The evil, it spread like a fever ahead
It was night when you died, my firefly
What could I have said to raise you from the dead?
Oh, could I be the sky on the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die
Shall we look at the moon, my little loon
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
We're all gonna die
– Sufjan Stevens
By the time all went quiet, dawn had come and gone.
The waiting room down the hall from the operating chamber in Medical Tower One is dead silent.
What's left of The Family sits around in uncomfortable chairs, not speaking, not doing anything but existing.
Their world had been shaken to its core, toppled on its head, ripped out by its roots, and jettisoned into space.
They lost Glenn. T-Dog. Tara. Gabriel. Tobin. Aaron.
And Michonne.
Not to mention dozens more, either killed or injured badly from other precincts.
Rick has been done since the explosion.
When it happened, he went running, fighting off anyone who touched him. Crazed, bellowing into the blast winds from the fallout. He couldn't be stopped or reasoned with. He stole Tyreese's flyer and took off toward the ruins of Tower Nine.
They let him go, not having the heart to follow him. The dust and debris started becoming toxic, swirling around the dilapidated tower tops surrounding the explosion site. They had to leave or risk becoming walkers, themselves.
So here they wait, gutted.
Finally, after hours of no contact, Skyscraper Command Patrol came, along with reinforcements from other territories far away across the scorched lands of what was once North America. Too late. Of course, they were too late.
There was nothing left for them to do but clean up the mess.
The cleanup crew was stoic, silent, and efficient. Led by the Smiths, a gang of cloned hybrids in charge of handling all of Monroe's most classified business. The peacekeepers who are still alive and in one piece were shuffled off to give statements and wait. Updates stopped coming in. Abraham went under the laser. Everything went silent.
Still no Rick.
Lori showed up, though, having been released from the bunkers with the other evacuated Skyscraper personnel.
She silently fetched them all coffee, her eyes watery with dark circles that made her look as though she hadn't slept or stopped crying for hours. Who knows what the news has been broadcasting on the holoscreens across the city this whole time? The explosion took almost everything offline. Skyscraper Command personnel were called in to help get things back up and running. Eugene and Heath haven't taken a break or slept all night, either, tasked with running searches through net space nonstop, doggedly looking for any signs of ODIN, LIZZY, or the others.
In the present, Maggie's legs are starting to go numb. She's been sitting in the same position for who knows how long. She just keeps staring at her fingers, which are streaked with dirt, grease, and blood. Her ripped work pants. Her dirty boots. The cold, hard linoleum floor. She feels nothing. She feels empty.
She wants to sink into the floor. She wants to be free of consciousness forever. She wants to be with Glenn.
Just when she's starting to slip into catatonic despair, she hears the unmistakable sound of Rick's boots headed their way. Maggie blinks away her dark thoughts as everyone else stirs from their silent mourning to see Rick entering the waiting area, covered in debris dust.
His shining blue eyes are glazed and unfocused, not truly seeing them all – until they land on Maggie.
He heads straight for her. She finds the will to rise from the chair. They slowly shuffle on their exhausted feet toward each other, embracing tightly when they meet in the middle of the waiting area. Maggie breaks down, her slender body heaving with silent sobs. Rick simply wraps his arms around her, holding her tight across the back with one arm and gripping her supportively at the base of her neck with the other as she cries herself empty.
She can feel rage and anguish rumbling through Rick's strong body. Disbelief weighs them both down as though they are made of iron. They were all just laughing and drinking at Rovia's. Full of hope for Rick and Michonne. Mere hours ago, they were whole and together.
Now they're shattered; broken, with no clue how they're going to piece themselves back together again.
They've survived a lot together, but this was one of the hardest losses they've ever endured.
The reality of Glenn and Michonne gone forever almost makes Maggie lose her legs.
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, clinging to Rick, inhaling dust. Slowly, Maggie pulls back from him, the dust clinging to her wet cheeks and the locks of short, dark brown hair hanging in her eyes.
Swallowing down her grief, she meets his eyes and speaks while the others gather slowly around them. Mike hangs back on the edge of the group, behind Rick. He is also numb from head to toe. He hasn't spoken a word since he rejoined them.
"They wouldn't tell me if they found his body," Maggie's voice is low and deep with pain. "I don't even know if there's anythin' left . . . " She wants to break down again, her jaw twitching with the urge to sob, but she holds it together. Her green eyes burrow into Rick's crystal blues.
He shakes his head, stiffly. "There isn't."
His ragged drawl is felt throughout the group. Andrea's hand rises to her mouth and she swallows back tears. Shane gives her a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. Sasha and Rosita cling to each other, looking utterly exhausted. Daryl stands with his arms crossed, his rigid jaw set and his slick hair hanging down over his eyes to hide his tears.
Rick continues, though it's difficult to speak. He wants to throw everything he can get his hands on across this room. He feels utterly helpless and it angers him greatly. But, he's their leader. He has to keep a firm grip on himself, for their sake.
