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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

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The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 96: There's No Place Like Home

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: language, violence ❧ Word Count: 5.6k

❧ In This Chapter: You've finally returned to Alexandria, but it isn't all sunshine and rainbows. The Commonwealth has taken over, and it will take some sweat, blood, and tears to get it back. Emphasis on the blood.

❧ A/N: Happy New Year! And man, we don't have very many chapters of this series left... I am hoping it will end at Chapter 100 (nice, satisfying number), but we will see how well that works out. I am hoping to also include some sm*t before the end... Just for old time's sake. Lots of exciting stuff coming up. By the way, please ignore the fact that in the show, it is snowing during the windmill scene. Idk what the writers were thinking, but they clearly fucked up the timeline because in the show, there is a Halloween event (which is obviously in October), and then it cuts to 6 months later, so there's a six month time jump, and that means that all this should technically be happening in APRIL, and it doesn't snow in April so I am just imagining it's April for my own sanity ok? And because I want Wes to be an Aries thanks.

You had watched through Daryl’s binoculars, sitting idly by as Negan struggled against the Commonwealth soldiers that tackled him. You were home now, on the outskirts of Alexandria, but security was high, and brutal.

You didn’t much care for Negan getting beaten, you had to admit. Some old wounds would never heal, and as much as you tried to reserve sympathy for him, it was difficult. What worried you, however, was Ezekiel, Nabila, Princess, Kelly, Connie, Magna, even Negan’s wife, Annie. What worried you most, of course, were the children.

The town had been turned into what you could only describe as a labor camp, with a redheaded man in a dark grey coat barking orders to exhausted workers as soldiers stood by menacingly with their rifles in hand. You didn’t see the children. Wherever they were, it couldn’t be much better than this.

You and Daryl met back up with the others, further outside the walls, where you couldn’t be seen by the guards.

Maggie was disturbed by the news, and even more disturbed to hear that the children were nowhere to be seen from yours and Daryl’s vantage point. “But they have to be there, right?”

You met her gaze, releasing a heavy sigh. You were about to speak before Rosita spoke for you. “Okay, we need to go in now.”

“We can’t,” replied Daryl. “There’s too many guards. We’ll never make it.”

“So, she turned our home into a prison,” said Gabriel. “After promising to give it back.”

“She never planned to give it back,” said Maggie.

“Wait,” you said, an idea suddenly coming to you. “The sewers, we can go in through the sewers, right?” You lifted your gaze to meet Daryl’s, who seemed to follow your line of thinking. “Like before, when the Saviors attacked. You escaped through the sewers.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Good idea. You and me, down shit tunnel.”

How romantic.

The group split, with Maggie and Carol taking the south sewer, you and Daryl taking the north. Gabriel and Rosita stayed on lookout outside the walls, much to Rosita’s dismay. You understood that—she wanted to get to her baby as soon as possible, so did you.

So you told her that if you got to the kids first, you’d be sure to check in on Coco, to make sure she was safe and healthy. It wasn’t much, but it was all you could do.

Daryl climbed down first, shining his flashlight down on the tunnel floor. It always made you nervous, watching him go first into dangerous situations. Still, he always insisted.

“Be careful!” you whisper-yelled down to him, yourself shining your own light on his hands as they moved down the rungs of the ladder. “Watch out for walkers.” As much as you trusted Daryl to be smart, you were always going to worry about him a little too much.

“Shh!” He held his finger over his pursed lips, then let go of the last rung to drop feet first on the ground. He held up his hands to beckon you. “C’mon!” he whisper-yelled back. “Ain’t got all day.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned to climb down. “What’s it like down there?”

“Smells like shit.”

You stepped on the fifth rung down, now catching a whiff of said shit. “Besides that.”

“Dark and wet.”

You gave up asking by the time you got down, but now you could see it for yourself. Indeed, it was dark, wet, and it did smell like shit.

