Naomi

"Marissa, please," I hated begging but I wasn't above it.

"No."

I felt sick. And it wasn't because of the baby. I'd experienced enough of that not-so-in-the-morning morning sickness to tell the difference now. This was queasiness caused by cold, anxious dread.

"I know it's risky," I said, taking a lot of deep breaths to calm myself down. "But I can get us all out of here if you-"

"I don't want to get out of here," she said. Her eyes were so cold, her mouth set in a firm, thin line. "It's safe here. They have food. Why would we give that up to go back out there?"

My heart sank. I could see the same feeling echoing in Amber's eyes. We both had family we wanted to get back to, but John and Marissa didn't. If you didn't have anyone waiting for you, I could see the appeal of a place like this.

Marissa had been a crucial part of my plan to get out of here. Her role on the cleaning crew gave her access to the Communications room. It was one of her assigned rooms, and she was there alone every few days. It was access I would kill for, although I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Hilltop had a HAM radio. Barely used because we all stuck to the short-range walkies most of the time, but it was there. Contactable from the one in here. One conversation with Maggie wouldn't free us, but it would lift the amount of pain Mia and Daryl were in.

Until Dwight could get a message to Daryl, this was all I had.

I'd clung to the idea like a life raft, and now I felt it being snatched from under me in the water.

"Please. They'll never know you helped us."

"I'm not helping you," Marissa's eyebrow arched scornfully. "The minute I heard you were in here I knew that you and your little group would try and find a way to ruin this place, too. That you'd find a way to destroy another sanctuary. I won't let it happen. Not again."

She glared at me, spun on her heels, and left the room. The door to Amber's room slammed shut behind her. I flinched, less at the noise and more because of her rage. We'd made some good inroads with the former Saviors, but it was depressing to know that some of them would never forgive us for the way we'd changed things.

"What now?" Amber whispered.

"We find another way in," I said. "And we wait until Mark or Dwight can get a message somewhere close to Sanctuary. We keep trying."

What was the other option? Give up? Stay here? Resign myself to raising a child underground while their father thinks I'm dead? Never.

Amber nodded. Neither of us moved or said anything for a moment. Then, Amber sank onto her mattress, "What if Marissa tells the Colonel?"

"Deny everything," I said. "Act like we don't know each other outside of here. Keep working like we've been working."

Amber nodded again, and I took that as my cue to leave her room. I wanted to stay and commiserate. To keep planning our escape. But, if Marissa ran to get the Colonel now, it wouldn't help our case if he found us hanging out together. We had to continue like we were strangers. It was safer that way.

But, fuck, it was lonely.

I missed my family so much. The need to see them was stronger than any hunger or thirst or tiredness I'd ever experienced. Cut open and left to bleed out without the relief of death. I no longer feared Hell; I now knew it was a life without them.

I measured time in weeks, not days. A count up as much as a countdown. The weeks I'd been in here ticked up, and the weeks until our baby was due ticked down.

I wrote messages for Daryl on scraps of paper passed to Sherry to give to Dwight when our time in the kitchen overlapped. Every time she told me he'd gone out scavenging with a team, my heart lifted. I thought about Daryl finding something of mine. Some definitive proof that I was alive. A shred of hope on scrap paper. And then the news came back that they hadn't been near Sanctuary this time.

The paper came from a storage room I snuck into before I clocked in for my shift in the kitchens. It was full of unsorted things that Dwight and the rest of the scavenging team had picked up and brought back during their time outside. Things that weren't directly useful came here to be sorted and inventoried slowly. Unimportant enough that I hoped they wouldn't notice things going missing, especially something as small as paper. There were also no cameras. Sherry, Amber, and I could meet there in short bursts to make plans without anyone getting suspicious.

By the time I entered my second trimester, we had our sneaking around down to an art. I slipped into the storage room as usual and reached into one of the boxes. I tried to switch up which ones I took from, just in case anyone was watching things closer than I thought.

I pulled out something that felt papery against my fingertips. Folded. I looked at it. Someone had made an origami flower. Pretty enough that I considered putting it back and seeing if there was anything else in that box; Mia had tried to teach me how to make something like that once, and knowing how much effort must've gone into making it made me feel bad for unfolding it. But, no, that was crazy. If it had ended up here, whoever had made it probably did not need it anymore. So, I unfolded the paper, ready to write something that Dwight might be able to get to Daryl.

My breath caught in my throat. There was a drawing inside. A practice sketch. I knew it was a practice because I recognized the style. It was Mia's.

