bonus • like you promised, rick

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THE WALKING DEAD- a rick grimes fanfic -

THE ALTERNATIVE ENDING PRISON ERA

     I always loved the mornings.

There was a kind of hush over everything, the kind you only noticed after months of nonstop chaos, blood, death, and war.

This specific morning, the air was cool but warm enough to hint at a good day. A sunny day. I could hear someone laughing faintly—maybe one of the Woodbury kids near the fence. Someone else was hammering something to the far left, probably Tyreese or Sasha working on C-Block.

Birds were chirping overhead. Honest-to-God birds. Today was a good day.

I stepped out into the prison yard, boots crunching against the gravel, the door slamming shut behind me. I paused at the top of the hill and took it in—the garden Hershel and Rick had coaxed back to life, the women hanging up clothes, and a few kids laughing as they tossed a ball back and forth. Glenn and Maggie were near the truck, playfully arguing over something, and Michonne was leaning up against the hood, arms crossed, her katana slung across her back.

It was the closest thing to peace we'd had in months.

I let myself smile.

Michonne clocked me the second I hit the yard. "Look who decided to show up," she called out, grinning.

I laughed, jogging the last few steps toward her. "Sorry. Hope I didn't put a dent in our timeline."

She shrugged, amused almost. "Not terribly."

Maggie glanced up from where she was loading up weapons. Glenn was crouched beside her, trying to balance a box on his knee while tying something off with twine.

Glenn looked over, confused. "Wait... you're joining us?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What? Disappointed, Waterboy?"

He blinked, mouth open for a beat as he glanced between me and Maggie. "Wha—uh, no. Obviously not. No. I'm just surprised. Rick didn't say—"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "We're ecstatic you're joinin' us, Nola. More the merrier. Right?"

"That's what I like to hear, Mags." I gave her a wink and bumped her hip as I passed. "Waterboy, take notes."

Glenn muttered something under his breath when I passed him, but Maggie just laughed and playfully slapped his arm, pressing a kiss to his cheek that shut him up quick.

Daryl came strolling up behind us, tossing a dagger between his hands. "Yo. Any of y'all seen Rick?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I saw them—Rick, walking up from the far end of the yard with Carl next to him, carrying Judith in both arms like a pro. Hershel was beside them, his pace slower than usual due to his prosthetic, and Beth trailed behind, chattering softly with Carl. The sunlight hit Rick's shoulders just right, and I felt my chest do that fluttery, quiet ache thing it always did when I looked at him for too long.

"Right there," I murmured, nodding toward them.

Daryl followed my gaze, nodded once, then jogged off toward his bike.

Rick's ocean blues met mine before he even reached us. That little half-smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, the one he didn't just give anybody.

"Mornin'," he said, stepping right into my space without warning. He bent slightly to press a soft kiss to my mouth—not too long, not too sweet, just enough to make my spine tingle.

I felt my face flush as I mumbled against his lips. "Mornin'."

"Y'sure you wanna come?" he muttered against my cheek, pulling away slightly. "Ain't been out on a run in a while."

I shrugged. "Been cooped up too long. I love Hershel to death, but if I hoe one more row of tomatoes, I may just lose my damn mind."

He chuckled, warm and low, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Alright then. Just stay close."

I tilted my head to look up at him. "Always do."

Hershel was the next to speak. He stepped up beside Rick and gave me one of those slow, thoughtful looks of his. "Y'all be careful out there, you hear?"

I gave him a small nod, smiling. "You know it."

Beth smiled cheekily from his side. "Bring me back somethin' sweet, please Nola," she teased with her soft southern lilt, and I chuckled.

"Can't really promise that, Bethy. Unless you're wantin' canned peaches again."

Beth just playfully rolled her eyes, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against my cheek. "Bye bye. See ya when you get back."

The 18-year-old then drifted over to Maggie, immediately falling into conversation with her older sister.

Carl—on the other hand—stood stiff with Judith in his arms and didn't say a word. Not right away.

He looked older than he had a few weeks ago. Sharper, harder in the eyes. It was unexplainable. He looked more like Rick.

"Hey," I called, catching his attention, "you be good, Mr. Invincible."

He sighed, barely looking at me. "I will."

Well. That's progress.

It had been months since Lori died, and since we defeated the Governor, and things for Carl had been different. Rick had been more stern on him about not using weapons inside or outside the prison—he wanted him to still be his little boy—but Carl wasn't having it.

He was pissed, and rightfully so, I suppose. But he had gotten colder. Though, I couldn't blame the teenager, it was his way of coping in this fucked up world without his mother.

Judith, who was nestled in his arms, reached one little hand toward me.

My chest tugged.

I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her soft, warm forehead. "Bye, my sunshine," I whispered. She cooed, her tiny fingers grabbing a strand of my black hair before Carl gently shifted her back.

Then it was time to go.

I climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, the window already cracked halfway down. The metal frame burned a little beneath my fingertips from sitting so long in the sun, but I didn't mind. I leaned my elbow out and waved once more, watching them shrink in the side mirror.

Beth gave me a cheerful wave. Hershel was smiling while waving. Carl was already walking off. Judith looked over his shoulder and raised her hand toward us, even as we pulled away.

The gravel crunched beneath the tires, and for a few long moments, I just stared ahead—quiet.

There was something heavy beneath my ribs. Not panic, not dread. Just that thing you feel when you aren't sure what awaits you. When you have an inkling something is about to happen—you're about to lose something—but you aren't sure what.

It's that part of your gut you learn to listen to when the world goes to shit.

I took in a long breath, letting it sting my lungs before I let it go. I shift in my seat a bit, anxiously biting my lips. I watched as we blurred past the fences that Carol, Tyreese, and Sasha opened up for us. The towers. The field. The life we'd built.

I didn't know why, but it felt like I was saying goodbye.

"Hey."

Rick's voice cut through the silence.

I turned to look at him, blinking.

He didn't say anything more—just reached over and carefully took my hand, his fingers curling around mine where they rested on the center console.

Warm. Steady. Comfortable. Just like him.

The truck kept rolling forward, the morning sun stretching long across the road ahead of us. I glanced at our joined hands, smiling to myself. I could hear the murmurs in the back as Glenn, Maggie, and Michonne lost themselves in conversation, unaware of the anxious bubbling in my stomach.

Whatever was coming... I hope it wasn't bad.

•••

The road ahead of us was cracked and faded, dotted with weeds and the occasional rusted car. Daryl's bike trailed behind the truck, the soft rumble of its engine vibrating faintly through the metal frame. Now and then, I'd glance in the side mirror to catch a sight of him—his face unreadable as always. Rick checked the rearview too, every so often, his jaw tight as he scoped out any threats.

The car itself was calm, but it wasn't quiet.

From the backseat, Maggie and Glenn were bickering softly over the supply list like an old married couple—Glenn insisting they wouldn't find anything cool, Maggie rolling her eyes and calling him 'stingy.' Michonne commented on two that had them both laughing. For a moment, the sound was comforting.

I should've smiled. I didn't.

Instead, my eyes stayed locked on the world outside my window, watching as trees blurred by, shadows sliding across the road. My stomach twisted tighter with every mile. There was no reason for it—nothing had happened yet. But that feeling... it was there. Creeping in, slow and cold.

Rick's warm, calloused hand still rested on mine, thumb brushing against my skin absentmindedly. That tiny, grounding touch almost broke through the thick fog swirling in my head. Almost. I kept my gaze forward, but I felt his eyes on me—studying me.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low, just for me.

I didn't answer. Not because I didn't hear him, but because I was too far in my own head—thinking of Judith, of Carl, of how the morning sun felt too good to be true.