“This way,” said Daryl, pointing towards the beam of the flashlight that illuminated the tunnel. l. “I’ll go first, stay behind me.”

You ignored him, walking alongside him instead.

He huffed, shining his light just below your face. “You never listen ta me,” he said.

You tilted your head and made a sour face. “And you always baby me.”

“Pfft…” Well, he wasn’t going to deny it. He did baby you, but it was for a good cause. “Jus’ be careful.”

The two of you silently stalked the length of the tunnel for a while, until you stumbled upon an overgrown maze of leafy vines hanging from the sewer grate just overhead. Entangled in those vines was a walker, flailing its arms and growling as the two of you approached with your flashlights trained on its rotting face.

“How the hell did it get down here?” you asked.

Daryl spared no time, bending over to begin clearing out the overgrowth with a series of grunts. You followed his lead to help make a path. “Musta found its way in ‘ere somehow. Got all tangled up.”

The walker’s sounds got louder the closer Daryl got, until his knife plunged into its head, ending its growling and flailing. He shined his light further, making sure that was the only one. “S’all clear now,” he said. “Come on, this way.”

You trudged through the brush, grabbing Daryl’s hand when he lent it to you. The path was still not quite stable, though, and a wrong step between the branches caught the toe of your boot, causing you to stumble.

Daryl’s grasp tightened, with his other hand grabbing your other wrist to keep you steady. You didn’t fall, but you stumbled enough for a flash of white to cascade from your coat pocket. All you had in there was your photo, as you always kept at least one with you.

“Oh, no.”

You turned to frantically search through the leaves, while Daryl looked on in confusion as he held his flashlight with the beam concentrated on your hands. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just…” You found the polaroid nestled among a few leaves, and you sighed in relief. “Thank God.”

You turned the photograph over in your hands, revealing the face of your daughter. She smiled wide, with Dog posed beside her as her arm wrapped around his neck. That photo was an older one, taken a few summers ago. Robin wore her favorite white linen overalls, decorated with daisies lovingly embroidered by you, and her floppy brown gardening hat. Even Dog sported a yellow bandana tied loosely around his neck, with his tongue hanging out to the side as his mouth humorously curled into a wide grin.

Robin’s eyes looked so blue here, like two little sapphires shining between caramel colored bangs that hung a little too low on her forehead. You remembered trimming them not too long after you took that photo.

You slathered her exposed skin in sunblock that day, making sure she didn’t get any burns. Her skin was sensitive, like yours. She burnt easily, but when she rubbed her eyes that day, the sunblock seeped in, irritating her. She came up to Daryl crying, her fists balled up in her eyes as she rubbed them in an attempt to get the sunblock out. You were bringing out the lemonade, and Daryl dropped his hot dogs to see what was wrong with the little girl. The poor thing sobbed so much she couldn’t make out any words, and you came out onto the front porch to see Daryl in a parental panic, Robin bawling her eyes out, and Dog feasting on sausages.

At least you had gotten that photograph before all Hell broke loose. You had managed to get your two children to sit upon the porch of your home in Alexandria, taking a break from playing in the unforgiving midsummer heat of Virginia. It was nothing compared to Georgia, Daryl always reminded you, but it was all Robin had ever known, until you left.

We never should’ve left.

“Hon?”

You sniffled, holding back a few tears. After all these years, you still couldn’t stop yourself from crying. Everyone else had gotten so good at it, it seemed. Sometimes, you wondered if you had gotten even more sensitive.

“It’s… I forgot I put this in my pocket.” You chuckled slightly under your breath, just now noticing how filthy Dog’s paws were from digging holes and trying to catch gophers. “Sorry.”

You reached down to return the photograph to its home, but Daryl’s hand stopped you, gently holding your wrist. “Let me see.”

With another sniffle, you held it out to him, and he took it in his own hands. “She was so little,” he said, his lips quirking into the slightest crooked smile. “Even Dog looks younger.”

“They’re precious,” you said, your voice beginning to falter. “I wish… I wish I’d taken one of Wes before we left.”