I held it in my hand for a moment like it was a real flower that would die if I put it down.

Is she here?

Did they get her?

The paper shook in my hand, the edges of it fluttering. I tried to think about where they might put her if they'd come across her somewhere. If she'd been out looking for me with Daryl and got too close, she might have ended up down here like Dwight and Sherry.

They wouldn't know she was my kid, so they might just put her with the other…

Slow, creeping cold spread through my veins, starting with a fear that gripped me by the heart. My changing rota had taken me to many corners of this place, many different floors. I was confident that I had seen most of it, but there was something I'd never seen. Not in the six weeks I'd been conscious in here.

Children.

I pulled the whole box off the shelf. There were so many paper flowers it was a damn botanical garden. I dug through them. There was every chance I was losing it, searching desperately for a sign of my family while trying to send one to them. It couldn't really be Mia's, could it?

There were candles in here, too. A bunch of them. And paper chains with drawings on them that looked so much like Mia's it made my heart ache - hearts, flowers… rings.

And then it clicked.

These were Mia's, but she wasn't here. It wasn't just the deer they'd stolen from us that day. There'd been a box of something else, too. This must have been it. Daryl had asked her to do it for him, for us, so she could be part of our engagement without him having an audience.

Heat prickled at the corners of my eyes. I squeezed them shut.

I need to go home.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to set so many fires that they had no choice but to open the doors. But I couldn't. All I could do was whatever they told me to. An infraction of their rules, any sign that I was rebelling, would get me another needle in the arm.

So, I slipped a few pieces of origami into my pockets and put the box away like a good little captive. I breathed deep, stuffing the tears so deep down they wouldn't surface again until I was in bed.

In the kitchen, I picked up my usual cart and started dropping off food at every place on my assigned list. It was hard to focus, and only half of my mind felt like it was present in any meaningful way.

It didn't help that Bart was on patrol while I was doing it. Ever since he'd caught me slacking off and talking to someone, he kept a real close eye on me. Waiting. Itching to give Jocelyn a reason to sedate me again.

"You again," he grunted when he saw me coming.

You stole Mia's art.

I looked down, afraid I couldn't hide the anger in my eyes. I'd gotten well-practiced at keeping my cool, but this felt like the ultimate test.

Head down, I started my usual round. Knocking on doors and passing out food, trying not to think about the delicately folded flowers in my pocket. One door had been scratched off my list. I paused outside of it. I knew whose room it was. And I hadn't seen her in two weeks. I stopped. Checked my list. Checked it again. Definitely scratched out.

"There a problem?" Art thief asked.

"Where's Callie?"

"Who?"

"The woman who lives here," I said. "In this room."

"Who?" he asked again. He didn't even blink, but there was something cold and gleaming in his eye. It was like he knew something horrible and wanted me to know it, too.

"Never mind," I lowered my gaze again. "My mistake."

I carried on. When Bart wasn't looking, I sent a silent apology to Mia and unfolded one of her flowers. I scribbled a hasty note to Amber, which I slipped onto her food tray under the plate. Neither of us said anything more than "Hello" when I passed it to her, but she would get it. She knew to look by now.

I delivered the rest of the meals to my assigned rooms and returned to the kitchen. I put the cart away and walked past Sherry's workstation, close enough to mutter, "Storage room. As soon as you can get away."

She gave the smallest nod to show that she'd heard me. I ducked out again as quickly as I could. Amber was already waiting there. She was pretending to look for something when I came in and dropped the pretense when she saw it was me. Her smile dropped, too, reading from my expression that I hadn't called this meeting because I'd figured out some genius way to get out.

"What's wrong?"

"When was the last time you saw Callie?"

Amber frowned in thought, "I think I saw her after one of my appointments with Jocelyn. She was going in after me, but that was maybe… Two weeks ago."

I sighed, my heart sinking. "I haven't seen her in two weeks either."

Amber's frown deepened. Before either of us could say anything else, the door opened, and Sherry slipped in. She glanced at us both, "You okay?"

"Have you heard anything about Callie recently?" I asked.

"Last I heard, she was in labor," Sherry said. Something tightened in my chest. "But that was probably…"

"Two weeks ago?" I finished for her.

Sherry hesitated. "Yeah… about then."

"Have you heard how it went?" Amber asked, delicately tiptoeing around the idea that something had gone wrong during it and Callie was no longer with us.

"No. Nothing."