"Lia." His voice sharpened slightly, gentle but firm. Then softer, like the word could coax me out of my thoughts: "Honey."

I blinked and turned toward him. His hand tightened around mine just a fraction, his deep blue eyes flicking from the road to me. "Are you okay?"

The worry in his face hit me like a wave—the slight furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb stilled over my knuckles.

And God, he looked good.

Black jeans, brown boots, that dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows, and a few curls loose at his temples despite how he tried to slick his hair back. The stubble along his jaw had grown in thick, making him look older, tougher. My breath caught just for a second, and I forced myself to smile.

"Yeah," I said softly, squeezing his hand. "I'm good."

He didn't buy it. I could tell—he just kept looking at me, one eyebrow raised like he was silently calling my bluff. But I didn't let him press it. I turned back to the window and focused on the passing scenery, trying to swallow the tightness in my throat.

That's when I saw her.

A lone walker staggered along the side of the road—what was left of a woman once, her dark hair tangled and thin, her clothes shredded down to filthy scraps. She raised her arms slowly as we passed, and for the briefest moment, I swore she was looking straight at me.

And then—like a punch to my chest—I pictured myself there.

Dragging my feet across the dirt. Skin grey. Eyes empty. Reaching out for someone who wouldn't recognize me anymore.

My mouth went dry.

"Something feels off," I muttered without meaning to, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

Rick quickly glanced at me again, his hand still holding mine. He heard me, I knew he did. But he didn't say anything—just gave my hand one more slow, grounding squeeze.

He made a few more turns down the backroads, the truck bouncing over the cracks and potholes. Daryl's bike roared behind us.

By the time we slowed to a crawl, I could see the faded sign of the old grocery store up ahead. The letters were half gone, rusted and hanging crooked, but the building itself was mostly intact. The parking lot was worse, weeds splitting through every crack in the pavement.

The real problem was the walkers.

There weren't a ton, but enough to be annoying—maybe a dozen, scattered in clumps around the perimeter. Their groans were low and hollow, carrying faintly on the breeze.

Rick parked the truck a few yards out. Daryl rolled up beside us, his crossbow already slung in his hands. The others climbed out of the back.

"Alright," Rick said, sliding out of the driver's seat. His cowboy boots hitting the pavement with a thud of confidence that always made me want to trust him, no matter what. He grabbed his Colt Python but didn't raise it—there was no need to waste ammo if we could help it.

I followed, tucking my hair behind my ear as I adjusted the strap of my dagger at my hip. The heat of the sun baked against the back of my neck, but my skin prickled more from the unease than the warmth.

"Perimeter first," Rick continued, his voice firm. "Knives only. We move quick. Inside, we split up. No guns unless we got no other choice. Clear?"

"Clear," Michonne echoed, already drawing her katana with that effortless grace.

"Got it," Glenn said, tightening the straps on his pack. Maggie gave him a look, and he simply smiled back at her.

"Let's move," Daryl grunted, his crossbow aimed low as he started toward the closest walker.

The group dispersed, each heading for their target, moving like a well-practiced unit.

I stayed behind for a moment, sliding my Colt Frontier into its holster and drawing my dagger. The leather grip was cool in my hand, familiar. I took a breath.

"Lia."

Rick's voice pulled me back. His hand landed on my shoulder, warm and steady, stopping me before I could take a step forward.

"You sure you're okay?" His blue eyes cut into me like they could see every lie I'd ever told.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? It's just a supply run."

His jaw flexed, a slow exhale leaving his lungs. "Yeah," he muttered, studying me like he didn't believe a damn word. "Okay. Right."

I smiled, leaning in just enough to pinch his cheek lightly, teasing. "You worry too much, Rick. Everything's fine."

The corner of his mouth twitched like he almost smiled. Almost.

Before he could say anything else, I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the opposite cheek, close enough to feel the roughness of his stubble. Then I spun on my heel and headed straight for the nearest walker, dagger raised.

The first one went down easy—just a quick slice across the temple, its body dropping like a sack of wet sand.

Behind me, I heard Rick grunt as he took one down himself, his knife punching cleanly through bone.

We worked fast, everyone moving with the same quiet precision. Glenn stabbed one in the eye as Maggie covered his side, Michonne easily cutting through two with her katana. Daryl's crossbow thrummed, taking out those who wandered too close.

Within minutes, the parking lot was quiet again, the groans and moans replaced with silence and stillness.

I wiped my blade on my jeans with a heavy breath as we regrouped near the front doors.

Rick glanced around at the rest of us, his Colt Python drawn now, and a raised a hand. "Weapons up. Stay alert."

Everyone lifted their knives, readying themselves for whatever waited inside.

Daryl stepped up to the doors first, crossbow cocked and ready. He nodded once at Rick, then reached for the handle.

The hinges creaked as the glass door swung open. He slipped inside, slow and silent, disappearing for a moment. Then we heard it—two soft thuds, a walker collapsing. Daryl reappeared, gave a firm nod. "Clear."

One by one, we followed him in.

The air inside was stale and heavy, the smell of rot and dust clinging to everything. Broken shelves were scattered across the tile, a few smashed jars staining the floor. But it was quiet.

Rick walked in first, his eyes making sure to scan every corner.

I hung back for half a second, standing just at the threshold, staring into the dim aisles. Something about it felt wrong. My gut twisted, the bad feeling returning stronger than before.

I shook it off and forced my legs to move.

Rick glanced over his shoulder as I stepped in, his brow furrowed. He didn't say anything—just watched me.

I ignored the way my heart hammered and followed him in the dark store. Broken glass crunched under our boots as we moved, the faint light from the front windows casting long shadows between the aisles. Everything felt too quiet.

Rick's hand brushed against mine as we stepped past the checkout counters, both of us scanning the empty rows. He stopped just before the first aisle, turning to look at me. His eyes—those sharp, steady blues—were locked onto mine like he was memorizing my face, like he always did before a run.

"We get in, we get out. Nothin' too fancy," he murmured, his voice low and even.

I smiled faintly, trying to play it off, to keep him from seeing the unease twisting in my stomach. "Just how I like it."

His mouth tugged into that small, rare smile, the one that barely reached his eyes but still made my heart stutter. He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss was warm and quick—almost like it was a habit. It was a kiss that grounded me. A kiss that reminded me that we would be alright. We were still here, together. We were still us.

"Be careful," he whispered against my lips.

I tilted my chin up slightly, meeting his soft gaze. "I always am." My hand brushed his forehead before I added with a knowing smirk, "You stay safe. Don't be stupid."

His eyes softened, and for a second, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he just shook his head, amused, like he couldn't help but love me even when I was giving him orders.

We lingered there, just long enough for the others to move deeper into the store. Then, slowly, we peeled away from each other, his eyes trailing after me until he disappeared into another aisle. I could still feel his gaze on me when I turned away.

The smile slipped from my face as soon as I was alone.

The shelves in my aisle were mostly bare-scattered cans, broken cereal boxes, and dust. My boots echoed softly against the tile as I moved, my dagger still in its sheath as I reached for a few cans, shoving them into my bag. My other hand rested on the grip of my Colt Frontier. I kept scanning the space, my ears straining for any sound.

That's when I heard it.

A shuffle.

I froze mid-step, my heartbeat kicking up. It wasn't close—but it wasn't far, either.

I stayed still, listening. The silence stretched.

Then the sound came again. Louder this time.

I whipped around, yanking my Colt free and raising it, my finger brushing the trigger. My breath came shallow, every muscle in my body pulled tight. I aimed toward the dark gap between shelves, waiting for movement.

Footsteps.