"There's nothin' but dust . . . and more dust," he chews on the inside of his lip, shifting on his feet, tears stinging his eyes. He struggles through the rest: "Not even any sign of the hostages. It's all gone. All I found was Michonne's sword."
"Why the fuck did you let her go in there . . . ?" Mike breathes, his chest tightening.
Rick's entire body goes rigid at the sound of his voice. The group around them stands on edge as he slowly turns to face his estranged teammate. Mike steels himself, wiping his tears away harshly. He is no longer feeling numb. He's livid. Livid because Rick Grimes has taken his love from him twice.
"What?" Rick balls his fists.
"You heard me," Mike huffs, the anger coursing through him temporarily squelching his heartache. "You let her go in there alone . . . you let her sacrifice her life for nothing!"
"Don't do this right now, man," Shane lets go of Andrea and takes a step forward.
Daryl joins him, glaring through his tears. "Why'on't you read the room, asshole? Shut up before I shut you up."
"Let it go, Mike. Please . . . " Maggie whispers weakly, tucking her hair behind her ears and hugging herself.
Mike expected them all to turn against him. He doesn't care. He waits for Rick's answer.
All Rick's ever done is stare at Michonne like she was a piece of meat. Stalk around with some stupid crush staking some nonexistent claim like Michonne was his property. He never knew her like Mike knew her. Mike was the one who stayed up late talking to her about what she wanted for her life for five months. Mike was the one who held her when she cried over her son. Mike was there for her whenever they couldn't save someone. He was the one who made her laugh while they were naked in bed; the one who made her favorite breakfast for dinner and taught her how to beat ZANE at chess.
And now they're all treating him like he never loved her; never cared for her; doesn't have the right to be angry over her loss of life for absolutely nothing. Fuck them all, and fuck that. Grimes is gonna answer him, or they're gonna fight. He should've gone outside with him instead of Michonne at Rovia's. He's not letting this bastard off the hook this time.
"Where were you?" Rick finally speaks again, ignoring everyone else. He stares Mike down, taking another step forward. "LIZZY was lookin' for you, but you were off comms right up until the end. Where the fuck were you, Mike?"
"I was fightin' for my life, asshole," Mike replies coolly, his jaw clenching. "I had cyborgs all over my ass. You would've known that if you hadn't been busy fuckin' my girlfriend."
Rick charges forward, intent on beating Mike's teeth out.
Shane and Daryl are around him in an instant, holding him back. He doesn't speak again. He focuses all his feelings on one goal. He's gonna kill Mike if they let him go. Mike doesn't care. He continues, waiting, wanting it; itching for it.
"You happy boss? You got one night . . . one night taking what never belonged to you, and now she's gone. A fuckin' waste of her life, for what? You?! You never deserved her! "
Rick explodes. He shakes off Shane and Daryl, and in two long strides, he's on top of Mike, punching with merciless, blunt force. The dense, squishy impact of Rick's fist against Mike's face ricochets all over the room, bouncing off the walls. Mike tries to fight back, but he's overpowered quickly. Chaos erupts as the older, bigger man drives the younger one back into the hallway with the sheer voracity of his attacks.
Mike tries again to gain sure footing, but Rick tackles him, body-slamming him against the wall before wailing on him some more. A loud crack sounds out as the kid's nose breaks. Rick keeps going.
"Rick! STOP!" Sasha cries, but he shakes her off, unintentionally throwing her back into Shane as he rises to his feet and starts kicking. Blind rage obscures his vision. All he sees is Michonne, falling. All he feels is the determination to make this cocky little shit hurt like hell. To shut his mouth for good. One night . . . Mike had months with her, and all Rick got was one night . . . now she's gone.
Mike slips and slides in his own blood as he tries to tackle Rick around the waist, but it's no use. Rick gets the drop on him again, shaking off his blows to the ribs as if they're nothing, only to continue beating him senseless.
"Shane, do something!"
Mike's face is almost unrecognizable by the time Shane and Daryl think to act. They both go in and haul Rick away still punching with cold fury. The dust from the explosion cakes his skin as spit flies from his mouth. He twists and writhes in their arms, getting Daryl in the stomach to escape their grip before charging after Mike again.
"Jesus Christ, he's gonna kill him," Rosita moans, covering her mouth in shock.
Finally, three hybrid security guards appear, charging around the corner. "Grimes, stop right there. Now!"
Everyone stands back as they go in and tackle Rick, dragging him away from Mike's limp, crumpled body. The combined strength of the three of them, with the aid of their hybrid machine parts, allows them to strongarm Rick into stillness.
The Family watches as the small army of hybrids throw Rick to the ground and pin him down. They cuff his hands and feet, shoot him up with a sedative, and drag his limp body away without another word.
Out of nowhere, one of the Smiths appears.
The black-suited hybrid emerges slowly from around the corner, his eyes hidden behind dark shades.
He is Smith Four, though no one aside from themselves can ever seem to tell them apart. In contrast to all of them, he hasn't got a speck of anything on him. He stands clean. Neat. Orderly. Controlled.