He looked up to study your face, now with one tear running down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, sniffling again.

“We should keep going,” you said.

“Wait a sec.”

Odd. Daryl was usually the impatient one of the two of you, and though neither of you wanted to spend more time in this stinking hole, Daryl couldn’t go on with you like this. He didn’t have to ask. He knew what it was.

“We’ll find ‘em,” he said. “We will.” As he held out the photograph to hand it back to you, he cupped your hand over his, as if Robin’s portrait was protected by both of you. Well, it was. She was, so was Wes.

“H-how do you know?”

His eyes softened in the way they only could for you, his angel. “I just do.” He let your hand go, so you tucked your photo back into your pocket. When your eyes looked back up at him, he rested a hand on the spot where your neck met your shoulder. His thumb reached up to rub your cheek, where his touch warmed you.

“Dad instincts,” he added with a smile, much to your amusement. A small chuckle erupted from you, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re such a good dad.”

He could feel himself beginning to choke up, your emotions and your words overwhelming him, too. The empathy link between you and him was always strong, to the point that your hurt was his hurt, and vice versa. Not only that, but he was terrified, too. Still, one of you had to be strong for the other now.

“And you’re a great mom.”

“No,” you said, though you leaned into his touch. “I tried… I tried not to let them take them away.” Guilt washed over you then, and he could feel it, like it was flowing from your body into his from the point where his hand touched your cheek.

He pulled you in, against his body. His arms formed a protective barrier around you, as they always did. His pride was in keeping you safe, like you were entrusted to him forever. It was a great responsibility to protect the most precious thing in the world, to love her and make her happy as much as he could, but he was never one to give up easily. Besides, loving you was easy. It came naturally to him.

“I know.” He let his chin rest upon your head, while his hands smoothed over the ripples in your coat on your back. “I know you wouldn’t just let ‘em get taken. You did what ya could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Hey, I lost the kids, too. They jumped us. Hell, you just had a baby. You weren’t in any condition to fight back, you know that.”

He pulled back, but you still looked down. His hand came up to hold your chin, lifting it until you were forced to face him. Your eyes were weighed down by tears tugging at your waterline, threatening to trickle down your reddened cheeks. Your lips quivered slightly as you tried to hold it together, for him. He was always so strong for you, you had to try to be strong for him, too, even if he had strength for the both of you.

“If we… lose them—”

“Stop it.”

“But we could—”

“No.” Both hands held your cheeks again, this time with more pressure. Not too much, but just enough to let you know he was serious. “Listen to me. There ain’t no damn use in thinkin’ about what might happen or what might be happenin’. All we gotta think about right now is how we’re gonna find ‘em, and what we gotta do to find ‘em. I know you ain’t ever gonna stop worryin’, ‘cause that’s just who you are, and I love you, but you gotta trust me.”

You gotta trust me stuck with you.

“I trust you… Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, angel.”

You held him back, squeezing him as hard as you could, like a human stress ball. “I love you, Daryl Dixon.”

He took advantage of the space where your neck was exposed to leave a small kiss there. “I love you, too… And when all this is over, I’m takin’ you somewhere nice.”

You turned to face him with a weak chuckle as you wiped away the last of your tears. “What?”

“Like a vacation.”

Sometimes, Daryl surprised you. It was a rare occurrence, since Daryl was always rather predictable, which you liked, but there were times like these where his impulsiveness would come out, perhaps just to distract you momentarily from your worries. He knew exactly how to do so.

“A vacation?” you asked. “There’s no such thing. You used to say that vacations were impossible now.”

“Yeah, but… What if we just get on the bike and go? Ain’t gotta be far, just a little ways away, just you and me.”

You shook your head in playful dismay. “Daryl Dixon,” you said, “you seem to be forgetting that we have no less than four children we are currently responsible for, two of which are our children, one of which is a baby.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be gone long… And we could wait till Wes is older, when everythin’ calms down. Maybe things will be better again, like they were before.” He studied his surroundings, the dark tunnel in which you were standing, which wreaked of putrid musk. “Now let's get outta this shithole, and get our kids back.”