I took a breath, not wanting to ask my next question but knowing I needed the truth no matter what it was. "Have either of you, in all of your time here, seen a single child? A baby? A toddler? A teenager? "

Cold silence settled into the room, a louder statement than any 'no' could have been. I watched Amber's face pale. Sherry, on the other hand, seemed more resigned, like a suspicion had been cemented into fact.

What the fuck?

I tried not to overthink the implications of all of this. But… that had never really been a strength of mine.

"When we first got here," Sherry said. "The Colonel and Jocelyn were delighted they'd found a young couple to take in. During our induction, they put a lot of emphasis on how safe this place would be if we were looking to start a family."

"Yeah, they said the same thing to us," Amber said. "And when they found out I was pregnant, they were adamant this was the best place for us. Safe and family-friendly."

'Family-friendly'... That was the exact phrase one of those art-thieving, deer-stealing, engagement-ruining assholes had used when they'd offered Daryl and me a place here.

If it's so damn family-friendly, where are all the damn families?

"Maybe," Amber said tentatively. "They just haven't had any children since the outbreak, and that's why they're so… invested."

A hundred people took shelter down here during the outbreak, and not one had a kid? A young family?

I didn't say that. I didn't want to snatch away any comfort she'd managed to give herself unnecessarily. Amber needed hope to keep herself going. She'd been the same when it was Negan that we were trying to escape. So, I tried to give her more, give her the energy to see this through.

"Maybe," I agreed. "Or, maybe there's a separate floor for families, one none of us had been to yet."

Amber nodded, some of the color returning to her face. Sherry and I exchanged a glance over her head, silently agreeing that this explanation was deeply unlikely.

"I have an appointment with Jocelyn today," I said. "I'll see if I can find out anything."

I gave the notes I'd written for Daryl to Sherry to pass to Dwight, and then, one by one, we left the storage room.

I kept one paper flower for myself. One of the small ones, hidden deep in my room like contraband in a prison. I couldn't keep it out or display it like I wanted to because if anyone saw it, it might alert them to the other things I was stealing from them. It felt good to have a secret, a small piece of defiance. Felt even better that it was Mia's; it made her seem less far away.

It made me think about all of the real flowers that would be about to start growing above ground. It would be Spring soon. Hopefully, our work at Sanctuary would pay off, and the crops would grow.

I missed most of Winter.

Mia's birthday.

I tried not to think about everything I was missing. The good things were hard enough, but what about the unknown struggles? Anything could have happened to them while I'd been down here. Another uprising. Another storm.

Bart no longer collected me for my appointments with Jocelyn. I made my own way there. It was a good sign. They trusted me more, little by little. I needed that to keep growing.

Jocelyn greeted me with her usual smile. I tried to read anything in her face, tiredness, or stress over having lost a patient.

"Second trimester," she said with a hint of excitement that now felt suspicious. "How are you feeling?"

"Less sick than I was," I said, which at first had been a relief but now I was obviously stressed that it was a bad sign.

"That's good," Jocelyn said. "A lot of people find the second trimester easier."

"Good," I smiled back. It would be easier to run away if I didn't have to stop to throw up. I hopped up onto the bed while she got the ultrasound ready.

"Do you want to know the sex?" she asked.

"No."

I said it so fast it made her laugh, "You sound pretty sure about that."

"I like surprises," I said. That had never been true. I was too anxious for that. But, if we were going to know ahead of time, I wanted Daryl and I to decide that together. I didn't care either way. As long as the kid was growing all right and healthy in there, nothing else mattered.

"How is Callie doing?" I asked, keeping my tone light, but I could feel my heartbeat against my ribs. "She had her baby, right?"

"She had her baby, yes," Jocelyn confirmed, her smile as fixed-on as a Barbie doll's.

"And everything was… okay?" I prompted.

"A very healthy baby girl," she nodded.

Still nothing about Callie.

She's avoiding the question.

"That's lovely," I said, trying to work out a way of bringing the conversation back to the baby's mother without looking like I was fishing for something. Or suspicious of anything. Before I could, the door opened, and Marissa walked in.

She didn't look at me. Hatred twisted deep in my gut at the sight of her face all the same. I couldn't help it. She had access to everything I needed to get home and wouldn't give it to me. At least she hadn't told anyone about our conversation. Or maybe she had, and she was here with Jocelyn to confront me about it. I pulled my sleeves down over my arms. If they tried to get another needle in me, I'd fight like hell.

"Sorry to interrupt, Jocelyn," Marissa said, still not deigning to give me any eye contact. "I left some supplies in here earlier. Also, the Colonel asked for you. He's feeling unwell."