He watches silently for a moment as medical staff carefully place an unconscious Mike on a hover stretcher and move him away to be treated. When they've taken their new patient away, he turns back to observe the traumatized group coolly.
He offers them a cold, tight smile.
"I am afraid that might be the last time Captain Grimes receives the . . . leniency . . . of Skyscraper Command."
"Leniency? What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Shane barks, fed up and not appreciating this hybrid narc's attitude.
Smith Four ignores Shane's hostility, his cold smile widening. He sinks down to his haunches, squatting with perfect balance in front of the streaks of Mike's blood covering the floor and walls. They all watch, sickened and angry, as he reaches out and touches the tip of one of his fingers against the darkened blood on the floor. He raises it to the light, examining it, rubbing it between his fingertips. Taking his sweet ass time before he addresses them again, knowing that as one of the highest in the chain at Skyscraper Command, there isn't a damn thing they can do about it.
"I mean simply that his days are numbered, Mr. Walsh," the Smith replies in his obnoxiously slow, almost sing-song clip of a cadence, " . . . as are the days of all Peacekeepers in the Alexandria Safe Zone. Your time enjoying free reign, unchecked by the Powers That Be . . . will soon come to an end."
The Smith turns back to look at them through his dark shades, his smile almost comically pleasant, now.
"Enjoy freedom while it lasts, ladies and gentlemen," he sneers, standing upright and reaching into his inner jacket pocket to pull out a pristine white handkerchief. He wipes the blood from his fingers and tosses the square of fabric to the floor for the bots to clean up.
They glare at him as he turns to walk away.
He pauses before he makes it to the corner, turning his head mechanically.
"You have my condolences . . . for your loss."
Without another word, he leaves them in stunned silence.
Shaking with grief, Rick lands Tyreese's flyer on the almost entirely blown-out, crumbling third junction level of Tower Nine. He's up and out of his seatbelt before the hulking, noisy contraption can even power down properly.
He landed her on a precarious strip of solid ground; the only one left still secure enough to support the flyer's weight.
His eyes, already wide and red-rimmed from crying, are now stinging from the thick plumes of dust swirling around him. He's shaking with shock, his damp hair hanging in his face as he slips past the still-opening doors of the flyer and stumbles into the ruins.
The atrium tunnel is blown apart, and all that's left now are parts of its foundation still clinging to the brightening, but dusty early morning sky. The tank is also blown to bits. There's nothing left of it but two heavy machine hoofs, sunken and fused into the concrete from the intensity of the blast.
Rick stares at them in a daze, and the area around them, looking and not looking for any hint of a sign of his love.
He has to see. He doesn't want to.
The heavy vault door is all that's left of the front wall that used to protect the mainframe.
Dark, black smoke and thick swirls of white ash dust greet him beyond it, where the instant flame of the explosion had ripped through every molecule of matter in its path. Rick feels sick to his stomach as he thinks about Michonne's last moment, almost falling to his knees with grief.
He keeps going, his legs feeling as heavy as cement. There has to be something.
Their last goodbye couldn't be it. There's so much more to say, to prove to her.
No, God, not Michonne.
The odor of burnt flesh, overheated metal, gun residue, and blood assaults him as he steps around the vault doors into what's left of the mainframe vault.
The mainframe is gone. There are cyborg parts scattered about.
There's nothing else.
Just dust. Ashen, lifeless, toxic dust.
Rick walks slowly through the dark, ignoring the very real possibility that all of it could come crumbling down on top of him at any moment. He longs to be buried underneath the rubble. Buried with Michonne.
Then he sees it.
The glint of a damn-near impervious blade. Michonne's katana.
Rick makes his way toward it. It's buried in a pile of ash, its shine revealed here and there.
His heart falls through his chest, into his boots, through the floor, and out into space.
Rick does lose his legs now. He falls to his knees, staring in horror at the pile of ashes where he found her sword. He rocks back and forth, shaking. This is all that's left. All there is. This empty vault. Her sword. And the dust.
Michonne is gone. She's stardust.
"No, no, no, no, no, baby, noooo . . . "
Sobs rip through Rick and he sits there crying, staring at nothing but the dark. He feels so gutted, it's as though someone slit him from belly to sternum and let him bleed out all over the place.
He cries and cries in the cavernous gloom until the rise of the sun finally breaks through to shine down on him.
When the sunlight finally reaches him, Rick goes still. He can hear her voice. Her last words before she jumped.
I love you, old man . . .
Then the sound of heavy, marching footsteps, echoing through the chambers of this hollow tower.
A patrol flyer is closing in on the blown-out ruins, causing the pile of dust at his knees to rise and swirl around him.
Rick closes his eyes slowly as the dust flies around the room at the behest of the noisy flyer above him.
When the gust is gone, he's covered in ash.
Rick silently picks up Michonne's sword.
He carries it with him as he gets to his feet and walks back to Tyreese's flyer.