By the time you raised the sewer grate, stepping out clandestinely inside the walls of Alexandria, it was dark. With only two flashlights to lead the way, you immediately recognized where you were. It was the middle of Morgan Street, your street.

It was empty, though, too empty for comfort.

“Where is everybody?” you whispered. “The guards…” You trailed off as the beam of light you held in your hand illuminated a distant house, its windows dark inside and the familiar rose bushes you had once kept so meticulously pruned were gone, ripped from the recently tilled dirt that once housed their roots. “Daryl.”

He turned to follow your eye line, and sadness welled within him like a tidal wave. The house was repaired to some extent, but it looked so different now. It looked dreary, empty. The home he’d made with you was no longer boisterous and full of life.

He could still hear the patter of Robin’s little feet upon the hardwood floor as Dog chased her.

He could still smell your potpourri experiments, cloves and oranges and magnolias and lavender and rose and whatever else you could get your hands on.

He could still feel your weight leaning into his chest as he held you, sitting upon the couch as a roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, keeping you both warm into the wee hours of the morning, when he’d more often than not carry you upstairs to your bed.

He could still remember watching Robin help Lydia with her homework, the girls’ hushed voices concentrating on their assignments as you looked on proudly.

So many memories in that house, so many voices had been carried in its walls. Voices of people long past… Old friends no longer here to see what this place has become, for better or for worse.

What was once home was now just some house.

Wordless sadness floated aimlessly between the two of you, but sadness didn’t get things done. Persistence did, and you were both persistent in your search for the children.

You didn’t have to slink around long before you saw it—in the center of town, just in front of the windmill, a small army of Commonwealth guards had gathered, along with what seemed to be all the prisoners. From the looks of things, they’d been woken up, taken by force to the square.

Unfamiliar light posts had sprouted on either sides of the crops, spewing harsh, cold lights to illuminate the scene. The place was grey, sterile, a far cry from your memories. Alexandria had once been a bright, colorful place. It had once been a collage of eras, memories and moments in time that defined the settlement’s journey.

There were the suburban townhouses and model homes from the old world, then the corrugated fence that kept out the dead, marking the beginning of the new world. When the fence was expanded, Alexandria grew, encompassing more land to build. Bare bones buildings put together with the most basic, yet sturdy, of materials dotted the place, giving it that craftsman charm you always admired. Nothing looked perfect, it was always built by hand, trial and error. The windmill you now gazed at was the biggest landmark. The majesty of it symbolized to you human innovation in the face of stagnation.

Now, it was covered in blood.

What shocked you more was the line of guards that stood with their guns held high, aiming to shoot at the people you knew—Ezekiel, Nabila, Princess, Magna, Connie, Kelly, Negan, Annie…

They were making a stand. Of course they were. They were your people, and that’s what your people had always done.

Ezekiel stood before them all, his arms outstretched in a gesture of protection. He spoke loudly, his voice reverberating in the night. “You don’t have to do this! This world is broken, but we don’t have to be!”

At the end of the firing line stood the red-haired man in the dark grey coat you’d seen earlier. He was in charge, you gathered, and he was the one who wanted your people dead.

You noticed a movement in the firing squad, a soldier stepping out of line. The others lowered their weapons to see what was happening, as the soldier who stepped away raised his.

He aimed for the man in charge, much to your shock. When another soldier attempted to shoot him, he shot back.

The red-haired man scurried in a panic, grabbing poor Kelly as he held a pistol to her head, walking backwards as if to eventually make a run for it.

“No!” shouted Magna. “Kelly! Kelly!”

The others held her back, as there wasn’t much to be done. If she moved, he’d kill Kelly. Luckily for you, you were behind him, wrapped around the other side of the windmill, and he was only inching closer.