"Right," Jocelyn straightened up. There was a tension in her face. The Colonel's health was paramount around here. Her eyes flickered to me, an apology in them, "Do you mind?"

"No, it's fine," I said. "I can wait."

Jocelyn grabbed a medical kit and left. Not for the first time in this room, I looked around for something sharp. If Marissa wouldn't help us voluntarily, maybe I could cut bits off her until she agreed. She moved closer to me, wiping down something on the surface of one of the countertops.

"I'll help you," she said quietly, not looking up at me. It was so quiet that I thought for sure I'd imagined it.

"You will?" I stared at the back of her head.

What if she's lying?

What if this is a trap?

"Don't look up," she hissed. "There are three cameras in this room. Look down so they can't see we're talking."

I looked down and tried to keep my voice low. "Do you mean it? You'll help us?"

"Yes," she said.

"Why?"

"I found something when I was cleaning," she hesitated. "It could be nothing. It might… be a failsafe for if something goes wrong, but…there are wires everywhere. Behind the scenes. In the walls. I thought it was for all of the cameras at first, but… there are too many for that."

Her hand was shaking as she wiped the countertop. Cleaning the same spot over and over again.

"What is it?" I asked, staring at my hands in my lap.

"This place is rigged to blow," she said. "The Colonel has a button. I saw it when I cleaned his office."

"Fuck," I breathed.

"Midnight," she said, turning to leave. "That's our window. Be ready."

I nodded.

My hands were shaking in my lap, my heart racing. I'd need to calm down before Jocelyn came back. Or find some way to explain away my giddiness. I put my hand across my stomach, and a bump so small I sometimes doubted it was there at all. Mostly, it just looked like it did when I'd eaten too much at Thanksgiving.

We got this, kid.

I wasn't stupid enough to think I'd get through to them on the first try. My memory of the frequency the Hilltop radio was tuned to was hazy. The numbers could have been right, but I was even less confident about the order they came in. I was pretty sure it was one of three options, but… I could be wrong. There was also always the possibility that someone at Hilltop would change them, and I'd have to cycle through every damn frequency out there to reach them.

It also relied on someone being around to hear my call.

At midnight?

It would be weeks, potentially longer. But one day, someone I knew would answer. Or Daryl would find something Dwight had left for him. They had to. This had to work.

Daryl

Mia didn't want to come on the DC run. After all that she'd done to try and convince us when I asked her if she wanted to, she just shook her head. I didn't need to ask why. Didn't push it either. Bryce bowed out, too, for the same reason.

Couldn't blame either of them. Not when I still couldn't set foot in our damn bedroom.

For them, DC held a lot of memories. For me, it had always been this overwhelming potential. I'd always felt drawn to DC and, if I'm honest, a little nervous about what I'd find. It had held this mythical status in my mind, but not for the same reasons most people think of our nation's capital. The politics and the hot air that blew around here didn't interest me much. I'd been too selfish and off my face for all of that back in the day. But when I'd heard that was where she'd moved to after college, I'd built my own version of it in the back of my mind.

Good days, I'd thought about her and Mia tucked up somewhere nice. Safe.

On bad days, I'd tortured myself thinking about the guys she'd meet. The fancy places they'd be able to take her. How they might make her laugh like I used to.

Now, the city was decaying. Even the fancy places. In a city now ruled by the dead, she was Queen. Every building, every park, every sidewalk held the possibility that she'd been there once. Washing Post offices had to be around here somewhere, right? An apartment she'd lived in? I could be walking right past it and never know.

The first time I'd lost her, she'd been here.

Now she was gone again, and part of me kept hoping this would be the place she'd show up and I could finally bring her home. Dumb, I know. But I still studied every Walker I came across.

We found signs that people had been living in the museum at some point after the outbreak, but they weren't here now. Or, maybe they were. Part of the few dozen Walkers trapped in the basement, visible through glass panels in the floor in front of the main staircase. We were quiet when we cleared the hallways, in case anyone was still around, but we didn't run into anyone living.

We cleared everything except the basement walkers. There were a lot of them and unless it turned out something we needed was down there, it felt best to leave them be. We split up, we all had our lists of things to look for. I pulled mine out of my pocket and tried to find a map of the exhibits on the wall.

Someone sniffed nearby. I looked up. Cyndie, one of the Oceanside survivors, was standing beside a canoe.

"You need help with that?" I asked. She looked over at me. Her eyes were red like she'd been crying.