I braced, ready to shoot—

"Boo!"

"Maggie!" I yelped, jerking back as she stepped from behind the shelf, grinning. "Jesus, shit, Mags! You can't do that!"

She laughed, that warm, carefree laugh I hadn't heard in so long. "Sorry! I didn't know you'd get so scared. You good?"

I let out a breath, lowering my gun and grabbing my forehead with my free hand. "What's up with everyone askin' me that today? I'm fine." My voice was tired, my nerves frayed.

Maggie tilted her head, studying me like she didn't quite believe it, but she let it go. Instead, she smiled mischievously and pulled something from behind her back.

"Lookee what I just found."

I looked down at the object in her hands, blinking. "A guitar?"

It was small, a little scratched up but mostly intact. Maggie plucked at one of the strings, the sound dull but familiar, then held it out to me.

"You're the only one who knows how to play," she said with a gentle smile. "And since we lost the old one at the farm... I don't know, I just thought it'd be nice. We could have those nights again. Like old times. You play, we sing—like when we were kids."

I stared at the guitar for a moment, my chest tightening at the bittersweet memory. Slowly, I took it from her, running my fingers over the worn wood and the strings. A faint but small smile tugged on my lips.

"Yeah," I whispered. My thumb brushed over the neck of the guitar in a familiar way. "It'd be fun. Thanks, Mags."

"Anythin' for my name-twin." She winked, squeezing my arm as she walked past me. "See you, Nola."

"See you," I murmured, watching her disappear down another aisle.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring down at the guitar, letting the memories flood me—days on the Greene farm, sitting on the porch while young Beth and Maggie begged me to sing. I took a long breath, swallowing hard, then carefully set the guitar into my bag.

I kept moving.

One hand reached for a few jars of peanut butter and cans of soup, the other still hovering close to my gun. The silence felt heavier now.

Then, I heard it again.

Shuffle.

I froze, holding my breath.

It stopped.

I moved again, quickening my pace, but the sound followed—a slow, dragging scrape somewhere behind me.

I rolled my eyes, forcing a laugh I didn't quite feel. "Okay, Maggie. You got me the first time haha. Just come out and show me what you got this time."

I paused, waiting. No answer.

"Mags?" I called, my voice a little sharper as I furrowed my brow.

The shuffle came again.

I turned down an aisle, scanning left and right.

"Maggie?"

Silence.

The silence was so deafening.

I stood there, my breath shallow, waiting for something—anything—to move. My fingers tightened around the grip of my Colt, my ears straining for the smallest sound. Nothing.

"Okay," I whispered under my breath, almost to convince myself. I started to turn, taking one careful step forward—

A guttural growl ripped through the air.

Before I could even process it, two walkers lunged out from the corner of the aisle. Their sunken faces were inches from mine, their jaws snapping, teeth clicking like bones breaking.

I gasped sharply, instinctively raising my gun, but one of them swung its decayed arm out, knocking my wrist so hard I dropped it.

The gun hit the tile with a deafening bang—a stray shot going off as it clattered away.

"What was that?!" I heard Glenn yell somewhere down the aisles. Footsteps scrambled. Voices echoed.

But I didn't have time to answer.

The first walker came at me again, its rotting fingers grabbing at my shirt. I grabbed the neck of the guitar from my backpack, swung it with every ounce of force in my body, and smashed it across its skull. The sound of splintering wood echoed as the walker crumbled to the ground—but it wasn't dead, only stunned.

The second one lunged before I could recover.

Its weight slammed into me, knocking me off balance. My back hit the ground with a hard, jarring thud, pain shooting up my spine as the air was knocked from my lungs. My dagger flew from my belt, skittering across the tile, out of reach.

The walker's face hovered over mine, its rancid breath hitting me as it growled and snapped its blackened teeth just inches from my nose. I screamed.

"RICK!"

It wasn't even a scream I recognized—it tore from me, raw and guttural, shaking my whole body.

Somewhere, faintly, I heard Rick's voice bellowing my name. "Lia! LIA!"

The walker's teeth grazed my shoulder—a white-hot burn of pain tearing through me. I didn't even process it in that moment, too consumed by the fear of its jaw trying to chomp down on my face.

I shoved my hand up, pressing my palm against its forehead, trying to keep it away. My arms trembled as I fought against its weight, my other hand frantically pating the ground for anything, anything, that could save me.

"Hold on! I'm comin'!" Rick's voice was closer now, furious, frantic.

The walker snarled louder, its jaw gnashing. My fingertips grazed something sharp—a piece of the shattered guitar neck, the splintered wood jagged like a spear.

I didn't think.

With a scream, I grabbed it and jammed it into the walker's skull.

The sound was wet and sickening. Blood sprayed across my face and chest, thick and metallic, but I didn't care. I shoved the corpse off me, gasping for air.

The second walker—the one I'd hit earlier—was already dragging itself toward me, half its face caved in but still growling.

I barely had time to get up on one knee when—

BANG.

The walker's head exploded before it could touch me.

Rick appeared behind it, his Colt Python still raised, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. He didn't even blink as the walker dripped lifelessly at my feet.

But I couldn't move.

The world had gone eerily quiet, like the sound had been sucked out of the air. My chest heaved, but the breath felt trapped in my throat, choking me. My back pressed against the cold tile, and all I could see—all I could see—was red.

My hands were covered in it, slick and dripping. My thighs were stained. My neck. My chest. My face. Blood—warm, metallic, sticky—coated me in thick smears. I didn't even know if it was mine.

I sat there frozen, my arms trembling as I slowly slid up into a sitting position, my legs sprawled out in front of me. The shattered pieces of the guitar lay at my side, soaked and ruined. My Colt lay several feet away, still smoking faintly from where the bullet had left.

And then, suddenly, Rick was in front of me.

He dropped to his knees beside me, his gun clattering to the floor as his hands went to my face. His palms were warm but shaking, smearing more blood across my cheeks as he held me still, his blue eyes wide and wild.

"Lia. Lia—hey, look at me. Are you okay? Did you get bit? Did it scratch you? Tell me!"

His voice was frantic, strained with fear I had never heard from him before.

My eyes blinked, wide and glassy, staring at him but not really seeing. "No—I'm okay. I'm... f-fine. I'm..." My gaze flickered past his shoulder, landing on the broken guitar. A wave of guilt punched through the shock. "Shit. I... I'm sorry, Mags. I broke the guitar."

"Forget the damn guitar, Magnolia," Rick said sharply, his voice low but urgent as he scanned my body for wounds. His hands were everywhere—my arms, my shoulders, my waist—pressing over me like he was trying to confirm I was still solid, still breathing.

The others appeared, footsteps skidding on the tile. Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie all stared down at me like they weren't sure what they were looking at.

Daryl crouched beside me, his expression tight. He reached down, picked up my Colt Frontier and my dagger, and carefully placed them back into my lap. "Here," he muttered, watching me closely. "You good?"

I gave the faintest nod, but I felt like I wasn't even in my own body. I was... floating, numb, adrenaline buzzing through me so hard my teeth were chattering.

Michonne crouched on my other side, her sharp brown eyes softening just a fraction. "She's in shock," she said, her tone calm but firm.

Glenn's voice was tense. "We need to check her for injuries—she could've been scratched."

Rick's hands gripped my face again, forcing my gaze back to his. "Were you bit? Anywhere?" His thumb swept over my jaw, his eyes searching mine intently.

"I—no. I'm fine," I said, my voice quiet but cracking. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled under me. The world tilted for a second, and I nearly dropped back to the floor.

Rick caught me instantly, his arm sliding around my waist. He held me upright, his face so close I could see the strain in every line around his eyes.

