Take My Everything.

by Cupping_Cakes

Summary:

Maggie is a wild soul with a free spirit. A rebellious nature, and an eye for a man she knows she shouldn't desire. But what's the fun in this world without taking a risk every now and then?

Notes:

A Few Quick Notes:

Okay, so I said I had a Maggie and Rick multi chapter in mind and here it is!

I will be posting in this as often as possible while I post for my other fics. Once I finish One Taste of You Isn't Enough. I'll be posting for this and My Perfect Girl. More often.

A Storm in Her Heart. and Blood on Our Hands. will be sticking to their usual update routine. All fic titles are linked if you guys wanna take a look!

Obviously, there's gonna be smut, and sexual tension in this fic.

The timeline starts against season 2 and will go through season 6

Glenn and Maggie will happen, but, obviously she's going to be cheating with Rick thus the tag. Everything will be mostly AU but also go with the plotline Meaning Terminus etc. just with slight changes.

As the fic goes Rick will become Darker like on the show and more Possessive etc.

I'll be adding more tags as the fic goes as well.

:)

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: What You Want.

"This what you've been wanting Honey?"

His words were low, drawled thickly against her ear. Causing her to shiver beneath his wandering touch. Feeling the grasp of hands, rough, strong, hot grasping into her. Tearing the small strips of clothing free from her shapely form. Lips wandering over every sun kissed inch of her bare form.

"You're so beautiful baby, so soft, warm,"

Maggie felt herself shivering beneath him. Yielding more and more at the press of fingers within her sides. Hooking the soft lace of her panties and peeling them down the length of shapely legs. Her fingers twisting, grasping, into raven curls feeling the press of lips, along her body. Leaving a trail of kisses, branded on her flesh.

"Look at you Honey, just melting at my fingertips,"

 

Slender fingers brushed against the cool wood floor, softly moving back and forth methodically feeling the smoothed surface beneath their touch. Feeling the bed shifting, as someone climbed onto the mattress beside her. Slender fingers touching her arm.

"Maggie, wake up,"

A soft groan filled her mouth, as she turned over. Hazel green eyes staring back at wide pale blue as Beth looked at with an ear to ear grin.

"Beth, do you know what time it is?"

"Clock downstairs said eight but, who knows these days,"

Maggie groaned, rolling her eyes as she turned over. Feeling her sister pushing on her playfully.

"Maggie, come on,"

"Okay, Okay, I'm getting up,"

Slender fingers grasped into the blanket, pulling it back, as she stood up. Hearing the soft gasp from Beth, seeing her sister in only the black bra and panties she had worn to bed. Of the two, Maggie had always been the rebellious one, the one that had followed her own path, and did what she desired.

"Maggie, I can't believe you slept in that!"

"Oh come on Beth, it's just a bra and panties, not like I was naked,"

There was silence between them as she dressed, tossing her bra aside and choosing another for the day. Crimson silk, with matching thong. Hand grasped her tank top, pulling it on before she slipped into her jeans.

"Maggie,"

"Hmm?"

"You think Daddy's gonna let those people stay here?"

"I hope so, I kinda have my eyes on someone,"

She could hear the sigh escaping her sisters mouth as she climbed off her bed.

"Which one of them?"

Maggie debated answering, telling her Rick Grimes was the man she'd been eyeing ever since he'd run across their fields with his son in his arms. Silently dreaming of him, picturing them in every scene she could imagine. But she remained silent, refusing to tell her which one.

"Maggie, come on you, tell me everything,"

"Glenn, it's Glenn okay?"

"He seems nice, did you talk to him yet?"

"No, I'm sure I'll find some way to tell him I'm interested,"

Beth's gentle giggle filled the room as they headed downstairs. Hershel was there, seated at the dining table, reading his newspaper like always as Beth hurried out the front door grabbing a basket on her way out. Before Maggie followed. She could see the tents just beyond their home, shaded by the gentle kiss of the trees. Daryl was heading off to the woods, crossbow slung over his shoulder, a few of the others huddled by the RV they'd brought with them when the other half of their group had shown up. Seated beside Lori, was Rick. Blue eyes, staring off toward the distance. Maggie wanted to go to him, to throw every bit of caution to the wind and just tell him she desired him. But she didn't, she merely stood there, silently following behind her sister until she could no longer see him.

Beth and her chatted while they picked fruit, about their Daddy, their farm, what was happening just beyond the safety they had here. About the group staying there. Before they were done, carrying their baskets back toward the House. Once more Maggie found herself staring toward the tent's, searching for the sight of blue eyes staring back at her. Only to find nothing, half of their group was gone, for supplies or one reason or the other. A soft sigh filled her mouth, as she headed inside, fingers grasping tightly to the basket as she carried it into the kitchen. Lori, Beth, and Carol, were in there. Chatting, and making dinner for them.

"I'm sure he'll come around Lori,"

"That's easier said than done, he hasn't forgiven me, I can see it in his eyes,"

"It's not to late Lori, you and Rick can fix things,"

"I don't think he see's it that way,"

Maggie placed her basket on the island centered in the middle of the kitchen. Hazel green eyes watching Lori as she talked with Carol. It wasn't her place to judge, or put into a marriage she knew nothing about. Instead, she remained silent, busying herself around the kitchen as Beth washed the fruit off. Grabbing a few plates and

"Beth, I'm gonna head into town. I'll be back later, okay?"

"Sure,"

 

Later:

 

After her run into town, after the dinner filled more with tension than conversation and laughter. When everyone had ventured off for the night, Maggie Stripped off her jeans, and tossing them aside, fingers tugging at her tank top, pulling it down until it touched the top of crimson lace hugged around her bottom. Before she finally ventured from her bedroom. Moving one bare foot gently before the other as she eased downstairs. It was a habit, ever since she was Beth's age. Easing around the House, so her Daddy wouldn't hear her, letting in a boyfriend, or sneaking out for a party. The House was silent, barely illuminated except for the soft glow of light cast across the floor of the dinning room. Soft, barely audible steps, pushed against the hardwood floor as she ventured into the Kitchen.

Hand reaching forward and pulling the fridge open, leaning forward, fingertips grasping for the fruit at the bottom. Grasping at the bowl and pulling it, as she stood up closing it behind her. Gasping as she turned around, seeing blue eyes staring back at her.

"I'm sorry Maggie,"

"It's Okay, Rick, I don't mind,"

A smirk rested on the corner of her lips, as she made her way around the kitchen island, giving him a full view of shapely legs, and crimson lace between her legs. Her hand held the bowl out in offering to him.

"Interested?"

"I really shouldn't Maggie, I just came in to check on Carl. I need to be getting back to Lori,"

A simple nod was all she offered, as she turned around, feeling his eyes wandering over her, once again.

"Does your wife wear thing's like this for you?"

"I-I don't understand,"

She turned around, eyes meeting his own directly, teeth toying with her bottom lip.

"Before all this, Now, Lori ever wear a thong for you?"

She could see the smile on his face, hear the soft chuckle rumbling within his throat. The click of his boots against the hardwood floor, as he moved closer. Blue eyes gazing down at her.

"No, Lori's a conservative type Maggie,"

There was barely an inch between their two forms, no more than a breath separating her from him. Eyes gazing at each other, in the barely lit room. She could feel the smile on her face, feel the heat on her flesh.

"Would you like to see it again?"

"What?"

He chuckled softly, gazing down at her. Blue eyes seeming to shine a bit with more life than she'd seen in the entire time he'd been here. It felt so strange between them, he was married, had a son all reason told her not to do this. Not to flirt with him, tease him, desire someone she knew was with someone else. But she couldn't stop herself.

"Do you want to see me bend over again?"

A smile spread over his mouth, bright, perfect, and sending a shiver down the length of her spine at the mere sight.