"Uh, yeah," she sniffed. "Uh, sure."

I put the list back in my pocket and moved to help her. "You all right?"

"I was just, um… thinking about my brother," she said. "We were fighting during a canoe ride at the county fair. It's funny, you know, how certain things just bring up random memories like that. Does it happen to you?"

"Most of the memories I got of my brother, we were fighting," I said. "But I had people that fought alongside me. They wanted to be here. They didn't make it. So, yeah. It happens to me."

More and more often lately. Don't know why I thought a damn museum would be a distraction. Sweeping through hallways and old exhibits that I was sure my nerdy little bookworm would have loved to see. Would have already seen.

I bet she loved this damn museum.

Bet she took Mia here all the time.

I could almost see 'em both at every turn - hand in hand, Mia much smaller than she was now - pausing at every damn exhibit so Naomi could tell her everything she knew about it. Naomi lifting her onto her shoulders so she could see all the stuff that was high up. Bet Mia loved all of the art stuff. I couldn't see their faces when I pictured them here. They had their backs to me. Always slightly out of reach, about to turn a corner. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't bring myself to imagine them turning around. Or walking beside me.

It's a lot, mourning a future you'll never have and a past you missed out on. I was haunted without the privilege of seeing an actual ghost.

I'd kill to see her face again.

Just one more time.

Even if it ain't real.

I helped Cyndie bring the canoe downstairs. Kept my eyes between the canoe and the ground a few steps ahead of me. It was heavy, and I couldn't afford to be distracted.

When that was down, I got back to my list. Stayed as focussed on it as I could. The things we'd come here looking for started piling up by the exit.

The wagon was the last thing we got. It was heavy and awkward to move despite the wheels it was on. We had to rig up a pulley system around ourselves and the pillars of the building to get it down from the upper floors. If we'd just let it roll down the staircase, we might have broken it beyond repair or smashed the glass on the floor, keeping the basement walkers from getting to us.

We gently lowered the front of the wagon down the last few steps onto the glass floor. There was a crazy amount of creaking. Hard to tell if it was the wagon or the floor. Either way, it put us all on edge. We were so quiet we could hear the sounds of the walkers, muffled by that glass.

"Let's go," Rick said from the front of the wagon, leading our way across it. We all started moving again. Something creaked. Louder this time. A squeak on the glass. Rick raised his hands to slow us. "Woah, woah, woah. One more step."

We eased it down, gently as we could. I didn't like how far out Rick was on that glass. Didn't like the noises it was making either. Rick told us to hold. All of the wagon now down on the ground, he assessed the situation for a moment and then directed a turn. We rolled it, nice and slow, off to one side, trying to make sure it had the shortest route across that glass as possible.

Cracks were already starting to appear.

When the wagon was safely tucked toward the door, I helped Rick across that fragile glass so we could take the canoe over next. When we turned around, Carol and Ezekiel were lifting a plow across. I saw Rick tense ahead of me before I saw why.

"It's gonna go!" he yelled nanoseconds before the glass broke under Ezekiel's boots. I heard his cry before he vanished.

"Ezekiel! Ezekiel!" Carol screamed. "Hold on."

She vanished for a moment, moving fast, fuelled by nothing but panic. I moved toward the hole in the glass. He'd been caught by the rope tied around his middle, but he was dangling over a crowd of them. Their dead hands reached for him. Jaws snapping in anticipation of a fresh meal.

Rick and the others started pulling him up. I took out the walkers that got too close. Carol found something soft to line the broken glass. He rose slowly out of the hole. Scrambling out as soon as he could reach us.

I looked away as he and Carol embraced each other. I was so glad he was okay. But, I couldn't help thinking about how things would have turned out differently if we'd all been there when there'd been a hole in the ice.

Trying not to dwell on it or let myself get bitter, I turned my attention to helping load our scavenged supplies into the wagons outside. It always helped to have something to do. Especially something physical that got me moving. If it hurt a little, that was a real bonus. I'd trade any amount of physical pain for the one in my head and in my heart.

Once we were all packed up, we headed out of the city.

Most of the others were on horseback. Rosita and I went ahead to check the routes were safe. Since Spring had moved in, the Walkers had been getting a lot more active again. Big herds of them drawn together and moving through our lands. They were getting destructive, too. Rosita reported that one of the bridges had been taken out by a herd that had merged with another and became heavy enough for the bridge to collapse under their weight. It had taken the walkie repeater with it, which meant our walkies would struggle to connect over long distances.

Every day, we all get a little further apart.