"Easy," he murmured, steadying me. His hand rubbed my back once, comforting me.

"I'm fine," I repeated, though my voice slurred slightly. I tried to smile, but it easily faltered. "I... it just... they came out of nowhere."

Rick's jaw tightened. He looked up at the others, his voice commanding. "We're goin' back to the truck. Y'all keep gatherin' supplies. We'll cover the front."

"Rick, I'm fine," I tried again, but the words felt weak on my tongue.

"No, you're not," he said firmly, no room for argument. "C'mon."

His arm stayed wrapped around me as he guided me out of the aisle, his steps slow and careful, like he didn't trust me to walk on my own. Every so often, his eyes darted to my face, scanning for any sign of pain or... worse.

Behind us, I could hear Maggie whispering something to Glenn, her voice shaken. Daryl's boots scuffed against the tile as he bent to pick up the splintered remains of the guitar.

I didn't look back.

All I could focus on was the sound of my breathing, my heartbeat thudding in my ears, and the way Rick's arm held me, his thumb brushing unconsciously against my side like he needed to feel that I was still there. Still alive.

I didn't realize it yet—not truly—but something had shifted.

Something that I was afraid would change everything.

•••

The next few hours blurred together, fragments of memory I couldn't quite piece together into something coherent.

I remember Rick's arm around me as we left the store—how his hand never once left my side, firm and grounding, as if he let go, I might vanish. I remember the truck door slamming shut behind me, the way he climbed into the driver's seat and instantly turned toward me, both hands braced on my shoulders, his blue eyes scanning every inch of me like he could see through skin and bone.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice rough, almost hoarse. "No bites? No scratches?"

"I'm fine," I whispered, even though my chest still heaved and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. "Just... just shock, Rick. I'm fine."

He didn't believe me. He kept looking, brushing his hands along my arms, my waist, my neck, as if he were searching for something I'd missed. I had to press my palms against his chest to stop him. "I'm fine," I said again, firmer.

But even then, his eyes wouldn't leave me.

By the time the others returned, I'd calmed enough to sit upright, but Rick still sat close—so close our knees touched, his hand resting over mine on the seat. His fingers wouldn't stop fidgeting against my skin, tapping nervously, like he was trying to keep me tethered.

Maggie didn't mention the guitar when she climbed into the truck bed with Glenn and Michonne. She just glanced at me—soft, worried—and looked away.

"Here," Glenn murmured, handing me a bottle of water through the open window.

"Thanks, Waterboy," I whispered, my voice still scratchy. I took slow, careful sips. My throat felt raw, like I'd been screaming for hours.

The road back to the prison was quiet. Daryl's motorcycle followed close behind, the rumble steady, but inside the cab, it was silent except for the hum of the tires. I stared out the window, watching the world blur by.

At some point, I drifted. My head tilted against the glass, and the rhythm of the road pulled me under for a while.

When we finally rolled through the gates of the prison, clouds scattered the sky, and the midday sun blared down. The metal fence rattled as it was pushed closed behind us, the sound echoing in my ears hollowly.

Rick drove up the gravel hill in silence, one hand tapping against the wheel, the other clutching my hand tightly. I blinked open my eyes, not daring to move.

Before I knew it, we were parked, and Rick turned off the engine but didn't move for a moment. He just looked over at me, his hand moving away like he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure where or if he should.

"I'm okay," I said softly before he could ask again. I forced a small smile. "Really."

He didn't smile back. He just nodded once, tight-lipped, like he didn't believe me but was too tired to argue.

I eased the door open and slid out of the truck, legs shaky, the gravel biting through the soles of my boots as soon as my weight hit it. That was when the pain finally bloomed—deep and mean, radiating out from my shoulder and down my ribs, a throb that made my vision pulse at the edges.

I swallowed it. Straightened. Didn't let it show.

For a minute, I just stood there, watching everyone move. Glenn and Maggie hopped down from the bed, passing off bags and boxes to a man from Woodbury and Sasha. Daryl swung his crossbow up and over his shoulder, already barking something at Tyreese about the fence. Michonne glanced back at me once, a long, measuring look, then turned to help Hershel with a crate.

"I'm gonna get cleaned up," I said, turning toward Rick as he rounded the truck.

"I can go with you," he offered immediately, already half a step in my direction.

"I'm fine," I lied, soft but firm. "I'll meet you after."

His jaw clicked, that stubborn set settling in. He leaned forward anyway, hand cupping my cheek. I flinched, barely, at the contact—skin too tender, nerves raw. He noticed, but didn't comment. His eyes searched mine, worried, relentless.

"I got walker blood all over my face," I murmured, the corner of my mouth twitching upward.

"Don't care," he said, and kissed me anyway.

It was gentle, careful, nothing like the fear that had been in his voice earlier. I let myself fall into it for a second, just long enough to pretend today hadn't happened. Then I pulled away, forcing a smile I didn't feel, and slipped past him toward C-Block.

The halls felt colder than usual. I kept my head down, walking fast, trying not to run into anyone. The ache in my body was getting worse—my muscles tightening, a deep, bone-heavy soreness spreading like I'd been hit by a truck, not a walker. I told myself it was from the fall. From the adrenaline crash. From almost dying.

Our matching cells were quiet, the dim light casting long shadows over the bunks. I grabbed a clean shirt and jeans with hands that didn't feel like mine and headed for the showers.

As soon as I entered the dark bathroom, I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at the stranger in the mirror—face painted in drying blood, streaked with dirt, eyes blown wide and ringed with red. My hair was stiff where it had clotted. There was a smear over my collarbone, a dark trail running from my neck and disappearing beneath my soaked shirt.

I turned on the faucet. The pipes groaned before spitting out rusty water that slowly ran clear. I soaked a rag and pressed it to my cheek. The cold water made me internally gasp.

The first wipe dragged blood downward, smearing it over my throat. The second one actually cleaned something. The third revealed another streak. More. More than there should have been.

I frowned. My breathing quickened.

I pulled my thin t-shirt over my head. The motion ripped something inside my shoulder—sharp, immediate. I hissed, letting out a curse as the fabric stuck, tugged, peeled away wetly.

And then I saw it.

Not someone else's blood.

Mine.

It ran from the upper swell of my shoulder, thick and dark, soaking the torn edge of my shirt. The skin around it was angry, swollen, already purpling. I reached up with shaking fingers and touched it hesitantly—lightly, so lightly—and felt the jagged edges of teeth marks.

The mirror tilted. The room narrowed into a tunnel as I felt my breath hitch dramatically.

"No," I whispered. My voice sounded small. Dead. "No, no, no..."

I immediately pressed the rag to it, as if pressure and rubbing could undo it. Pain shot through me. I finched back so hard, I slammed against the sink, the metal biting into my back. The rag slipped from my fingers and slapped wetly into the basin, water turning pink, then red—dark red.

My hands couldn't stop shaking. My knees buckled. I caught myself on the counter, then slid down the tiled wall, the cold biting through my hot and naked back. My breath came in ragged pulls. Everything around me felt like it was spinning. Everything felt too loud.

Tears blurred everything. I scrubbed at the bite again, like I couldn't rub it away, erase the edges, pretend it was just an old scratch, a scrape, anything but what it was. The pain was blinding. I clutched my shoulder and sobbed—ugly, broken sounds that spewed out even if I tried to swallow them down.

I didn't know what to do.

Tell him. Don't tell him. Let him have a night without this. Let him hold Judith and think the world isn't ending again. Let Maggie laugh once more. Let Carl breathe. Let Hershel rest.

But the promise... the one I made him swear to nearly a year ago. I want you to kill me if I turn into one.