"Okay, show me Honey,"

Maggie shivered to hear the one single word escaping his mouth, the one she'd heard in her fantasies, spoken low against her ear so many times. She turned slowly, taking her time as her hand enclosed around the bowl moving back to the fridge as she opened it, leaning down, long sun kissed leg, and shapely ass in full view as she bent over. Lingering in the position, feeling his eyes flickering over every inch of her. Dragging over the soft curve of her ass, the crimson lace teasingly hiding the soft mound of flesh with a single strip of fabric. Maggie turned her head, gazing back at him, seeing those eyes looking at her with a primal hunger burning them. A need, staring at the teasing sight before him.

"Do you want to touch me Rick?"

Each word was low, sultry, silently beckoning him to her. To step beyond the line that had been between them until now, and place the first touch on her. One she'd been craving for so, so long. Rick moved forward, hips pushing tight against the soft, warm, shaped curve of her ass. Fingertips moving over the soft flesh of her legs, sending shivers through her. Building an ache for more, feeling the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against her bare flesh, the rough press of his fingers, before he moved back.

"I need to get back to Lori Maggie,"

"Are you sure Rick? Sure, that's what you want?"

"I don't know Honey, I just can't right now,"

His boots sounded against the hardwood floor fading and becoming softer and softer until she could no longer hear them. A gentle sigh filled her mouth, as she stood up, pushing the fridge closed and headed back upstairs, easing Beth's bedroom door open as she eased it closed behind her. Her hand gently shaking her, hearing the soft groan as she stirred.

"Maggie?"

"Can I sleep here with you?"

"Course,"

Beth yawned moving over for her to climbed in beside her, as Maggie slipped in beside her, pulling the blanket over herself as she fell asleep.

Chapter 2: Like You Do.

Summary:

Maggie and Glenn make a run into town.

Notes:

A Few Quick Notes:

 

Slightly AU but Based on Episode: s02e06 Secrets.

All my other fics will be updated soonish guys!

:)

Enjoy!

Slender legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Grasping to him, pulling him into her, feeling the force, of every hard, forceful thrust driving into her beneath him.

"Touch me honey,"

"Rick,"

There was silence all around them, shuddering breathe's of air cut short by the soft moan or gasp escaping from between parted lips. Feeling the strength of hard, solid, muscle and hot flesh pressed in need against her. Craving the sensation of flesh, on flesh contact. Hands running along sides, grasping at the nape of her neck and her hip. Gripping so tight, she knew'd the darkened kisses of fingers would be left behind marking her soft flesh.

"She doesn't touch me like you do Honey, doesn't want me like you do,"

 

Hazel green eyes slowly fluttered open feeling Beth wiggling beside her, groaning in her sleep. Listening to the soft rhythm of her sister's breath filling the silence between them. Her head turned gazing at her beside her, long golden hair spilling over her pillow and against her cheek. She worried for her, their farm had been so sheltered, safe, hidden away like a safe haven in a world of monsters. But how long could they stay safe here? How would Beth be out there? If she knew what was right there, tucked away within their Barn. She'd never so much as had her first kiss how could she protect herself? Slender fingers gently laced with Beths as she watched her sleep. Slowly drifting off herself.

Sunlight gently poured in shining brightly, over their sleeping forms. Placing a warm kiss on her cheek, as Maggie stirred finally. Yawning, as she sat upright fingers gently pushing glossy brown locks behind her ears before she eased from the bed slowly. Bare feet easing along the hardwood floor as she slipped into her bedroom. Grabbing a new bra, and thong, leggings, and t shirt for the day ahead. Enjoying the silence within their Home. The quiet peace rested within the walls after so much had taken place here. It was peaceful, but how long would it last? A sigh filled her mouth, as she reach for the bathroom door handle pulling it open and easing it shut behind her. Stripping off the few pieces of clothing that caressed her curves tossing them aside before she stepped into the shower.

Feeling the gentle kiss of water beading down against her flesh. Hands moving rushed, trying to hurry through this daily routine and save the water, she felt greedy using for this. The soft squeak of the knobs beneath her hands, the small room with sound. Giving life to the dead silence settled all around her. Water gently ran down her neck, falling from dark, damp strands falling around her face and brushing against her neck. Leaving soft trails along her flesh, as she toweled off pulling on the Emerald shaded bra, feeling the soft kiss of satin against her bare breasts. The hug like a lovers fingers caressing her, touching her the way she wished Rick would. Like he'd begun to do before he'd pulled away from her for a woman that had hurt him.

Her hands tugged the small emerald green silky fabric up the length of her legs before she finished dressing. Fingers tugging black leggings over her legs, before her hand grasped at the soft, red shirt pulling it on. Sighing softly, as hazel eyes gazed back at her from the mirror. Silently questioning herself if she wanted, desired, dreamed of, was something she could swallow. Looking in the eyes of his wife and knowing she desired her Husband. One step a time, was all she could and see where things went. Neither of them were guilty, neither so much as even sharing one kiss between them. It was harmless, wasn't it? Maggie shook her head, gathering her things as she ripped the bathroom door open heading toward her bedroom. Slipping into her boots and tossing her clothes aside. Her steps clicked softly, filling the house with the first sound all morning as she eased into her sisters room.

"Beth?"

Slowly, her hand touched her shoulder, gently shaking her and trying to stir her. Hearing the soft groan, giggling softly at the sight of her sister covering her eyes to shield them from the sunlight.

"Beth, wake up,"

"I'm awake,"

Soft words filled her bedroom, falling silent as she yawned easing up into a sitting position. Hand moving to her nightstand and grabbing a hair tie, binding, soft blonde hair into a ponytail. Pale blue eyes gently gazing at her, before she smiled. Maggie was silent as she watched Beth climbing out of her bed, easing around her room trying to gain her sense and wake up. Clad in pajamas, yawning here and there as she opened her closet, grabbing clothes for the day.

"Beth,"

"Hmm?"

"I'm gonna take a ride into town, see if theres anything else Daddy might be able to use. You need anything?"

"Wouldn't mind a pizza,"

There was silence between them before their shared laughter filled the room. While Beth dressed, slipping on her jeans, and shirt while Maggie turned around giving her sister privacy.

"I don't know, maybe a book,"

"Beth, all they have is those cheap trashy romance novels with those, take me in your arms covers,"

"Its something ain't it?"

Her eyes rolled softly, listening to her sister's words. Surprised, she'd want to read something that painted an image of false romance. Of exotic locations, and epic romances. Sailing the world, and making lover on the sands wrapped within each others arms. Something Maggie could never see her fantasies containing. She wanted passion, wild, raw, savage passion. Rough hands, and hungry lips, hard body and eyes, she could lose herself in every time they looked at her. Her eyes slowly drifted to the floor while Beth slipped her boots on.

"I'll be back in a little bit okay?"

"Okay, don't forget my book,"

"I won't Beth, I promise,"

 

"You're pregnant,"

"Glenn, you can't tell anybody, okay?"

A sigh filled his mouth, as Glenn stood there, fingers curling into fists unsure of what to say to Lori. They'd all been together since the Quarry, been like a family to each other. It just didn't seem right to lie like this. Rick had a right to know, but, he couldn't make that choice for her. Put himself in the middle of a marriage that was already on the rocks.

"But I suck at lying, what did Rick say?"

There was silence between them. Her eyes wandered away, staring off toward the distance, toward the trees, anywhere but on him. Hand running through wavy dark locks with a sigh before finally, she looked at him. Eyes meeting his own directly.

"You didn't tell him? Okay, but you have to, You're pregnant. You need vitamins, Medicine, a nice pillow, here,"

His hand extended toward her, fingers grasped onto the edge of the plate.

"You can have my share,"

"Honey, I don't want your food,okay? Eat,"

"You need to eat, You're too skinny. And if you aren't gonna let Rick take care of you, then someone has to. Lori, you have a medical condition, I'll make a run into town just tell me what you need. Okay?"

"Okay, just please don't tell anyone Glenn,"

 

A sighed, filled her mouth, as Maggie walked down the front steps of the porch. Eyes staring off toward the tents, watching them, Seeing Glenn as he waved to her motioning if she could come closer. Her steps were slow, taking her time coming toward them all, they'd been through so much from what she'd heard here and there. What Rick had told her Daddy, an itchy trigger finger was the last thing she needed. One of them mistaking hurried steps for something rushing toward them in an aggressive manner. Glenn hurried over to her, smiling brightly, like a schoolboy seeing his crush. Before he finally spoke to her.