A few of the routes were blocked by herds that hadn't cleared yet. Rick sent Gabriel and most of the Alexandrians back to Alexandria with some of their supplies. The rest of us pushed on down Route D to Hilltop and Sanctuary. It was too late in the day to find an alternative, safe route back to the Kingdom. But that was fine; they could stay with us.

On the route home, one of the new wagons got stuck in the mud. The horses were getting tired, so we switched out and pulled it manually. We unloaded it first, trying to make it as light as possible. Hauling it out of there made my muscles burn and my hands ache, but I think I was the only one slightly disappointed when we managed to get it free.

A group of Walkers were approaching, not a full herd, but enough to be a concern. Michonne and I started taking them out while the others loaded things back into the wagon. More appeared from the woods, and I started worrying about how many more were coming.

Rick gave the call to abandon the wagon and come back for it when the road cleared. We started running, and we probably would've got clear of it, but Ken, one of the boys from Hilltop, ran back to free one of the horses. He was the blacksmith's son, knew all of the horses by name.

It cost him his life.

He was bit trying to cut the horse free. Kicked in the chest when the horse got spooked. We turned back to the Walkers, fighting off as many as we could in the hopes that Siddiq could save him, but the kid died before Siddiq could amputate his bitten arm.

Maggie slipped a knife into the back of his head so she could take the body back to his parents. His death hung over us for the rest of the journey.

Getting back to Sanctuary wasn't much better. I hated seeing that goddamn place. It managed to be the place I'd spent some of the worst days of my life, and also some of the happiest. All of those memories were twisted together in the shadows. Things that had been painful at the time now made me angry. The happy ones all hurt.

Rick and a few of the others came with us into Sanctuary. The usual whispers rippled around the place whenever anyone saw the great Rick Grimes. They were still whispering about me too, and what I'd done.

"Daryl!" Michonne called from one corner of the workshop. I looked over at her. She pointed to some graffiti on the wall that read: 'Saviors save us! Negan will rise again.' I looked back at Michonne, "Does this happen often?"

"More and more, since the crops been dyin'," I said. I didn't add that Negan would have a hard time doing anything now his head was on a pike by the lake. "Eugene, Bryce, Jerry! You know who did this? You know who did that?"

Bryce shook his head. Jerry shrugged, "Dunno, man."

"That would be a negative," Eugene said.

"Justin," I looked over at him, lounging around with his feet on the desk. "Clean that up."

Justin looked annoyed, "How?"

"What do you mean 'how'? Paint over it."

"We just used up all the paint."

"Figure it out!"

We glared at each other, both of us knowing he'd have cleaned it immediately if Naomi had asked. Eventually, he sighed and got up.

I'm so done with this shit.

"Where's Mia?"I asked Bryce. "Is she okay?"

Things like this always put me on edge. Couldn't have another uprising with her in the building.

"Haven't seen her in a little while," Bryce said. "Think she's upstairs."

I nodded. "Be right back. Gonna let her know I'm home."

Bryce nodded his approval. Rick was giving one of his speeches about some shit. I was too tired to listen. Not just physically, either. My whole soul felt drained. More and more these days, I was losing the will to get up and keep doing the same shit.

It only took me a few steps down the corridor to see something was wrong.

Our bedroom door was open. My heart almost stopped when I saw it. I hadn't seen it like that in over two months. For a crazy second, I thought I might look around the doorframe and see her there. Sitting criss-cross applesauce with her nose in a book. Alive, by some fucking miracle, come home to tell us when I was out and gotten distracted by something.

Even dead, she might have found her way home somehow. Felt how much I needed to see her deep down in whatever was left of her soul on this earth.

But the graffiti.

It was far more likely that whoever was in there wasn't an angel who'd found her way home but was someone who wanted me dead.

What if they already got Mia?

Her door was closed. If I checked it first, I risked drawing the attention of whoever was in my old room and losing the element of surprise. I stood against the wall, crossbow raised and ready.

"Daryl?" a whisper at the other end of the hallway. I looked up. Pressed my finger to my lips as Carol, sensing something was wrong, raised her gun while she approached. I waited for her to get in the same position on the opposite side of the door, and gestured for her to cover me while I went in there

Ready to shoot, I kicked the door open the rest of the way.

"Mia?" I choked out in surprise. She spun around so fast that she sent one of Naomi's huge piles of books crashing to the ground. Something else fell with it. Lighter. Smaller. A cloud of it. Floating to the ground like confetti.

