the cellblock soon, when she found whatever she was looking for out here. He made a mental note to bring her an extra blanket the next time he checked in. The tower wasn't particularly well-insulated. It must get draughty in the middle of the night.

"I can't wait until the crops are ready to harvest so we can eat real food again," he told her. "Although, thanks to you, we at least get eggs for breakfast."

He was pleased when she followed his lead, settling cross-legged opposite him with Judith. He liked watching her with his daughter. It was one of the only times she was ever still.

"You should be proud," she agreed. "The farm is really coming along. This whole place is."

It was too bad she didn't seem to want to be a part of it. Or maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe it was that she didn't feel like she deserved to.

"It wasn't just me," he pointed out. "Everyone helped."

"I didn't do much."

Rick was surprised by her admission. "You almost died getting us all here," he reminded her. "I wouldn't say that wasn't much."

He knew he was pushing it, but he decided to take advantage of the opportunity to try again to get her to open up to him. "You still haven't talked about what happened. What he did." He thought he'd pieced most of it together by now from what people had told him and the parts he'd witnessed himself, but he wanted to hear it from her. That was what was missing. "Whatever it was, you haven't been the same since."

He saw glimmers of the old Andrea sometimes, in her stubbornness and determination and the occasional witty retort, but there was a hardness, a coldness, a distance to her that was never there before.

Then again, people had said the same thing about him since Shane tried to kill him and he was forced to defend himself. How could anyone still see the world the same way after a betrayal like that?

For once, she didn't deny it. "You really wanna know?" she asked him, meeting his eyes head-on for the first time since he'd arrived.

"I really wanna know."

She didn't speak again for a long time, and he couldn't tell if it was because she was trying to think of a way to change the subject or if she was just collecting her thoughts.

He didn't try to fill the silence either way, just let her be.

"When Milton told me what he was going to do to Michonne, and that he wasn't going to stop there, I tried to leave, to come here, to warn you all," she began with a strange detachment, like she was recounting the plot of the last movie she saw. He imagined it was the way she coached her clients to give testimonies in court when she was an attorney. "He came after me."

She didn't have to tell him who she was talking about.

"I spent the whole day and night trying to get away from him. He had a shovel - I think he wanted me to know he was going to use it to bury me when he was done with me. He chased me into this empty warehouse and I tried to turn the tables on him by siccing a bunch of walkers on him."

For a second, she looked almost proud.

"I almost got him, too. But he caught up to me in the woods just outside the prison. I was so close, I could see you on watch duty, but I couldn't get your attention."

Rick was dismayed to hear of yet another way he'd failed her. He wanted to apologise, to assure her that he hadn't known she was there or else he would have intervened, but he was afraid that if he interrupted her now, she'd never finish her story.

"He knocked me to the ground, knocked me out. When I came to, I was in the room where you found me, handcuffed to that chair. I don't know how long I was there, waiting for him to come back and do" - she shuddered at the memory - "whatever he was going to do to me. All I knew was I wasn't getting out of there alive."

Rick could only imagine how terrifying that must have been for her. He felt another red-hot flash of anger. Sure, he'd killed too when he needed to, but he never took any pleasure in it the way that sadistic bastard seemed to. He'd certainly never got off on terrorising defenseless women by threatening to rape or torture them.

"He came back later with a knife." Off Rick's horrified look, she added, "It was mostly talk, more mind games. He wanted to make sure I knew how disappointed he was in me for trying to help you."

Her use of the word 'mostly' wasn't lost on Rick. She didn't tell him what else he did and he didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know or what he would do with that information. Already, he wanted to kill the bastard for laying his hands on her the way he had. For beating her senseless and making her cower from him in fear. And for all the imperceptible ways he hurt her that he might never fully understand.

"The next time he came in, he stabbed Milton, threw him in with me to die and turn. 'You kill or you die', he said, 'or you die and you kill'. I managed to pick up a pair of pliers he left behind with my foot, used them to free myself and put Milton down when he tried to attack me. But the door was locked and I couldn't get out. I was so weak by then that I passed out again. The next time I woke up, I was here. With you."

Rick was quiet for a moment while he digested everything she'd told him about her ordeal. He didn't know what to make of any of it other than that he was filled with admiration for her, at her strength and resourcefulness. "That's quite a story."

She offered him a watery smile. "Yeah."

"Not many people could've survived all that." He wasn't even sure he could. And that was without getting to the survival skills she showed escaping the herd on her own the night they left the farm. "You're pretty remarkable, Andrea, you know that?" he told her. It was a shame she didn't seem to be able to see it herself.

She glanced down at the baby, now asleep in her arms, soothed by the cadence of her voice, without any understanding of the words. "I just knew I wasn't ready to die. Not like that. I couldn't let him win."

It saddened Rick that she had fought so hard and survived so much just to shut herself away in a tower, refusing to be part of the community her blood, sweat and tears had helped build.

He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up so she had to look at him. When their gazes locked, he felt a surge of electricity at the intensity of her magnificent blue-green eyes, the colour of the sea after a storm. He could get lost in those eyes if he let himself. "So then don't," he told her. "You say you're not ready to die - so maybe it's time you started living."