"Maggie, are-are you going into town again soon?"

"I-I was actually heading there. Why?"

"I want to come with you, some of us need some things and,"

"Sure, I'll wait right here while you get your stuff,"

He smiled suddenly, grinning ear to ear before he rushed off into one of the tents. Her eyes wandered around gazing at the makeshift campsite they'd made. Tents, Campfire, some of them chatting amongst themselves. A soft sigh filled her mouth, as she turned around, eyes meeting the gaze of cold blue staring back at her while the others chatted over some map she could barely even see. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip, seeing the smile slowly forming on his lips before she turned around. Back to him, in a teasing reminder of what he'd seen beneath. When Glenn returned, ready to go. Maggie started toward the Barn, turning around walking backwards smiling as she saw those blue eyes watching her before he turned away looking back to the map in front of him.

"Maggie, did you hear me?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked how far is town from here,"

"Not far, maybe a couple miles give or take,"

There was silence between them as they saddled the Horses, silence as they rode along the path into town. Glenn speaking here and there, talking to her, as if trying to get to know her better. Curious about her, if she was seeing someone before all this. Questions she simply refused to answer. It was a supply run, not a date, it seemed just, unusual to talk about what used to be, what they had, what they'd lost. Living in the past would only hold them down, they needed a future in this world.

"I appreciate you being here Glenn, I do. But, I don't want to talk about the past. We've got to move forward, keep strong, and keep on going. I know it sounds harsh, but, the past talking about before, it isn't gonna change things now. How everything is,"

"Sorry,"

"We just got to take it one day at a time okay?"

"Okay,"

He smiled a bit, before silence once more settled between them. The Pharmacy finally coming into sight, as they stopped. Tying the horses, before they went inside. Glenn headed toward an aisle scattered with boxes all over the floor, as she went to the back behind the counter. Grabbing boxes of medication, searching through them for a moment. Hazel green eyes reading over each label, when she gasped, feeling fingers gripped into her wrist. Cold, hard, digging into her. Seeing cold, listless eyes staring back at her as she tried to yank away.

"Glenn!"

His name escaped her in a scream, hearing the clatter somewhere in the store as he dove over the counter. Wood shelf connecting with the thing that had been grasping around her wrist. The thud as it fell to the ground. Tears streamed down her face looking at it lying there. Before it was up once more, snarling grasping for the two of them. His hand grasped something off his belt, as she saw the splatter of dark, thick matter splashing against the wall as it fell to the ground once more. Wet sounds as Glenn continued hitting into it, mingling with her sobs. How could she keep Beth safe, if she couldn't even protect herself? Silence settled between them as he stood up, arms encircling around her hugging her.

"Are you okay? Did it get you? Did it bite you?"

She nodded hugging him, thankful he'd come with her and feeling regret for being so cold to him along the way. Before she pulled away, nodding softly, and wiping at her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, lets-let's just go,"

"I can't, I got to find stuff for Lori,"

"We almost died, and I'm supposed to stay here for Lori?"

"She asked me for these,"

His hand shoved into his pocket, handing her the small piece of paper. Her eyes scanning over each item, when she felt a flare of anger within herself. Seeing the items she felt were worth taking a risk for, risking others lives for. Maggie huffed grabbing the items as she made her way around the store. Grabbing the book she'd promised Beth. Before she shoved out the front door climbing up onto her horse as Glenn followed. When they'd returned back home, back to the Farm, back to safety, her hand grasped around the bag. Steps hurried, rushed, as Glenn chased behind her.

"Hey! We got your stuff,"

"Maggie, hang on, please, keep your voice down,"

"Why? Nothing to hide. We got your special delivery right here, we got your Lotion, got your conditioner, your Soap Opera Digest,"

"Maggie,"

Glenn tried once more, trying to calm her down. But reason was something Maggie refused to hear. She'd believed in her father's thoughts that those people were sick. That they could be cured, saved, she was angry not so much at Lori for being so selfish she felt people were supposed to risk their lives for Lotion, and hair care products. It was anger that, she'd been wrong to believe those things were harmless. Anger that she hadn't been able to protect herself from one. And fear that she wouldn't be able to save Beth if one of them grasped onto her like it'd done to her.

"Next time you want something, get it your damn self. We're not your errand boys,"

"Honey, I-"

"Don't you call me Honey, Oh and by the way, heres your pills,"

Her hand shoved into the bag as she tossed them at her, anger burning behind her eyes as she glared at her. Before she turned and walked off toward the House. Fingers grasping into the bag held tightly within her hand, as she hurried up the front steps, pushing the door open.

"Beth?"

"I'm in the Kitchen!"

The sound of her footsteps were hurried, clicking against the hardwood floor as she turned the corner. Beth was smiling as she turned around, before her smile fell away seeing the crimson splashed dark on her shirt.

"Maggie!"

"I'm okay, I'm okay, we went to the pharmacy and, had a little bit of trouble with one of them. Glenn killed it before it could hurt me,"

Beth's hands touched her arms, eyes searching her searching for a wound before she wrapped around her. Hugging her, sobbing softly, as Maggie ran a hand through soft, blonde curls.

"I'm okay, Beth, I'm okay,"

Chapter 3: Craving You.

Summary:

"S'that what you've been craving Honey?"

"Yes, been wanting it ever since I saw you,"

Notes:

No smut this chapter but its coming guys!

The next chapter of One Taste of You Isn't Enough. and my others will be up soonish!

POV Shifts between Maggie and Lori this chapter.

:)

Enjoy!

I wish I had a cigarette.

A sharpened sigh filled the silence as Maggie paced back and forth. Feeling the irritation, the anger boiling within her like water overtop of a fire. Beth turned another page of her book, legs curled in front of her. Pale blue eyes looking at Maggie for a moment, before they drifted back to her the page of her book. Neither of them speaking, just, doing their own thing though they were together.

"Your gonna wear a path in the floor you keep at it,"

"I don't care,"

There was silence between them once more, only the soft sound of her feet moving over the hardwood floor, and Beths gentle sounds as she turned the next page of the book.

"What happened Maggie?"

"Nothing Beth,"

"Maggie,"

Her sister sat her book down, crawling toward the end of the bed, wide blue eyes gazing at her. Watching her, as she continued to pace back and forth. Trying to calm herself down, to forget she'd almost been bitten today. Forget she wasn't able to protect herself. She needed to be stronger, for their Daddy, for herself, for Beth. They were sisters, best friends, always had been since the day Hershel had held her up to see through the maternity ward window. Gazing at her baby sister for the first time. Knowing, she was responsible for her and always would be responsible for Beth.

"Maggie tell me, we always tell each other stuff,"

"I-We went to the pharmacy and, Glenn was looking through some stuff in an aisle for Lori. I was, going through some medicines and, one of those things. Grabbed me, Glenn saved my life,"

"You didn't tell me you almost died!"

"Almost Beth, I'm right here,"

Pale blue eyes turned away from her, looking off toward the distance. Hurt, fear, concern etched clearly on her sister's face. Maggie eased forward, hugging her, and feeling the grasp of her arms hugging tightly around her.

"I don't want to lose you Maggie,"

"You aren't Beth, I promise,"

 

Slender fingers fumbled with the packet of pills. Turning them, looking at them, debating them. Her eyes turned toward the bottle of prenatal vitamins Glenn had given her after Maggie had stormed off slamming into the House. She couldn't do this, could she? Honestly, bring a baby into this, this world. They weren't even going to be able to stay here. They had food, water, showers, everything they needed to survive. To just feel like before everything had happened, like they still had a chance out here. The sting of tears burned within her eyes, as Lori looked at the pills clutched tightly within her hand. How many more times, how many more times could she hurt Rick?

She'd already fucked up, seen the way he looked at her every now and then. Like he knew, like he could see what her and Shane had done within her eyes. I love you. That's all I got. Those words meant everything to her, to know, even if he knew by some odd chance about them. He still loved her, still wanted a life with her and their son. Maybe this is our second chance. Not many get that. Maybe, this was their second chance, a new start for her, him, Carl. A chance to just move forward and forget all the fights, all the mistakes, all the moments both of them had taken for granted and just, be like they used to be in the beginning.