"I'm sorry," Mia said, eyes wide. She'd been holding one of Naomi's sweaters, which she dropped immediately. "I…I… I know you don't…want… but… I just missed her. I wanted…"

I should have sent this coming. Even though she'd chosen not to come, knowing where we were must still have been hard on her.

"No, it's okay," I lowered my crossbow. My heart was still beating like crazy. "I thought…I thought…"

I thought it was her.

I thought it was someone who'd come to kill us both.

"There's been more graffiti," Carol said. She stepped into the room, closer to Mia. I couldn't bring myself to take another step. "Downstairs. We're all a little on edge."

"Yeah, I saw it," Mia said, her eyes lowered a little. They took in the mess of books she'd left. "Sorry, I'll… I'll clean this up."

"No, it's okay," I said quickly. "I got it."

Mia straightened up from where she'd been about to start cleaning up the books and the small pieces of something papery that now littered the floor.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Just…" I motioned for her to move. "Come on out of here, yeah?"

I'd realized what was all over the floor, what had tumbled down with those books. Flowers. Pressed between heavy books to preserve them forever. From that stupid bunch I'd given Naomi on our first real date.

God, she loved me.

She loved me so fucking much.

Mia moved carefully around things, but I don't know if it was out of fear of knocking something else over or if it was because of the grief etched on my face. Now that I knew there was no danger, I couldn't move from this spot. Couldn't stop staring at those pressed flowers.

"Give us a second, sweetie," I heard Carol say quietly. Mia nodded and left the room.

I crouched down, picked up one of those little flowers, felt the dry, papery petals between my finger and thumb.

"You don't come in here at all, do you?" Carol asked. I shook my head. Didn't look at her but I could feel the worry radiating off her.

"Can't."

Carol sighed. "You shouldn't be here. Either of you."

"But…"

But what if she comes home?

"Talk to Rick," she urged me. "Please."

"All right."

"You want me to tidy up in here?" she offered.

"No," I said. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it, but I couldn't stand the thought of it being someone else.

A little numb, I headed back down the workshop. Rick was still talking. Whatever he said, whatever he promised them, earned him some kind of applause. Those assholes had never done that for me, not once. Not that I cared all that much. Wasn't like I was giving speeches anyway.

Rick looked over at me, and I beckoned him over. From how he suppressed a sigh, I could tell I was going to say something he probably wouldn't want to hear. We walked up, out of earshot of everyone else to the walkway that looked down on the old factory floor.

From here, I could see where the wall had been patched up from where I'd driven that truck through it. If only getting her back was as simple this time around. If only I could ram a truck through the pearly gates.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I don't wanna be the one leading these people anymore."

"Okay. Why?"

Are you dumb?

If I'd been honest, Rick probably would have understood. But there was so much I still struggled to say out loud. Couldn't talk about Naomi in past tense.

"Bein' here behind these walls - it just don't feel right, man. I'm better out there. I always have been."

Rick looked over at me. He knew why I wanted to be out there. Why I wanted to give up every responsibility I'd been handed and spend my time in the woods. He knew, from all the times he'd had to pull me away from approaching herds, what I was looking for.

Rick sighed, "You kept this place together. You kept people in line here. We can't just let the Sanctuary fail after everything that's happened."

"Man, it's gonna fail anyway. Nothing grows here. It's a damn factory, man," I said. Naomi had been so stressed about it before she died she'd been giving herself headaches and nosebleeds. And she'd been completely right. "Look, when Negan was around, he needed people to provide for him. It's still the same. Nothing's changed."

"It's different now. We give what we give willingly."

"How long's that gonna last? Most of the bridges are out after the big storm. The highway's done. We've scavenged every drop of gas for miles. And we can't make enough corn fuel to run the cars or the trucks. Pretty soon, it's gonna be more than a day's ride from one spot to another."

"Well, it's on us to figure out how to make it work," he said.

"Man, there ain't no "us" anymore. Everyone's everywhere," I said. "That small group we had back in the beginning - we could do anything. That was right. That's what I know."

"Well, you wanna come home to Alexandria, then?"

"No," I said. There were too many memories there, too. "I wanna go to Hilltop."

"Well, you go, someone's gotta take your place," Rick said. "Rosita and Eugene are headed to Oceanside next. Maggie's sending food, but not people, and Kingdom's got its own problems rebuilding after losing its fighters. If Alexandria sends another person out, I could use the help back home."

That ain't my home.

My home is dead.

I glared at him so long he felt uncomfortable enough to start talking again, "We're not together because things have changed."