Daryl moved faster than you this time, procuring his knife as he moved past you, towards the man as he backed up into the darkness in which you were hiding. You were right behind him, your knife drawn, too, just in case.

You didn’t need it, of course. Daryl always aimed just right, plunging the blade into the base of the man’s neck where his spinal cord met his brain. He did it so coolly, with no emotion behind his eyes. You always knew that something shifted whenever Daryl went into that mode—he’d turn off his feelings for a split second, turn off any parts of him that might object to murder. What prevailed in those moments was his sense of justice, revenge, and order. If there was anything Daryl could do, it was kill.

Silence strangled out all the sounds of panic that began to fade. The man fell immediately after Daryl’s stab, no doubt losing all ability for his head to control his body. Kelly was embraced by her sister, and now you both stood before the others in a bittersweet reunion.

Out in the crowd of other prisoners, there was no objection to the end of the tyrant’s rule. Even the other guards stood down, seemingly returning Alexandria to the people.

But the taskmaster hadn’t been killed, not yet. Daryl had only paralyzed him, and he was on his way out, but he was still alive. Negan came forward, picking up the man by his jacket collar and dragging him out towards the crowd. He picked up a rock large enough to hold with two hands, and just before he struck him with the final blow to end the man’s misery, a voice called out.

“Negan!” Rosita burst forward as Gabriel flipped the man till he was facing up. “Don’t kill him!” she shouted.

“Where’s my daughter?” She leaned over the man, grasping his collar as she yelled, “Where is she?!”

There was an unmistakable quiver in her voice, a kind of desperation and rage that only a mother looking for her child could have. He didn’t answer, not that you heard from the distance you stood, anyway.

What you did hear, though, was the unmistakable wheezing and growling of a walker. Your head pivoted like a finely tuned machine, your hand instinctively grasping for the handle of your knife. The soldier that had been shot had turned, and the walker was slowly but surely rising to his feet.

Rosita was faster, though. She tugged on the walker’s uniform, pulling him towards the nearly lifeless man’s body with a wild groan.

She held the snapping, starving walker to the man’s face, shouting again, “Where the hell is she?! Tell me where she is!”

You could only look on, somewhere between understanding and horror. It sent a shiver down your spine—she hadn’t been able to find Coco, what if Robin and Wes weren’t there either?

Frozen in your fear, you only heard the red-haired man faintly say one phrase to Rosita. “You will lose everything.”

Just then, she dropped the walker, letting its teeth sink into the man’s face. “No! No! Ahh!”

Before you looked away, you saw the bright red flesh tearing away as the walker dined on his eye socket. No one made a move, not wanting to disturb the creature’s feast. It would have to be put down, but not only the man was made to suffer.

You didn’t care now, though. With the man still screaming, you turned swiftly, only your children’s safety on your mind.

“(Y/N)!” Daryl followed after you, his breath heavy as he tried to keep up.

“Not my babies,” was all you could reply, panting as you ran towards the nearest house, ready to raid each and every one.

The townhouse you chose to search first looked lived-in with candlelight glowing in the window of the second floor. You hurried up the steps of the porch, knife drawn and ready to kill if anyone got between you and the children.

Of course, Daryl tried to go in front of you, but, in an unusual display of roughness, you pushed him away with more force than he’d ever known you to have. You looked at him with wild, electric eyes, your hair falling out of your hat in an untamed mess. You didn’t have to say anything, he knew what you meant to say: I’m fucking going first.

So you did, kicking open the front door with a grand crash. It was a far cry from your usual more subtle, quiet approach, but there wasn’t going to be any stopping you now. The soldier that almost immediately greeted you was caught off guard when your knife slit his forearm where the armor wasn’t covering. It caused him to drop his gun while you slit his thigh, sending him writhing in pain on the floor.

It happened so fast that you lost conscious thought of the things you were doing, but Daryl watched your every move, making sure you didn’t make a wrong move. You quickly armed yourself with the soldier’s gun, wielding it as you inspected each room on the first floor, each empty.

You huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair away from your face. Then, you heard what sounded like muffled, higher-pitched voices coming from the floor above. They were children’s voices, you knew that for sure.

As you ran through the hallway, jumping over the writhing soldier to flee up the stairs, you began to hear the wailing of a baby. Warm tears flooded your vision, but you were steadfast in your search. You used your back to throw the first door open, holding the gun ready.

When you laid your determined eyes on an eleven-year-old girl with long brown hair, they softened immediately.

“Aunt (Y/N)!” Judith ran to you across the room. Her arms outstretched to hug you, so you dropped the gun and leaned down to receive her.

You peered over her shoulder to see more familiar children—Nabila and Jerry’s kids, whose names you admittedly lost track of at times, were among them, with more you recognized from the Commonwealth. And, of course, RJ was in Daryl’s arms, but the reunion couldn’t last too long—Robin and Wes weren’t here, and the crying had stopped.

“Judith,” you said, both sternly and with a tremble in your voice. “Where’s Robin and the baby?”

The crying began again, coming distinctly from across the hall. This time, Daryl moved first, knife drawn to slam through the door of the room where the crying came from.

You followed behind, peering over his shoulder to see light brown-haired girl, cowering in the corner of the room and facing the wall, rocking back and forth with a bundle of something in her arms. You knew the back of her head anywhere, the shape of her little body. Her hair was tied in a low half-ponytail, and her knitted sweater of seafoam green was unquestionably the garment of your daughter.

“Robin!” Daryl shouted out.

She turned immediately, her face red and puffy from crying. Westley, bundled up in a sloppy swaddle, flailed his limbs and wailed in her arms. She must’ve been trying to keep him quiet, having heard the scary noises downstairs.

“Daddy?!” she called out in confusion. “Mama!”

She lifted herself to her feet, still clinging to her infant brother, as you came forward, arms ready to snatch her up and never let her go.

You couldn’t form words as you held her and the baby, all you could was cry tears of joy and relief. But, out of fear of squishing Wes, you loosened your hold on the child for a moment to delicately take the infant into your embrace.

“He won’t stop cryin’,” she said with a sniffle of her own. “I was so scared, I thought…”

Daryl leaned down to hold her, and she lost of train of thought when she plummeted her head between his neck and shoulder. “S’all right,” he said quietly, his strong, warm hands gently rubbing her back. “Everythin’s all right now, birdie.”

Westley’s crying calmed intermittently as you rocked him, but he was hungry, and neglected.

When Daryl left momentarily to touch base with the others, you stayed behind with the children. Maggie and Carol met up with you in that townhouse, where they’d brought Hershel, Gracie, and some more children that they’d found being held in one of the other houses. It was the biggest children’s sleepover you’d ever seen, though it was still a rather solemn night.

Coco was still nowhere to be found, and a few other babies belonging to some of the Commonwealth prisoners weren’t there, either. It chilled you to the bone, and you wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

Daryl wouldn’t, either. He instead helped draw up a plan of attack with some of the others, planning on returning to the Commonwealth first thing come sunrise. They were going to get the rest of the children back, and they were going to take down Pamela for what she’d done, or tried to do.

Though it would’ve been a great historical moment to witness, you stayed in the townhouse to help watch over the children, and to nurse Wes. Even Dog, who’d been chained up outside the house, seemed starved of attention, so you brought him in, and he welcomed you with a myriad of slobbery kisses.

It wasn’t until almost sunrise when Maggie paid you a visit, knocking gently on the door to the bedroom you’d planted yourself in.

You smiled up at her, folding your blanket over Westley as he nursed. Robin laid next to you, her head using your belly as a pillow. She was curled up, tucking her legs into her chest as she slept soundly, small, dainty snores and little wispy breaths filling the air. As he slept on the foot of the bed, Dog’s snores helped create a strange little symphony.