Trembling fingers, clutched to the pills. Ripping them open, tearing and dumping them into her hand. Swallowing them, as she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. Sobbing as she tore another pack open, swallowing them. Second chance, Our second, a new start for them. A new start as husband and wife, parents, lovers, she couldn't do this. Couldn't hurt him with one more mistake because she was afraid, or scared. Lori pushed herself upright, hurrying from their tent and across the field. Rushing, and feeling the stream of her tears flowing. Her fingers shoved down into her mouth, as she fell onto her knees. Forcing herself to throw up. Seeing the pills still whole, perfect, lying there against the grass. Feeling the tears pouring from her, as she sobbed. Fingers grasping into the dirt. Trying to find the strength to tell Rick everything.

About the baby, about her and Shane, how she'd betrayed him, their marriage, his trust. God, she felt so ashamed for everything she'd done from the day Shane had told her Rick was at the Hospital until this very moment. Sobbing in the dirt. There was silence all around her, dead eerie silence like the rest of the world was slowly falling into. She'd find the way to tell him, she had to do it. A gasp filled her mouth as she heard the rhythmic crunch behind her. Footsteps filling the silence, bringing life to the land the dead were slowly taking over. Lori gazed over her shoulder, eyes meeting Ricks cold stare.

"Is there something you need to tell me?"

Slowly, she pushed herself onto her feet, fingers fidgeting in front of her. Eyes refusing to look at him, before she forced herself to look at him. Blue eyes looking so cold, so angry, like he wanted to scream at her but held himself back.

"We can't leave. I'm pregnant,"

Her voice was soft, barely audible as she spoke. Trying to just remain calm, and tell him what she needed to tell him without them ending up in a fight. She didn't want their second to be worse than their first had been. She wanted him, their children, a life together, even if it was in this hell on earth. He was moving, walking closer to her, as he threw the empty packet at her.

"Are you?"

"I threw them up. You can yell if you want. You can scream if you have to, but talk to me,"

Silence settled between them for a few moments, as she felt the tears welling within her eyes once more. Threatening to fall at any moment. How could she talk to him when he was this angry?

"How long have you known?"

"Does it matter? Days? Weeks?"

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I'm telling you now,"

"No. I found these. So Glenn knows, right? Instead of going to me, you sent him to get pills?"

"I panicked. You tell me we have no roof and no walls... "

"Do not put this on me!"

He was screaming, moving closer to her blue eyes staring at her like she was a stranger. Not the woman he'd fallen in love with, the woman he'd married, had a child with. Started a life with. She knew, she'd fucked up telling Glenn and not the father of her baby. Telling someone other than him, was wrong, but, how could she tell him? How could she even begin to explain what she was going through inside.

"You tear into me for keeping secrets when you're holding onto this? You want me to bring a baby into this? To live a short, cruel life?"

"How can you think like that?"

He was screaming again, pacing in circles like a caged lion. Blue eyes burning with the anger he wouldn't let come out fully. Even now, he was reserved, holding back. Something Shane had always said made Rick the more logical of the two of them. The thinker that kept him grounded.

"We can't even protect the son we already have,"

"So this is the solution?"

Lori took a step toward him, closing the small gap of space between them, trying to be closer to him. Talk to him, make him see what she was trying to say.

"Rick, I threw them up. I screwed up,"

There was silence between them once more.

"I don't know how we do this."

"We can make it work,"

Her hands ran through glossy locks, body, lowering down until she was resting on her haunches. Eyes staring toward the dirt. Unsure if she could even bring herself to look at him and see how upset he was with her.

"How? Tell me how. We'll figure it out,"

"Shouldn't we try to figure it out? You threw up the pills. You want this baby. I know you do,"

"Not like this. Not giving birth in a ditch. Not when its life will hang by a thread from the second it's born. Not when every cry will put it, and Carl, and everyone we care about, in danger,"

"That's not right,"

"Rick not even giving it a chance isn't right either. Maybe this is why I didn't want to tell you,"

Her eyes slowly lifted, meeting his directors as she saw him moving closer. Hand extended toward her, as she grasped his hand gently. Feeling herself pulled up and onto her feet as she felt his hands running through her hair. Fingertips gently running along her cheeks, touching her so tenderly. Gentle, loving.

"I still... I still don't understand why. You really think I'd make you have a baby you don't want?"

"No, so that if I went through with it, it would be on my conscience and not yours,"

"Maybe that's true, but I can't live like this anymore, Lori. We can't live like this,"

Those eyes gazed down into her own. Fingertips gently teasing through her dark wavy hair. Touching her so gentle, so caring.

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, feeling the hot stream of tears running freely as she looked at him. Melting beneath his fingertips as she grasped the front of his shirt. Holding fists of fabric within her hands.

"Shane and I-"

"I know. You thought I was dead. The world went to shit and you thought I was dead. Right?"

"Yeah,"

 

Once the day was done, dinner was over, and everyone had went their own way for the night. Some to sleep, some just to lay within their tents and think. The House had fallen into silence, Beth moved beside her, kicking her blanket off and turning over. A sigh filled her mouth as Maggie felt the sweat clinging to her flesh. It was hot, miserable, she just needed air. Needed to just feel the air on her skin, even if it was warm outside, it had to be warmer than this room. One leg gently eased onto the floor as she slipped out. Pulling on the bottom of her t shirt, feeling the soft brush against her thighs with every step she took. Her steps were soft on each step, trying her best not to wake her sister or her daddy. Fingers grasped tightly around the doorknob as she pulled it open, easing it closed behind her as she stepped onto the front porch. It was dark, only the soft silvery kiss of moonlight casting enough light for her to see as she stood there. Arms folded over her chest, gazing out toward the tents.

"Thought I was the only one who couldn't sleep,"

Her eyes turned toward the direction she'd heard his voice coming from. When she felt her heart leap into her throat at the sight before her. Blue eyes staring back at her, as he tilted the bottle in his hand upwards. Slowly Maggie moved toward him, sitting down on the porch swing beside him. Hazel green eyes staring at those blue eyes, as he looked out toward the distance.

"Rick, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Maggie, just stupid,"

"You're anything but that Rick. You've survived, you made it here, kept those people alive. I wouldn't call that stupid,"

"Lori-"

His words fell away from him as he took another swallow of the alcohol within the bottle. Blue eyes staring off toward the tents in the distance, as she turned sideways, watching him. Searching for the answer to what was bothering him. He was a strong man, a man she'd seen come back from so much in the short time she'd known him.

"Lori didn't want the baby,"

"I know, Glenn went with me to the Pharmacy and, we got attacked by one of those things. He stopped it, but, I was so angry when I came back. I yelled at Lori, threw those pills at her and, I shouldn't have but,"

"It's okay Maggie,"

Silence settled between them for a few moments as he held the bottle out for her, as she took it. Gently grasping it, as she took a few swallows. Before she sat it down.

"It's my fault, I always fuck up with her. Always even before all this, thats why she went to Shane. I know it is,"

"She cheated on you?"

"She thought I was dead, Maggie,"

"I can't see cheating on you with Shane,"

Her words paused, as she stood up suddenly. Easing forward, as she swung one leg over, moving until she was straddled on his lap. Feeling the grasp of his fingers digging into her hips, but not pulling her closer. Leaning back, and keeping a small amount of space between them. Her arms draped on his shoulders, feeling the soft scratch of his shirt beneath her bare flesh. This was wrong, she knew it was, but he was hurting, upset, how could she just abandon him? Walk off and leave him drinking alone in the dark. Her fingertips teased through raven curls, as she looked at him. Leaning closer, and closing the gap of space between them.

"You're smart Rick, Caring, Sexy, any woman would be envious of Lori. But what shes doing to you, hurting you, isn't right,"

His fingers grasped tighter to her warm form. Grasping into her through the soft fabric of her t shirt. Blue eyes staring at her, with an intensity burning behind them. Her hips moved, wiggling against him and feeling the press of his body beneath her own as she leaned closer. Teasingly brushing her lips against his own.