"Mm-hmm," I said. "Thing is, you changed 'em, Rick. But I get it.

I walked away, left him standing there, and went outside for a smoke. I liked it better out there. It was quiet.

When I'd missed her before, I hadn't done that whole looking up at the sky and thinking about how at least we were under the same one thing. Seemed corny at the time but now I wished I had. Because now it wasn't true.

Our struggling crops were bathed in moonlight in front of me. Felt like my fault that they were dying. Like whatever emptiness there was inside of me had spread to the plants. Call it a soul, call it a sprint, call it a heart, whatever that nameless thing inside you is that makes you who you are, mine was barely hanging on. Whatever it was, it was wilting and dying inside of me.

Footsteps echoed behind me. I glanced back and saw Carol approaching. I took another drag of my cigarette and then held it out for her to take one too. Carol took it from me.

"These things will kill you," she said, stomping it out under her boot. "Haven't seen you with one for a while. Thought you'd quit."

"Nope," I said, which was sort of true. I hadn't meant to give it up, but after I'd seen those scars on Naomi's legs… I couldn't bring myself to light one. Not around her. Even when she wasn't there, I didn't want to come home with the smell of those memories clinging to my clothes or my hair. Didn't want her kissing me and tasting her Momma's rage. Didn't want anything about me reminding her of that time in her life.

So I gave it up accidentally and without her saying a word. It wasn't as hard as I thought, not when I could be tasting her instead. Getting a hit of that sweet smile was more effective than a nicotine patch.

But now…didn't have a reason not to light one. Kill myself slow enough that Mia would be grown by the time it happened.

Looking for a change of subject, I asked, "Why aren't you in bed?"

"Why aren't you?" Carol countered. I said nothing. She knew damn well why. She sighed, "We don't sleep. Ezekiel, on the other hand, sleeps like a baby. It's annoying."

"Does he snore fancy too?" I asked.

Carol laughed, "Stop it."

"Nah, he's all right," I said. "He's a bit corny, but…"

But being in love will do that to a guy.

"Glad I have Pookie's approval," Carol said. She let the silence sit for a moment and then added, "After what I went through with Ed, corny is really, really nice."

I nodded. I got it. Corny could be nice when the right person was bringing it out of you.

"Nah, I'm happy for ya. If anybody deserves to be happy, it's you," I said. Didn't even taste bitter when I said it. Just because I'd lost the love of my life didn't mean I wanted everyone around me miserable. "I don't like not seein' you, though."

Carol sighed again, "Daryl?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to take over here for a while, for you, and don't argue," she said, fixing me with a stern look. I thought about it, mostly because she told me not to, but I couldn't even pretend I wanted to stay.

"You gonna bring Henry and the King with you?"

"I haven't told him yet," she said. That felt a little weird to me, but given what she'd just seen go down with me and Mia, I couldn't blame her for jumping right into concern. She still clearly had something else she wanted to say, so I waited. She sighed again, "He asked me to marry him."

"What?" I stared at her. She was kind of smiling, but…it wasn't anything like the giddiness I'd felt when Naomi said yes.

"Yeah. And part of me wanted to just say "yes" right then," she said.

"Why didn't ya?"

"I don't know. I want to help out, take my time, you know?"

Kind of. Her last marriage had been so destructive, it made sense she wanted to take her time with this one. Ezekiel seemed like the kinda guy who'd wait for her.

"You want me to stay here with you?" I offered.

"No," she said immediately. "This place isn't good for you. It's not good for Mia, either, living with a ghost like this. Hilltop sounds like a good plan. That's like having you there, too, I think. Things are a little weird there at the moment."

"Oh yeah? Weird how?"

"Well, there's all the shit Gregory's trying to stir up. Losing Ken won't have helped with that," Carol said with a sigh. "And someone's messing with that old HAM radio."

"What do you mean messing with it?"

"Not sure," Carol said. "Maggie and Glenn haven't heard it for themselves. I think it was one of the older couples at Hilltop. They've been complaining that they can hear it some nights around midnight."

"So unplug it." It seemed so damn simple.

"What if it's a distress call?"

"So what if it is? Ignore it. We got enough people here."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that," she said, with another tut and a shake of her head. Giving me that disapproving look like I was some cold-hearted bastard for not wanting to take more people in. How she could sit here in front of our dying crops and think that answering some random distress call was going to help us was beyond me. But it didn't matter. I didn't need to argue with her. When I got to Hilltop, I could unplug the damn thing myself.