LAST YEAR 22 • infected

   I exhaled slowly, Rick's hand resting on my shoulder, warm and grounding, though his eyes carried a quiet pity. The silence between us was thick, broken only by the wind and the creak of the trees around us. When his hand slipped from my arm, I felt the sudden absence like a chill.

"I want you to promise me something," I said, my voice steady but soft, like the words might crumble if I spoke too loudly.

Rick turned, his brows lifting slightly, waiting.

"Since... you know, we're all infected," I sighed, watching the flicker of tension in his face. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, his gaze fixed on me, sharp and unreadable. My words hesitated on my tongue before I forced them out.

"I want you to kill me if I turn into one."

His eyes widened, a flicker of shock flashing across them. He didn't answer. His jaw shifted like he wanted to speak but couldn't. His stare was too intense, too full of something I couldn't name—like he didn't trust himself to say the words.

The silence stretched, gnawing at me. My chest tightened. I frowned faintly, tilting my head at him.

"Rick, will you do it?" I pressed, softer this time, but firm.

He blinked once, like waking from a thought, then nodded, slow and distant. "Yeah... Yeah. I will," he said faintly, his voice hoarse. He looked away like the promise burned too much to hold my gaze.

I leaned back against the cold brick wall, my breath shaky as the wind threaded between us. My eyes drifted toward the dark woods, and I closed them for a moment, trying to steady the pounding in my chest.

PRESENT TIME

My stomach twisted. I pressed my forehead to my forearm and cried harder, chest heaving, breath hiccupping in and out like I couldn't get enough air. The edges of my vision darkened and pulsed. I could already feel it---fever licking under my skin, heat blooming in my cheeks, the ache in my bones settling.

I wasn't ready.

God, I wasn't ready.

I pressed my palm over the bite, as if holding it closed could keep the world together a little longer---my world. As if I could keep him from having to do the one thing I'd made him promise me all those months ago, in our darkest moments.

We had just finally started living. We had finally found each other. We had finally started loving each other. I had started loving his children as my own. It was too soon. I wasn't ready. I'm not sure if I ever was.

I didn't know I'd be going so soon.

•••

    Somehow, I managed to pick myself up off the floor. I managed to take a shower and clean my body. I managed to bandage my wound and get dressed. I managed to look half-decent as I walked out of the bathroom—acting like my whole world hadn't just changed drastically.

It was 1:24 PM by the time I was finished. I had the rest of the day.

The world didn't need to know yet. Not Rick. Not Maggie. Not Carl.

Especially not Rick.

The yard was warm and bright when I stepped outside, but the sunlight felt wrong on my skin—too sharp, too hot. I found Maggie by the garden, crouched low, pulling weeds from between the sprouting beans. I sat beside her quietly, picking at the dirt with my fingers.

"You alright?" she asked me after a minute, not looking up.

"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just... tired. That's all."

Maggie glanced at me, her brow furrowed like she didn't buy it, but she let it slide. We stayed there, side by side, hands moving through the soil in silence.

Later, I found Judith in her crib, her chubby little fists waving in the air as she gurgled up at the ceiling. My chest tightened. I picked her up, cradling her close.

"You're my sunshine, you know that?" I whispered against her hair, kissing her soft curls. I began to sing under my breath, voice wavering but steady enough for her:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine... you make me happy when skies are gray...

Judith cooed, her wide brown eyes blinking up at me. I sang it twice through before switching to Somewhere Over The Rainbow. My throat felt raw, the words catching like they weren't meant to leave my lips. I pressed my cheek to her tiny head and held her until she fell asleep.

When I finally laid her down, my hands lingered on her blanket, unwilling to let go.

An hour passed before I knew it, and I was outside with Carl, forcing him to join me while I tightened the wires on the fence. He passed me the tools I needed, and I tried my best to converse, despite the mood he was in.

We sat in silence for the first few minutes before Carl eventually said, "You look kinda pale."

"Just need water," I said, shrugging it off. Then softer, "Hey Carl?"

He tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"Don't let this world make you hard. I know it's tough. I know you're angry and confused. But you're a good kid. A good man—the best I've ever met. You always will be."

He blinked at me, the steel behind his eyes fading. He had a brief look of confusion on his face as he smiled softly. "Thanks, Nola."

I smiled back at him, but my throat ached. "You're my best friend. Don't forget that."

Everywhere I went, I found little excuses to be near them all. Glenn and I stocked the food shelf in the kitchen, and I let him ramble about the route for next week's supply run, nodding even when I barely heard the words. Michonne and I stood on the catwalk, watching the Woodbury kids play tag in the field in silence. Daryl passed me on his way to his cell, he mumbled another 'You sure you good?' at me, and I just nodded and smiled, patting his shoulder longer than usual.

Rick noticed.

He kept watching me, his gaze following me like a shadow. He didn't ask right away—just furrowed his brows, that silent worry etched into his face like stone. But I could feel his eyes on me. Always.

By the time the sun dipped low, turning to the sky into familiar streaks of gold, purple, and blood-orange, I felt like I was unraveling. The fever was a steady hum under my skin, my shoulder throbbing, but I kept my smile fixed as I joined the others by the fire outside near the picnic tables.

The fire crackled in front of us. Everyone was gathered together, plates in their laps, voices low and soft as they talked over the day. Judith was squirming in my arms, her tiny hand tangled in my hair, tugging at it.

I forced a small smile and kissed her chubby cheek. "Hey, sunshine," I murmured, shifting her so I could take a few bites of stew into my mouth. My stomach turned instantly, but I swallowed it down and pretended it didn't.

I had to.

Rick sat beside me, close enough that I could feel the brush of his arm with every subtle movement. I didn't have to look at him to know he was watching me—he always did. I caught his gaze once, a questioning flicker in his ocean blue eyes, but I only smiled back, soft and nonchalant, as if nothing was wrong. His brow furrowed anyway.

Carl sat across from me, wolfing down his food in a way that made Beth giggle. Hershel was talking quietly to Maggie at the other end of the table. Daryl sat with his boots propped up on an empty bench beside him. Michonne and Carol were murmuring quietly off to the side, their voices blending into the crackles of the fire and the buzzing from the crickets.

The world felt... still. And I wanted to stay in this moment forever.

I didn't even realize I'd started humming until Hershel looked up from his plate, tilting his head at me with a slight smirk. "Haven't heard that one in a while," he said. "You, Bethy, and Maggie used to sing it all the time when you were younger."

I glanced up, a bit caught off guard, then a smile tugged on my lips. "Yeah, we did. Guess it's been too long." I bounced Judith gently on my knee as I glanced over at Maggie and Beth. "What do you say, girls? Think you can still remember it?"

Beth's face lit up instantly. "I'm in!" She shifted forward, her blue eyes already sparkling.

Maggie looked at me, hesitating for a half second before smiling. "We can give it a try," she said, chewing the remains of her food.

I hummed, tapping the beat on my knee. The rhythm felt strange in my bones, but it steadied me as I glanced around at everyone, their curious eyes on us.

And then I started singing.

"Once upon a time there was a tavern,Where we used to raise a glass or two..."

Beth's voice slipped in beside mine like a second thread weaving into cloth—bright and sure, lifting mine when I faltered. Maggie's lower tone joined a moment later, hesitant but warm, wrapping around the melody.

I could see the way Carl perked up, trying not to smile, while Hershel leaned back, his eyes soft with memory as the three of us sang. Rick's eyes stayed trained on my face, but I didn't dare to look at him. Not right now.

"Those were the days, my friend,We thought they'd never end,We'd sing and dance forever and a day..."