"You really think that Maggie?"

"I do, if you were mine, I'd never take you for granted,"

Her lips pressed against his throat, feeling hot flesh beneath her gentle kiss. His hard cock poking against her, as his hands moved. Grasping into her, slipping over her hips and into the soft shapely curve of her ass.

"I'd never lie,"

Each word was whispered against his throat, lost in a trail of kisses.

"Never crave anyones cock inside me, except yours,"

A low groan rumbled within his throat, as she spoke. Planting kisses along his throat, and jaw line. Feeling the scratch of his beard against her soft flesh every time she did. His hands moved over her, touching her, slipping beneath her shirt and teasing over the soft lace covering her from him. Moving his hips against her, rolling his hips against her, massaging her pussy through her panties rubbing against her. Groaning with every roll of his hips against her warmth, and aching body. Maggie moaned softly, against his neck. Wiggling and moving to meet every movement beneath her. Aching to feel more, to feel his hands touching her. To feel him inside her, fucking her, cumming inside of her. Just like in her fantasies.

"S'that what you've been craving Honey?"

"Yes, been wanting it ever since I saw you,"

Each word was laced in that sweet, southern drawl. Thick, and melting her. She could hear the low, deep chuckle rumbling within his throat, feel his touches becoming harder, rougher, possessive almost. Hurting her, but hurting her just how she needed. Making her feel alive more than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

"Then show me Honey,"

Chapter 4: I Want You.

Summary:

smut. Just smutty smut.

Notes:

Finally the smut happens!

Set against 02x07 - Pretty Much Dead Already

:)

Enjoy!

"Show you?"

A tease laced her words. One that like everything else between them, had been a part of the temptation. Tempting him to come to her, to touch her, to give in and let himself free something other than sadness. His hands moved over her, becoming rougher, harder, with every grasp into her. Hurting her, to the point she knew she'd be bruised tomorrow. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was Rick, and her. There was a moment of hesitation between them, the final chance to forget everything that had happened to this point. For her to go inside, and go back to bed and him go to Lori. To try and save the marriage that was hanging by a single thread. But she didn't want to stop, she didn't want to see him hurting. See a man like him, someone so strong, in pain.

Her lips collided with his own as she closed the final gap of space between them. Feeling the roughness of his kiss as he returned hers. A hunger burning within him, one Maggie was all but eager to feed. Her hand glided along his chest, feeling his warmth, every hard, solid inch, beneath her fingertips. Gliding down over his stomach, and slipping between them. Clutching at the clasp on his belt. Before his hand was pushing hers away, fingers taking place of her own as the clatter of his belt filled the silence between them. Their kiss becoming more, and more ravenous as they gave in to each other. Yielding to one another and, forgetting everything but now. His marriage, The baby, Her Daddy, and the farm. How thin of a thread their group was hanging by here because of her Daddy wanting them gone.

Maggie pulled herself back, slipping off of his lap. Feeling the loss of his lips, of his hungry, aching kiss. Blue eyes gazed at her, watching her, as her hands slipped beneath her shirt. Slender fingers hooking each side of Green lace and pulling it down the length of shapely legs. Stepping out of them, before she was slipping back into his lap. Feeling the warmth between them, the cool lick of air between her legs. His hand moved between them, fingers teasing over her, and the bare, wet, mound of flesh pushing against his touch. Coating his fingers as they teased against her, shoving against him, in need to feel more between them.

"I want you."

His words were lost against her flesh, barely audible, but enough, she'd heard him.

"Then take me, take me Rick."

Something seemed to change within him suddenly, gone was the man that been filled with guilt the night before. The man that seemed like he'd never cheat on his wife even if his life depended on it. He felt wilder, as he moved beneath her. Fingers ripping at the zipper on his jeans, as she felt the press of hard, flesh beneath her. The touch of his cock against her wet, and aching pussy. A cry of pleasure filled them both, as he thrust upwards. Forcing his entire length within her, feeling the snug, tight, grasp of her soaked depths clenching tightly around him. Neither of them moved for a moment, just relished the sensation of their sin. Her fingers moved, grasping into his shoulders as her hips rolled, milking a groan of pleasure in response. His hands grasped into her, fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips and yanking her closer. Before they were moving, hips rolling together, bodies moving in rhythm. In understanding, of what each other wanted. Of what each other needed.

Her hips moved faster against him, feeling the force of each and every thrust beneath her. Feeling herself stretched tightly around his hard, throbbing cock pounding into her. Fucking her hard, fast, angry. Like somehow, he was working out everything that had happened. Lori cheating, those pills, out on her. Her hands grasped into his shirt, hazel green eyes looking at those icy eyes staring at her. All his kindness, all his goodness, seeming to be gone and only raw, savage anger left in its place. A cry escaped her feeling his hands gripping harder into her, lifting her, sitting her on top of the railing of the porch. Hot hands grasping her legs behind the knees, and lifting them, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Grasping to him, feeling the rough thrust against her as he forced himself deeper inside her.

Oh god this hurt, it hurt more than she'd ever dreamed it would. But, it was a pain she could take, a pain she could enjoy every time she felt the sting. Knowing why she felt that way. His hands moved over her, one grasping hard, gripping into the soft curve of her hip, as the other grasped the nape of her neck. Sending an odd chill, even through the warmth through her entire body. It was wrong, it was aggressive, unlike everything she'd ever pictured in her fantasies. Yet, there was an edge of tranquility just resting on the edge of the pain. Something that made her every ache, worth it. Her fingers ran along his sides, feeling the fast, rock of his body beneath her craving touch. Exploring over him, feeling the warmth, the tightness of his body, the strength within him. Maggie cried out, leaning backwards off the railing. Feeling the bite of teeth digging into her warm, soft, flesh. Biting into her, marking her, hard enough, she'd bear the mark for day's.

A mark everyone would see, but one she wouldn't hide. It was a mark that held a story. The first mark Rick Grimes had ever given to her. Her body leaned further, feeling his own blanketing against her. The soft bounce of perky breasts against his chest, as her legs grasped tighter around him. Her hands grasping within the thick of raven curls, as she melted beneath him. Panting, moaning, screaming until she shattered beneath him. Crying out, at the sensation of warmth filling her, feeling the vibration of low, primal growls against her neck escaping his mouth. Neither of them spoke, just grasped onto one another. Panting, feeling the wash of pleasure seeping into them. Before he was moving, leaning back enough for his lips to capture her own. Tongue dipping into her mouth, before she pulled away. Feeling the press of him against, as she pressed her forehead against his. Fingers gently tracing over his jawline.

"I have to go Honey."

"I know, just, help me down."

His lips pressed to hers once more, before he was moving, grasping onto her and lowering her down off the railing. Her legs shook, felt as if they'd give out from under her at any moment , but she enjoyed it. Enjoyed the sensation coursing through her entire body. Neither of them speaking, as he zipped his jeans, and fixed his belt, while she searched for her panties.

"Rick?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing, try and get some rest alright? I'll see you at breakfast."

Those eyes gazed down at her, meeting her gaze directly. Both of them unsure to kiss, hug, or simply walk away after their sinful act. Her eyes closed as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against her own once more. Before he was gone, walking across the lawn toward the tent, he shared with Lori. Maggie sighed softly, running a hand through soft brunette locks before she headed back inside, easing upstairs and back into Beth's bedroom. Tossing green lace onto the floor as she slipped beneath the blanket and curled beside her sister's sleeping form.

 

The first rays of sunlight gently poured into the House, filling it with warmth, the promise of the new day beginning for them all. The first day after last night. Maggie sighed softly, as she busied herself around the kitchen. Trying to forget the sting of soreness between her legs every time she moved, or felt the kiss of her jeans against her. She was tired, sore, but it was a feeling she wouldn't have traded for anything in the world. She only hoped he was better today, somehow finding a way to deal with the things that had upset him last night. There was silence, the soft click of a door and then her Daddy was speaking.