Maggie smiled back at you. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know—”

“No, no,” you replied quietly. “You can come in… She’s a heavy sleeper.” You looked down at the sleepy baby, his heavy little eyes trying to stay open as he fed from your breast. “Oh, um… If it makes you uncomfortable, I can—”

“I’ve seen your tits before, (Y/N).”

Oh.

You’d almost forgotten about that. When you live on the road with someone for so long, and in tight quarters at a place like the prison, you get to know everyone a lot more intimately. In other words, Maggie walked in on you changing or bathing more than once.

“Right,” you laughed under your breath. “Come in, sit down.”

You gestured loosely to the armchair in the corner of the room. It sat beside of a small bedside table, upon which was a gas lamp that gave off a warm, dim glow in the dark morning mist.

“I don’t think I got to properly meet this little one,” she said. “Westley?”

“Mhm… We’ve been calling him Wes for short. Well, Daryl likes to call him scout.”

Maggie smiled, and sometimes you forgot just how beautiful and sweet her smile was. It could light up every room, you didn’t even need that old oil lamp. “That’s cute. Wes lucked out. He was born into a pretty great family.”

“Mm, a big family. So many aunts and uncles… I think Aunt Maggie is going to be a favorite, though.”

She shook her head. “Think Aunt Carol’s got that distinction, least with Robin.”

You reached a hand down to lightly caress Robin’s shoulder over the fleece blanket that Daryl had draped over her before he left. “Give it time,” you said. “Soon you’ll be her hero, I just know it.” You paused to adjust Westley, moving him to the other breast as carefully as you could so not to disturb Robin. “How’s Hershel?”

“He’s all right,” she sighed with a nod. “Sleepin’ like a baby. All of them are. Don’t think they got much sleep since they were taken.”

You didn’t think anyone would get much sleep until all this was over. You knew you wouldn’t. “Poor things. They’ve been through a lot.” You looked down at Wes, who’d now fully fallen asleep in your arms. You smiled and gently maneuvered him so you could button up your blouse. “He was so hungry.”

Maggie nodded solemnly, her serious side coming through again. “They’ll pay,” she said, even more quietly, just in case Robin or the other children stirred in their sleep. “For everything.”

“Maggie,” you said, “you were right not to trust them… I should’ve been more skeptical, I just—”

“You were doing what was best for your family,” she interrupted. “For Robin and the baby. You were thinking about them. Any mom would’ve done it.”

You looked confused, and you were. Wasn’t Maggie a mom too? “But you didn’t.”

“I was just doin’ what I thought was the best thing to do,” she said. “Now here we are, in the exact same place.”

“We’re home,” you said. “Did you ever think… when we came here, all those years ago, that we’d be here right now?”

“No,” she replied with a grin. “It’s so surreal. I—I remember how… how excited Glenn was.”

You remembered it, too. Glenn was one of the first people in your group to want Alexandria to be your home. He believed in it. He was the spark of humanity, reminding you all that you could no longer live on the road, always on the brink of starving and never able to turn your back. He wanted you all to have a home.

Alexandria had been through so much. So many people and so many things had been lost, but what always remained was Alexandria.

“This place is special,” you said. “Glenn saw that.”

“He did… I miss him everyday.”

You untucked a hand from underneath the baby, who stirred a little, but soon settled back into sleep once your hand outstretched to hold Maggie’s. “We all do. He’d be so proud of you, and everything you’ve done.”

She sniffled as she bowed her head, nodding all the while. “You know, you’ve always been my best friend.”

Your face melted into touched surprise. It’d been years since she’d told you that. “You’re my best friend, too… We’ve come a long way since the farm, huh?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “When you asked Glenn for…” She leaned in closer, whispering even lower. “Condoms.”

“Shh!” you laughed.

“Coulda used a few more, huh?” She nodded her head towards the baby in your arms, and you nudged her with her elbow, shaking your head. You couldn’t help but smile, though.

“Shut up.”

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