By the time we reached the chorus, Glenn was tapping the table in time with the beat, smiling and nodding his head. Michonne managed to crack a smile, her head falling to look at her plate of food. Daryl shook his head with a muttered, "Lord," but I swear I caught him mouthing the la la la la la la part under his breath when he thought no one was looking.

The fire continued to pop and hiss our voices filled the courtyard. For a moment—just a moment—it felt like the world wasn't so broken. Like we could almost pretend we were somewhere else, someone else, singing in a place where death wasn't just outside the fence.

When the song ended, there was a soft silence. Hershel nodded, a faint glimmer in his eyes. "Still got it," he said.

Beth giggled. Maggie rolled her eyes but smiled, "Not bad."

I smiled, but the edges of it wavered. My stomach turned again, sharper this time, and the fever in my skin made Judith's warmth almost unbearable. I brushed my lips against her hair and whispered something to her before turning to Carl.

"Here, take her for a bit, okay?" I said softly, passing Judith into his arms. He blinked up at me, surprised, but took her carefully.

"You okay?" Rick asked, his voice low but cutting through the murmurs like it was meant for me alone.

I nodded quickly, forcing a grin. "Just sore and exhausted from today. Need to lie down for a bit." I turned to the others and gave them what I hoped was a genuine and warm smile. "Goodnight, everyone. Love y'all."

There was a chorus of goodbyes, goodnights, and you too's as I turned and slowly but surely made my way to the door. I could hear Beth call out, "Sleep well, Nola!" and Glenn giving a little wave, but I couldn't trust myself to look at any of them for too long. My vision was already blurring with thick tears I couldn't let them see.

They couldn't know. Not yet. Not tonight.

The moment I stepped into our cell, the noise of the yard seemed to vanish. The firelight outside flickered faintly against the concrete walls, but in here, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

I kicked off my boots and peeled away my sweat-stiff clothes with trembling hands. My shoulder throbbed with every movement, a sharp ache that made my jaw clench. I grabbed one of Rick's old t-shirts from the pile on the shelf—soft, faded gray,—and slipped it over my head. It hung loose on me, swallowing my frame. I pulled on a pair of shorts, my skin clammy against the fabric, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The fever was coming in waves now, heat burning beneath my skin as chills trembled through my body. I tucked my legs up against my chest, pressing my forehead to my knees. My eyes stung.

It hit me then—all of it. The bite. The truth. The fact that I didn't know how much time I had left, and all I could think about was them. Rick. Carl. Judith. Maggie. Everyone who had somehow become my family. My world.

Tears blurred my vision, spilling over before I could stop them. I curled onto my side, clutching the pillow to my chest like it could hold me together. I tried to quiet the sobs that clawed their way out of me, but they came anyway, ragged and raw, shaking my whole body.

At some point, exhaustion dragged me under.

•••

       I jolted awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my chest. The nightmare evaporated as soon as my eyes opened, but the terror lingered—the sharp, suffocating certainty that I had seen myself as one of them. A walker. My own face, gray and rotting, eyes empty.

My breath came in shallow pulls as I blinked around the dark cell, trying to ground myself. That's when I realized Rick was holding me.

He was behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other tucked beneath the pillow we shared. His chest rose and fell steadily against my back, his breath warm on the side of my neck. He was deep asleep, but his grip was firm—like even in dreams, he couldn't let me go.

I should have felt safe. Instead, I felt smothered. My skin burned, sweat dampening my shirt and hair, and the heat of his body was too much. Too close.

Careful not to wake him, I slowly, gently pried his hand away from my waist. He murmured something in his sleep but didn't stir. I slipped off the bed, my feet landing silently on the cold floor. My boots were by the door—I pulled them on, wincing at the ache in my legs, then reached for my Colt Frontier and my dagger, sliding them both into their holsters.

I glanced down at the silver watch on my wrist. 3:55 AM.

Everyone was asleep. But I couldn't.

And before I could stop myself, I left the cell, making my way outside to the guard tower.

The air outside was cooler, but it still felt heavy. I walked quietly down the gravel path, every crunch under my boots sounding too loud in the stillness night air. The prison looked different at this hour.

My head was pounding, my breath uneven as I made my way toward the nearest tower. It wasn't manned tonight—good. I didn't want anyone to see me like this.

The metal stairs creaked beneath my weight as I climbed, gripping the railing with one hand while the other was pressed against my shoulder, where the bandage felt hot and damp. When I reached the top, I pushed through the door and stepped out onto the narrow ledge outside.

The air hit me, cool and sharp. I sank down onto the cold metal floor, pulling my knees to my chest.

Above me, the sky stretched wide and endless. The stars were scattered like someone had thrown handfuls of shattered glass across black velvet. I stared at them until my eyes burned, my chest aching with something I couldn't name.

I wanted to memorize this. This moment. Just in case.

The pain in my shoulder was like fire now, crawling down my arm in hot, prickling waves. I shifted, wincing as I tried to roll it, but it only made my shoulder twist harder. I needed to check it—just to know how bad it was.

With trembling hands, I peeled back the bandage.

A sharp breath caught in my throat.

The bite looked worse. Much worse. The skin was angry and swollen, the edges dotted with an ugly mix of purple and black. It looked almost as if the infection was seeping deeper, spreading under my skin like ink. My vision swam for a moment, and I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, biting back the sob that threatened to rip free.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, bowing my head. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, and I let them. I couldn't stop them. The stars blurred above me, the cool night air pressing cold against my damp face.

I didn't hear the door open until it slammed softly against the frame.

The sound of boots against metal. Slow. Steady. Purposeful.

I swiped my hands across my face in a panic, trying to erase the wetness from my skin, even though I knew I probably looked like utter shit. I didn't move as the footsteps grew louder, the creak of each step echoing through the night's silence.

The door opened behind me with a faint metallic groan. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Rick.

He stepped inside, presence filling the small space instantly. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a second, neither of us said anything. I kept my eyes locked on the stars, my fingers clenched tight in the fabric of my shorts, as if I looked at him, I might shatter into a thousand pieces.

A sigh slipped out of him—a heavy, tired sound. Then the quiet scrape of metal as he lowered himself down beside me.

He didn't say anything right away. Just sat there, close enough that his arm brushed mine. The warmth of him seeped into me, even in the cool air. My throat tightened.

Then, without a word, he reached over and grabbed my hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm.

I kept my eyes on the sky, blinking up at the scattered stars like I could lose myself in them, like I could avoid the weight of his gaze if I just focused long enough. My throat felt raw, my breath uneven, and I didn't trust my voice.

"I know I've asked over a hundred times," Rick said, his voice low but firm, a rumble that carried through the quiet night, "but are you okay?"

I let out a short breath. "Rick, I'm fine—"

"Stop."

The word was sharp. Not cruel, but final.

I looked at him then. The pale light of the moon shadowed his face, but I could still see every line, every crease of his worry carved deep into his expression. His blue eyes were on me, unrelenting, they were stripping me down to the bone.

He paused, swallowing like he was trying to pick the right words. "I know you're not okay," he said, voice softening, but still steady. "And that's... that's fine. It's okay to not be okay. It's okay that you're shaken up after what happened—hell, I'd be more worried if you weren't. But what's not okay is you pretendin'. Not with me. Not anymore."

I opened my mouth, but no words came. My throat just closed up.

Rick's gaze searched mine, unwavering. "We're a partnership now, Lia. You and me. I can't—" He stopped, shaking his head with a heavy exhale. "I can't help you if you keep it all locked up like this. I need you to be honest with me. Because I—" His voice caught for a second. "Because I care about you. More than I ever thought I would."

My lips parted, a breath catching in my chest.