"Been working so hard lately."

"You know we can help you out with your work."

Her eyes lifted from the food hearing Ricks voice.

"It's my field to tend."

"Hershel I understand, Your farm, your say."

"I don't want to debate."

"Not a debate, a discussion."

There was silence between them suddenly. Something that sounded so strange, she knew her Daddy wanted them gone. Had only offered them shelter until Carl was better and able to be moved. But she didn't want them to leave, didn't want Rick to leave and go back out there to whatever fate was waiting for him.

"I need you and your group gone by the end of the week."

"You and I have our differences with the way we look at the walkers. Those people, they may be dead, they may be alive. But my people, us, we are alive right now, right here, right in front of you. You send us out there and that could change."

"I've given you safe harbor. My conscience is clear."

"This farm... This farm is special. You've been shielded from what's been going on out there. Dale said you saw everything happen on the news. Well, it's been... It's been a long time since the cameras stopped rolling. The first time I saw a walker it was just half a body snapping at me from the ground. My inclination wasn't to kill it. But what the world is out there isn't what you saw on TV. It is much, much worse and it changes you. Either into one of them or something a lot less than the person you were. Please do not... do not send us out there again."

Silence settled between them once more.

"My wife's pregnant. That's either a gift here or a death sentence out there. If we were to stay we could help you with the work, with securing this place. We can survive together."

"Rick, I'm telling you we can't."

"You think about what you're doing."

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it."

"I've thought about it."

"Think about it again. We can't go out there."

Maggie was silent as she heard the rhythmic click of Ricks boots against the hardwood floor. Becoming softer, and softer, until they were gone. The sigh that escaped her Daddy, and footsteps as he turned the corner into the kitchen. Her eyes gazed at her Daddy, before she looked away. Feeling like a child in the way she was pouting, but, she knew Rick was right. They'd die out there.

"You heard that, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Maggie, Carl doesn't need any more of my help."

"So that's it?"

A sigh escaped him suddenly, as their eyes meet each other directly. Before she turned continuing with breakfast as if he wasn't there.

"Rick was trying to make his case. It'll be hard. They'll have to be careful. But he was being dramatic. They're a strong group. They've done well on their own. They're just going to have to go out and find their own farm. There's plenty of them now to choose from."

"There aren't. Every one of them nearby is burned out or full of those things."

"Things? So we just keep these people here forever? How are they my responsibility?"

Maggie turned around suddenly, hazel green eyes meeting her daddy's soft gaze. She knew he didn't want to send them away. Knew if he did, they wouldn't last out there. She knew, he was trying to keep them safe. Her, Beth, the things he held dear above and beyond everything else.

"A new command I give to you: Love one another as I have loved you. That's what you told me, right? I was mad about mom. Mad about you marrying Annette. I was 14 years old and I was awful, to you more than anybody. All I wanted to do was smoke and shoplift. Love one another. That's what you told me."

"Maggie. That was different."

"No. You're different."

"I am. But we're not. I love you."

"Is this about Glenn?"

"No, He saved my life yesterday when one of the people you think is sick tried to kill me. How's that for dramatic? Things aren't what you think they are. They aren't. Don't do this. Okay? It's not about me and Glenn. It's not about me and you. It's about you. It's about who you are, who you're gonna be. I have to finish Breakfast."

"Maggie..."

"If you send them out there, Loris pregnant Daddy. She needs food, and a bed, somewhere to give birth that's safe. You think thats out there?"

Chapter 5: We Shouldn't Be Doing This.

Summary:

"We shouldn't be doing this Maggie."

"Then walk away."

Her lips brushed his own, feeling his hand slipping from her cheek, fingers grasping the nape of her neck and yanking her to him suddenly. Blue eyes gazing down at her, as her fingers worked each button open. Hungry to touch him beneath his clothes. A shiver ran the length of spine feeling the stroke of his hand along her side, fingers grasping into her hip and yanking her even closer than she was already.

Notes:

I might do a time skip in a few chapters guys.

The current timeline is about middle of season 2 so I might jump into season 3 timeline in a few chapters.

:)

Enjoy!

The sound of the door slamming filled the silence that had settled over the House. She couldn't be in there, not right now. Maggie hurried down the front steps of their Home, every step hurried, moving her further and further away from there. It wasn't fair, how could he sit there and hear how bad the world was out there and still just turn them away like that? A man that had taught them to love, to never turn away a soul that was in need was turning his back on them. Sending away someone she liked, someone that had made her feel alive for the first time since all this had happened. Hazel green eyes looked out toward the tents watching them, Glenn waved to her, as she returned the wave forcing herself to smile through her anger at her Daddy. Before she walked away, searching for Rick. Walking until she found him, walking through the waist high fields beyond the Farm.

"Rick!"

His pace, stopped hearing her calling out to him, those blue eyes gazing at her, as he turned around. Standing there, as she walked toward him. Every step closing the gap of space between them until, she was standing in front of him. Eyes gazing up into those eyes, she'd been lost in since the day he'd stepped into their Home.

"You should go back Maggie."

"I don't want to go back. Not right now."

Silence settled between them, as his eyes looked down at the ground.

"I'm sorry I just walked off last night. Guess it doesn't matter now."

"It's okay. I heard you and Daddy talking Rick. I know what he said, but he'll come around I know he will."

Her eyes gazed around, as she moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around him. Hugging him, as she rested her head on his chest. Hearing the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Feeling the warmth of his arms encircling around her. Fingers running through her hair, slowly. Taking his time. It was peaceful here, just the two of them away from the Farm, from Lori, from her Daddy. Away from everything except each other. Before she leaned back, eyes meeting his own directly, as her teeth toyed with her bottom lip.

"Rick..."

"Hmm?"

"Let's go somewhere private. Just the two of us, get away from all that mess back there."

He nodded softly, before they parted from each other, walking toward the thick brush of the woods just beyond the field. Neither of them speaking s they walked side by side. She knew this, was why she wanted them to stay so badly. Rick, was special, he was different from every other guy, she'd ever been with before. He was handsome, smart, strong,everything she'd always dreamed of in her fantasies. She knew he loved Lori, had children, but, there wasn't any reason not to have fun.

"You and Lori work things out?"

"Not really no. I've been wondering how things are gonna turn out, if we're gonna make it. If there's still anything worth fighting for."

"Do you love her?"

" 'Course but, I'm not sure she still wants us Maggie."

"She'll come 'round."

"Glenn hasn't stopped talking about you. Think that he's got a crush on you."

"You jealous?"

A tease laced her words as she looked at him, seeing the soft smirk slowly forming on his lips. Before they were stopping their gentle stride once they were far enough into the thick of woods. Hidden away from everything except each other. Maggie eased toward him, fingertips gently toying with the buttons on his shirt. Feeling the hot, rough, touch of his hands running along her arms. Before they were caressing her cheeks, pulling her to him, as his lips brushed against her own in a ghost of a kiss.

"We shouldn't be doing this Maggie."

"Then walk away."

Her lips brushed his own, feeling his hand slipping from her cheek, fingers grasping the nape of her neck and yanking her to him suddenly. Blue eyes gazing down at her, as her fingers worked each button open. Hungry to touch him beneath his clothes. A shiver ran the length of spine feeling the stroke of his hand along her side, fingers grasping into her hip and yanking her even closer than she was already.

"You want me to Honey? You want me to go?"

"No, You want to go?"

"No. I want to stay right here."

His body shoved tighter to her own suddenly. Capturing her lips against his own, stepping forward and forcing her to step back. Until her back met against the rough surface of tree bark. Feeling the scratch through the fabric of her shirt. Her body sandwiched between Rick, and the tree as her eyes gazed up at him. Seeing those icy blue eyes gazing down at her. Before she felt the grasp of his fingers digging into her hips. Yanking her to him, ripping at her jeans and undoing the button on the top. Fingers hooking her zipper and pulling it down, as his hand shoved inside her jeans. Fingers teasing over soft lace, feeling the wetness pooling between her legs as her hips jutted forward. Rocking against his fingers aching for more. To feel him inside her once more.

"Oh Honey, you're dripping. Bet you're just aching inside aren't you?"

Every word was cooed against her lips, teasing her in such an unfair manner. A simple nod was all she could manage feeling the teasing brush of his fingers against wet, needing flesh. Teasing over her through lace, and rubbing her, massaging her, but not enough to give her pleasure. Just bring her to the edge, but denying her the fall over into blissful release. Her fingertips ran over him, pulling at the last button as his shirt fell open. Sun kissed flesh, and hard body right there beneath her wandering fingertips. Tracing over him, and feeling every hard, hot, inch. She'd pictured him so, so many times in her dreams. But nothing, compared to the image live in flesh.

"Just aching to feel you fuck me again."

"S'that right, honey?"

"Been aching for you since I woke up, wanting to feel you, taste you."

"Show me, you've been wanting me since you woke up? Show me how bad you need it baby."

Maggie could feel the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, seeing the shine within those blue eyes beneath the sunlight pouring from the canopy of leaves overhead. Before she was lowering herself, feeling his hand slipping away from her, bringing his fingers to his lips and tasting them. Tasting her stained on his fingertips. Watching her until she was kneeling before him, fingers working open his gun belt, tugging it open and letting it fall to the soil below. Working open the other, and tugging it through the belt loops on his jeans before she leaned forward, grasping his zipper between teeth tugging, and pulling until his jeans were open. Slender fingers moved inside, teasing the hard outline of his cock beneath her touch before she grasped him. Tugging him free from his jeans.

She didn't bother teasing, she wanted him, wanted the taste of him filling her mouth. Sucking him in in, as her mouth enclosed over his cock, forcing herself down until she'd reach the base. Feeling the grasp of his fingers grasping within her hair. Tugging, and pulling, blue eyes gazing down at the sight before him. Hazel green eyes staring up at him, mouth working along his hard cock, hands held onto the roughened denim of his jeans. Dark glossy locks grasped within his hands. Maggie knew, how this looked, felt the arousal licking between her thighs picturing the image within her own mind as to what Rick saw when he gazed down at her. Knelt down like this. His hips thrust forward, pushing his cock deeper within the warmth of her mouth.

"Look at you honey, fucking perfect just like this."

Her moans vibrated against him, as she felt his hips started to roll, moving faster, and faster. Grasping within darkened locks and moving her along his cock, fucking her mouth, and causing her to moan at the sight of him doing this. Hips moving, blue eyes staring down at her filled with lust. Hearing the low groans of pleasure rumbling within his throat. Her nails grasped into his jeans, urging him forward, teasing his cock with the brush and flick of her tongue against his thrusts..Eyes meeting his own directly, and silently telling him how good he tasted, how wet she was, how badly she craved the taste of his cum filling her mouth. Before his thrusts became rougher, harder, hurting, but she didn't care. She needed this, he needed this, it was something they desired. A sin they'd submitted to for the second time, and found their heaven within.

A loud groan filled him as she felt the gush of warmth filling her, coating her mouth, and filling her with the taste of him. Maggie gasped, feeling him moving, her airway returned as she sucked in a breath of air greedily. Before Ricks lips were covering her own. Body colliding against her own, and forcing her down into the dirt beneath them. Fingers grasping, and ripping at her jeans. Yanking, and tugging, until she was bare. Crying out in pleasure as he slipped inside. Groaning at the grasp of her pussy clenched around his cock. Maggie wrapped her legs around his waist, fingers twisting and grasping into his shirt. Feeling the roughened, roll of his hips between her legs. Nails sinking into him, as she cried out. Lost in the pleasure coursing through her veins. Lost in the sensation of his cock moving within her. Filling her, pounding into her, sending stings of pain and jolts of bliss through her entire body.

Placing a trail of heated kisses along her neck, fingers grasping into the soft sun kissed flesh of her hips. Groans, and pants, lost against the soft flesh of her neck. Maggie moaned out, dragging her nails along his shirt, grasping into him, and wrapping her legs tighter around Rick. Pulling him into her, hungering to feel the warmth of his cum inside her.

"Rick...Rick..."

His name escaped her in pants, near the edge of moans as she felt his hips moving still, pounding into her, fucking her hard, fast, just the way she hungered to feel. A Scream of utter ecstasy escaped her as she came beneath him, feeling the gush of warmth deep inside her. Neither of them spoke, as they lay there, panting, breathless, craving one another more than ever as their lips sought the embrace of each other. Before they parted, moving away from one another in silence.

"I want you to stay, I'll talk to Daddy and see what I can do."

"Honey, he wants us gone."

Maggie crawled toward him, climbing into his lap, as her lips pressed against his own.

"I at least wanna try Rick."

"I want you baby."

"Later, I'll find you."

Their lips pressed once more before they pulled away from each other. Dressing in silence before they started back for the Farm. Walking together, until they reach the fence parting and heading in different directions like two strangers. A sigh filled her mouth, as she hurried up the front steps and into the House. Searching for her Daddy, to try and talk to him again. Reason with him, and make him see they needed their Farm just as much as they needed it.

Chapter 6: Just Touch Me.

Summary:

"I can't stay long baby."

Each word was panted into her mouth, lost against the kiss of her lips meeting his own, as her fingers grasped into his curls. Shivering beneath his hot, touch running along her curves.

"I know, just touch me, don't talk."

Notes:

The Next chapter of One Taste of You Isn't Enough. will be up soonish guys!

POV Shifts between Maggie, and Lori this chapter.

 

:)

Enjoy!

Wavy locks gently fell over her shoulder, as slender fingers pushed them behind her ear. Trying to forget about everything except the peaceful silence. The smell of the trees and grass, blending together and filling every inward drawn breath. She could do this, there was nothing to hide now, the baby, her and Shane. Rick knew it all now, there was no secrets, no hiding now, just focusing on them. Their second chance at building their lives together, even in a world like this.

"Lori, we gotta talk."

Her eyes slowly drifted upwards as she saw Shane coming toward her. Dark eyes staring at the chair in front of her in question before she nodded. There was silence between them, tension, something she'd never felt with Shane before, he was changing, becoming something different from the cocky Shane her and Rick had always known. She didn't want to be alone with him, be alone with someone that made her feel uneasy. After what had happened, after he'd tried-her fingers grasped into the roughened denim of her jeans. Twisting, and grasping, trying to look at anything except the man seated across from her. Someone she'd called a friend, trusted, now made her feel strange. Like he was dangerous, to her, Rick, everything here.

"I thought he was dead."

"Shane, I don't.."

"Then when he came back, right then, right there, you see I wished he was...."

His words paused as his fingers ran along his jawline, dark eyes staring at her. Watching her, as if he was searching her face for something. Some lingering emotion, something close to love or whatever he'd thought she felt for him. Her eyes glared at him, hearing the words escaping him.

"Not... not because you wouldn't be mine, but because I knew that sooner or later he would be dead. See Rick, he ain't built for this world, not for what it is now."

"You're wrong."

"You're wrong. Lori, how many times has he saved your life?"

"We aren't having this conversation, Shane. Just leave me be, that, me and you, it's done and over."

"I just... I want to know how many times. Because by my count, I've saved your life on four different occasions. And that's Carl's too. So I just want to ask you, how many times has Rick saved your life?"

Lori ran a hand through her hair, as a sigh escaped from her mouth. Eyes gazing down at her shoes instead of the watching eyes staring across at her.

"That night at the camp. That night at the camp after the fish fry."

"No, no no. See, no. That was me too. You see, Rick, he showed up late because he went on a rescue mission over nothing. Yeah, he joined in, but see, we wouldn't have been in that situation if he hadn't left because he felt that he needed to leave to save someone that he knew was gone. And so we lost people, people that didn't need to be lost Lori. We lost... Rick told me."

She didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hear how many times he thought he'd saved her and her son. He needed to let go, needed to let go of her and the memories of their mistakes. Forget about "them" and focus on making it in this world. Her brows furrowed, as he spoke.

"Told you what?"

"And I know the reason why you didn't is because you know it's mine."

"It's Rick's."