Rick tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, as if daring me to argue. "You're supposed to put some of that weight on me, even if it's just for a little while. Let me carry some of it. I want to. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

My hands started to tremble in his. I tried to hide it, curling my fingers tighter, but he felt it. He always did.

"I love you," he said, voice quieter now, almost breaking. "God, Lia, I love you. And you're a terrible liar." A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "We both know somethin' is wrong. Everyone knows. You can't hide that from me. Not you."

My chest burned, my vision blurring as tears welled up again. I looked down at our hands, his calloused fingers wrapped around mine like they were keeping me tethered to the earth.

"Please," Rick murmured, leaning just slightly closer. "Please, tell me, Lia."

Silence. And it was a heavy silence.

I swiped at my tears, my hands shaking, but they just kept falling anyway. My chest felt like it was caving in, the words clawing up my throat, burning, demanding to be said.

"Remember..." My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Remember after you told us what Jenner said—how we were all infected?"

Rick's brow furrowed, his hand tightening around mine. "Yeah," he said cautiously.

"I made you promise me somethin'."

He blinked, confusion flickering across his face. He was quiet for a moment, thinking. And then I saw it—the moment it hit him. His expression shifted, his lips parting, his breath catching. His eyes widened, fear and understanding colliding in a single, raw moment of realization.

"Lia..." he whispered, voice low, almost broken.

I didn't look away this time. My heart pounded so hard it hurt as I reached up, fingers trembling, and tugged the loose collar of his old shirt down over my shoulder.

The bite was there, angry and blackened.

Rick froze.

For a second, I thought he'd stopped breathing. His eyes locked on the wound like it was something impossible, like if he stared hard enough, it would vanish. Then he staggered back, the sound that came out of him more a growl than a word.

"No." His head shook, hard. "No, no, no—"

"Rick—"

But he was already reaching for me, hands gripping my arms like he needed to hold me together, to keep me here by force. His face was pale, his eyes wild, his tears threatening to break free but not quite falling. "No, don't—don't say it. We can—we can do somethin'. We'll find something—" He broke, letting out the first cry. "There has to be somethin'. We... We're not done, Lia. We're not done!"

I couldn't help it. The sob ripped through me, ragged and painful. His hands caught me as I slumped forward, shaking. "I didn't wanna ruin today," I whispered, the words barely audible, choked by tears. "At first, I wanted to think it was just a nightmare. I just wanted—one more day. With you. With them."

Rick's chest heaved, like every breath hurt him. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing at my tears, but his touch trembled.

"Lia..." His voice cracked. He shook his head. "This—this isn't real. You're fine. You're fine." His grip on me tightened, almost desperate. "Tell me you're lyin'. Tell me it's a joke. Please."

The tears spilled faster down my face, but I shook my head.

"You know I'm a terrible liar, Rick."

"We just started." His words tumbled out, raw and frantic as he interrupted. "You and me—we just found each other. I'm not done. I'm not finished lovin' you. We—we're supposed to have more time, Lia." He pressed his forehead to mine, his tears mixing with mine. "I don't wanna lose you. I can't. Not like this. You can't..."

I reached up, my fingers brushing over his jaw, his stubble rough beneath my trembling fingers. He leaned into my touch instinctively, his eyes closing at the feeling. A feeling he refused to let go of.

I held his cheek tenderly, my heart tearing in my chest as I whispered, "You promised me, Rick."

His breath hitched, and he shook his head again, more violently this time. "No. Don't—don't ask me that. Please don't make me. I can't. I can't do that to you." His voice broke into something hoarse.

I swallowed hard, my thumb brushing against his damp skin. "Not right now," I said softly, though it nearly gutted me to say the words. "Not here. But soon. When it's time..." My voice faltered. I took a breath in. "I want it to be you. Please."

"Magnolia—" He muttered, almost pleading with me to stop.

"Please," I rasped, my eyes searching his desperately.

I needed him to see me, to see that I wasn't afraid of him. I was only afraid of everything else.

His chest rose and fell with heavy, broken breaths. He looked at me like the world was ending, like he'd rather die himself than ever consider this. And still, I begged. "Please, Rick."

His lips parted, his throat working like he was swallowing glass, and then finally—finally—he nodded, just once, a small, broken motion.

The moment he did, I collapsed against him, and his arms wrapped around me tighter than they ever had. He buried his face in my neck, his lips finding my skin in frantic, almost reverent kisses.

"Okay," he murmured against my hair, his voice shredded with emotion. "Okay, honey. Okay."

I clung to him, my sobs shaking both of us as he kissed every tear from my cheeks, every inch of my face, like he was memorizing me.

His lips brushed my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth, soft and desperate. He kept whispering my name, as if he stopped then I'd slip away.

We stayed like that on the cold floor, wrapped so tightly around each other. He held me like I was the only thing keeping him alive, and maybe I was.

I cried until I had nothing left. The exhaustion crept up on me like a thief, and even as I fought it, my eyes grew heavy, my body surrendering to sleep.

The last thing I remembered was his hand running through my hair, slow and gentle, and his lips pressing to my forehead.

I didn't dream.

But I felt him.

I felt his eyes on me all night, the way his thumb traced slow circles over my cheek as I slept, the way his breath caught every time I stirred with a grumble, and the way he'd subtly place his hand on my chest or wrist—checking to see if my heart was still beating.

He never let go of me—not once.

•••

    The next morning came slowly, pulling me from the shallowest sleep of my life. My head pounded, my skin burned with fever, and every joint ached. The sickness was crawling deeper inside me.

But Rick was still there. He hadn't moved. His arm was draped around me, heavy but comforting, his hand still tangled in mine like he refused to let go.

When I finally stirred, he opened his eyes instantly—blue and raw, ringed in red from an emotional night without rest. He didn't say anything. Just searched my face, like checking to see if I was still here.

I forced a weak smile. "Mornin'."

He didn't smile back. He only nodded, the smallest motion, and whispered, "Stay close today."

And I did.

The day felt like it was moving in slow motion, each hour stretching so long I thought I would break. I tried to act normal, to laugh or sneak a joke when needed, to help where I could, but the fever made everything feel heavier. Impossible. My body ached like I'd been beaten. My throat burned. I could feel the infection creeping.

Still—I didn't stop.

I spent that morning with Maggie, Hershel, Glenn, and Beth. I waited until we were all together in the kitchen space, no one else around us. My hands shook as I spoke to them.

"I need to tell you somethin'," I started, my voice softer than I wanted. "And I'm so... so sorry."

Their faces fell instantly, even before I said it.

I didn't drag it out. I didn't have the strength. I peeled my collar back, revealing the bite.

Beth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Maggie froze, her green eyes glassy and wide. Glenn swore under his breath and turned away, his hands clutching his head. And Hershel—God, Hershel—looked at me like he'd just lost a daughter.

They all broke at once.

Beth was crying before I could move, so I pulled her into my arms first, holding her tight as she trembled. Maggie followed, clinging to me desperately. Glenn didn't hug me at first, just stood there with his face in his palms, but when I touched his arm, he turned and wrapped me up so tight I couldn't breathe.

Hershel didn't cry, but his eyes... his eyes said everything he couldn't. He touched my shoulder gently, his hand shaking, and whispered, "You've always been family to us, Mags. Always."

"I love you all," I said, my voice breaking. "More than I can say. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I'm sorry. Thank you for being my home. Thank you for everythin'."

We stood there together for what felt like hours, holding on, crying softly. None of us said goodbye, not out loud. But we all knew.

From that moment on, Rick never left my side. He didn't hover—not exactly—but I could feel his eyes on me constantly, memorizing everything. The way I laughed at something someone had said. The way my fingers shook when I loaded a clip. The way I pushed my hair back when the fever got too hot to bear and sweat trickled down my neck.

It wasn't creepy or overstepping. It was heartbreaking.

Like he was trying to take small bits and pieces of me with him, so he wouldn't forget.

The hardest part was Carl and Judith.

I didn't tell them. Not outright. But I held Judith longer than I ever had, cradling her small body in my arms, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her little fingers. She gurgled and cooed like she didn't know my world was ending, and I clung to that sound.

Carl sat across from me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything for a while—just stared. Then, finally, he muttered, "Something's wrong, Nola. I can tell."

I forced a small smile. "You're too smart for your own good, Mr. Invincible."

He didn't smile back. But he didn't press further either. Just sat there beside me, his shoulder barely touching mine. His eyes would sometimes linger on the side of my face longer than usual, but he never said anything.

But I knew he knew.

Night had fallen. The prison at this time was quiet—eerily so—except for the distant hum of wind through the cracked windows and the occasional groan of metal.

I was worse. So much worse.

My vision blurred at the edges, black dots swimming across my sight every time I blinked. My breathing came shallow and slow. Fever burned through me, yet chills raked across my skin in violent waves. Every bone ached. Every joint felt shattered.

Rick stayed close, lying beside me on the narrow bed in our cell, his arm curled around me. His other hand drifted through my greasy hair—gentle, deliberate—fingertips trailing down to my cheek as if memorizing every inch of me. I leaned into it weakly, wishing I had the strength in me to hold him the way he was holding me.

Judith slept in the crook of my arm, her tiny fist curled against my chest. I sang softly, the words barely there, rasping past cracked lips:

"Somewhere... over the rainbow..."

My voice cracked on the note, but I kept going. Judith stirred, pressing closer, her warmth grounding me. I kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her soft blonde curls, tears stinging my eyes with every touch. She didn't know this was goodbye. God, I prayed she wouldn't remember it.

Rick watched me with quiet devastation. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his eyes refused to blink or look away. As though looking away for even one second might mean losing me.

When my voice gave out, he whispered, "Let me take her, Lia."

I clutched Judith tighter, shaking my head, though it felt heavy and slow. "No. No, I can't—please—just a little longer."

Rick's eyes softened, even as his throat bobbed with the words he didn't want to say. "I have to. For her sake. Let me take her... before..."

Before I lost myself. Before I turned.

A sob rose, but I swallowed it back and nodded hesitantly, pressing one last kiss to Judith's head. Rick gently lifted her from my arms, his hands steady. He lingered for a moment, watching me, then left the cell to bring her to Carl or Beth—someone who could keep her safe.

The room felt colder without her.

Without my sunshine.

By the time Rick returned, I had sunk deeper into the fever, words slipping from me without thought. He lay beside me again, brushing the damp hair from my forehead, and I whispered to him—half here, half-gone—

"When you showed up at the farm..." My lips curved faintly, almost a smile as I remembered. "...I knew then. I'd been dreamin' of you all my life, Rick Grimes."

His fingers paused against my temple. He swallowed painfully but said nothing, just stared at me like I was breaking his heart with every word that escaped me.

"I used to have these dreams... before and after the world fell apart," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "You'd come to me. This man I didn't know... in a Sheriff's uniform. With mesmerizing eyes. You'd save me. Always."

My throat tightened, a dry laugh leaving. "Guess I'm sorry... that you couldn't this time."

Rick exhaled shakily, his forehead almost touching mine now. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but the words refused to escape. His hand kept moving through my hair instead, careful, trembling, desperate.

I stared at him through heavy lids, my own smile flickering. "Don't look at me like that, babe. Like I'm already checked out."

His voice finally broke. "Lia..."

Rick's forehead pressed to mine, his breath warm and shaky against my skin. I felt him tremble—small, controlled at first—then his body gave in, shoulders hitching as quiet sobs broke through him. The sound gutted me more than anything.

I started crying, too. Not the silent tears from earlier but the kind that came with rawness I couldn't control—hot, messy, snot mixing with his as I lifted trembling hands to cup his cheeks. My fingers brushed the stubble there, feeling the salt of his tears.'

Then I kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Like I could somehow breathe life back into myself by tasting his lips one last time.

Our lips crashed together, sloppy and wet, tears and heartbreak pouring into it. I clung to him like the world was falling apart all over again—and maybe it was, because I could feel my strength fading, slipping through my fingers.

When I pulled back, I couldn't stop shaking. "Rick... I'm scared."

His hands stayed on my face, thumbs catching tears that I couldn't stop shedding. "Lia..." His voice broke, rough and cracked like he was breaking apart word by word.

"I'm scared of dying," I whispered, my lips trembling. "But more than that... I'm scared of dying alone. I don't know what's on the other side. I don't know if there's anything. I... I just.... I just want to stay. Here. With you. With Judith. With Carl. Everyone. I don't wanna go. Please, I don't wanna go."

Rick frantically kissed my forehead, shushing me softly, his voice low but firm. "You're not alone, Magnolia Rose. You hear me? You're not. I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm here."

But the words only made me cry harder, the terror not leaving me as I clutched onto his shirt. "Promise me, Rick. Promise me I won't die alone."

He pulled me closer, our foreheads pressed together again, his voice shaking but steady. "I promise. I swear. I'm right here, honey."

I shivered violently, exhaustion flooding my body like iced water. My breaths grew shallower, slower. My chest felt heavy, my head clouded. And Rick saw it. He knew. His eyes told me everything—he was watching me slip.

I opened my eyes, barely able to lift my head, but I looked into his—those beautiful but stormy eyes that carried me through so much. My hand reached for the knife lying beside us. My fingers shook as I gripped it, then placed it in his palm, curling his fingers around it.

"Like you promised, Rick..." I whispered, my lips brushing against his knuckles.

His eyes closed tight, his face crumbling as if my words had shattered something within him. He kissed me again, softer this time—lingering, trembling, and passionately. Then my forehead. He sniffled as he lay his head against my chest, listening for the heartbeat that was failing me. I felt his tears soaking through the fabric of my shirt.

Everything around me grew darker. Heavier.

"I love you," he told me quietly, voice hoarse. "I love you so much, Magnolia Rose."

I stared at him for a long, aching moment, letting my fingers rake weakly through his hair. My lips parted, my voice a faint exhale. "I love you..."

And at that moment, I felt an unfamiliar weight pull me under. My chest stilled. My eyes slipped shut. And everything went black.

I knew he kept his promise.

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WORD COUNT: 12,000 +

In honor of today being Magnolia Rose Grimes' 45th birthday, I thought I would surprise you all with a bonus chapter / alternative ending chapter I've been working on for about a month! :)

Magnolia's death was foreshadowed in a few chapters around season 2 — season 3, and she was originally supposed to die like this, but I changed it last second when I decided I wanted the story to be longer.

It seems surreal that nearly two years ago around this time, I was coming up with the idea of this fanfiction, and I never knew it would get over 260k reads! That is actually crazy to think about for some reason...

August 25th has an impact on me — and it forever will. This story has an impact on me as well. It taught me so much. It helped strengthen my love for writing. It strangely helped me find the right people. It helped me in so many ways.

Thank you all for sticking around, whether you've been here since the very beginning, or if you just started reading, thank you for taking the time to read this fanfic that started out mostly as a joke.

As you can see, my writing has improved a lot since LOL.

More bonus chapters are to come in the next few months — so watch out for that, oh and different stories as well...

Let me know if you have any suggestions to what you'd like to see in any future bonus chapters! I have a few ideas written out :)

As always,

Tpwk <3

- L x

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