"Okay. You know, we carried on quite a bit before Rick got back, Lori. It's mine. You know it is."

"You're wrong. You're wrong!"

Tears stung within her eyes as she grasped tighter to her jeans. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he just leave her be? Lori shoved upright suddenly, eyes filled anger, the rage she'd been building within herself since the day they'd set foot on the Farm.

"I'm sorry. Shane, I'm sorry. But even if it's yours, it's not gonna be yours. It's never gonna be be yours and there's nothing you can do to change that. Look at me..."

His eyes lifted gazing up at her, as her eyes met his directly.

"We are over. Done, finished, I'm Ricks wife and this, is our baby. Not ours, stay away from me, and stay away from Carl."

Every word sounded harsh, cold, emotionless, but they were the words that had needed to be said. Her eyes glared at him once more, before she walked off heading back toward the tent. Leaving him, and the memories of whatever they'd shared behind her.

 

The soft sound of her boots against the hardwood floor filled the house with sound as she moved from room to room.

"Daddy?"

"I'm in here Maggie."

His hand gently closed his book as she turned the corner. Eyes meeting each others gazes directly, as she sat down beside him at the table. Hazel green eyes staring at him, unsure of what to say or how to even express her emotions in a way he'd understand.

"Daddy...I need to talk to you."

"If it's about Rick, and the group I told you, my decision is final."

"They got a baby coming Daddy. They need this farm just as much as we do."

"Maggie, we can't-"

"They need this place. I know you care Daddy, I know you do. I understand you're just trying to keep me, and Beth safe. But, more hands means more help. More eyes to keep watch and keep us all safe."

Silence settled between them for a few moments, as his hand gently took hold of her own. Fingers lacing with her own, as a sigh filled his mouth.

"If-If I let them stay, they're gonna have to help with the people in the Barn. Understand they need help. I'll talk to Rick after dinner, tell him about the Barn and, if he agrees they can stay."

Her hand grasped her daddy's softly, as she nodded. Sitting in silence together for a few moments, hearing Beths soft humming in the kitchen. Sounds that felt like before, when their home was filled with the laughter of their family. The sounds of the living, sounds she could still hear even if only in a memory. The soft grasp of her daddy's hand pulled her from her thoughts hazel green eyes meeting soft blue. A gentle smile shared between them, before she pulled away. Watching her Daddy as he slipped his glasses back on, and returned to his book. Beth moved around the kitchen, turning around with a soft gasp of surprise at the sight of her sister standing there. Before a smile slowly formed on her lips, Maggie walked forward, fingertips gently strumming on the kitchen island.

"You need any help?"

"If you wanna."

Silence settled between the two of them, as Maggie washed her hands taking her place beside Beth. The two of them chatting here and there, as they fixed dinner. Slicing carrots, and Shelling Peas. Smelling the herbs roasting with the chicken in the oven. Neither of them speaking, just sharing a smile here and there. Just like before, just like always. The Hours seemed to tick away faster than they'd all expected, silence shared between them all as they ate dinner. Glares sharing between Lori, and Shane, ones Maggie could only guess the story behind. Her leg twitched, feeling the brush of fingers against her. Eyes lifting from the plate before her, and meeting those blue eyes gazing back at her before they looked away. His hand slowly inching along her leg, touching her, and causing her body to ache for the feel of him once more.

Slowly, her hand fell from the table. Fingers lacing with Ricks as she grasped his hand. Wanting him, needing him, to feel skin on skin contact shared between them. Her eyes glanced around the table, watching as the others ate, talked, unaware of them. Of what was happening right before their eyes. Slender fingers grasped to his hand, slowly pulling him toward the warm, wet, needing flesh that rested beneath her jeans.

"Rick?"

Her hand stopped hearing her daddy's voice suddenly, as slender fingers uncurled from his hand. Falling away and returning to her lap, as blue eyes stared across at her Daddy.

"I'd like to speak to you after dinner."

The rest of the dinner was filled with silence, only the soft clank of forks and knives meeting the glass of the plates. Before it was done, over as quickly as it had began the others departed as Beth and Maggie cleaned the table. Slowly stacking dishes and carrying them into the kitchen to be washed. The silence filled with Rick and their daddy's voices.

 

"How many have you killed?"

"Too many to count."

"Can you stop?"

Silence settled between them for a few moments as Beth hands her the next dish to dry.

"There are people out there who haven't been in their right minds, people who I believe can be restored."

"You're not talking about the walkers, are you?"

"It doesn't matter if you see them as human beings anymore. But if you and your people are going to stay here, that's how you're gonna have to treat them. My farm, my say. I want you and Lori, and your son to stay in the House. It's gonna get cold, we have room. It's what's best for the baby."

"I'll tell her tonight."

Footsteps filled the silence settled with their home once more, as Beth and Maggie finished the dishes before they parted. Beth heading upstairs to read her book, and Maggie heading toward the front door. Slipping out silently, each step hurried down the front steps, hurrying through the darkness searching for him. Gasping at the grasp of fingers around her arm, feeling herself being pulled, yanked, and tugged into the darkness.

"It's me Honey."

A smile formed on her lips, as her hands ran along his chest, feeling the soft scratch of his shirt beneath her touch. Feeling the brush of his lips against her own. His body pushing tighter against her own, as their lips found each others in the darkness. Hungry, ravenous, famished for the touch, the taste of each other.

"I can't stay long baby."

Each word was panted into her mouth, lost against the kiss of her lips meeting his own, as her fingers grasped into his curls. Shivering beneath his hot, touch running along her curves.

"I know, just touch me, don't talk."

Their mouths moved together, burning with the ache for another, as his grasps became harder. Gripping into her, and yanking her against him, groaning into her mouth, at the feel of warm, perky, breasts shoved tight against his chest. One hand fell away from his curls, dragging along his shoulder, and moving, grasping his cock through his jeans. Teasing him, and feeling the need burning within her lovers kiss. Fingers grasping him, teasing him, massaging him, and milking low groans from his mouth. His fingers moved, tugging at her belt, ripping at the leather, and tossing it to the ground.

"You want it honey?"

"You know I want it."

His hands moved with her own, each ripping at the other, lowering onto the earth beneath them. Maggie moved back, tugging at her jeans, and panties, working off her clothing until only the softened fabric of her tank top covered her. Laying back, as hazel green eyes watched her lover, reaching into his jeans and taking his cock in hand. Groaning as he stroked himself, eyes feasting on the image of tight, soft, bare flesh kissed in a silvery glow from the moonlight barely lighting the darkness. Cloaking their sin in the shadows.

"Spread your legs honey."

Her legs spread, parting wide, and giving his eyes the feast she knew he desired to see. The shimmering wetness stained between her thighs and clinging to the soft mound of flesh between her legs.

"You're fucking breathtaking baby."

A shared sound of pleasure mingled together, as Rick thrust inside her. Hands running along the soft, warm, flesh of her legs, as they grasped around his waist. Feeling the hard, fast, rhythmic pound against her. Aching to feel the kiss of bliss washing over them both before they had to part. Returning back to their "lives" until they met again in secret. Maggies nails clawed at him, grasping into the back of his shirt, gripping onto him, and rolling her hips beneath him. Fucking him back, and moaning as his groans became louder, deeper, sounding more and more primal until they were coming undone together. Cumming, and staining one another, lips pressing together in need before they parted. Dressing in the darkness, and walking away for the night.

Chapter 7: Can You Do That?

Summary:

"That is my wife. That is my son. That is my child. If you're gonna be with us, you gotta follow my lead, you gotta trust me Shane. Can you do that?"

"Rick...."

"Shane, can you do that?"

"I can Brother."

Notes:

A Few Quick Notes:

The next chapters of One Taste of You Isn't Enough. and A Storm in Her Heart. will be up soonish guys!

POV Shifts between Maggie, and Lori this chapter.

AU but mostly based off of Season 2 episode 10 18 Miles Out.

I'm debating a Rick and Shane one shot or multi chapter guys I need feedback if you guys wanna see it!

:)

Enjoy!

Blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders as she sat there, hands gathering her hair, and working each piece back and forth into a braid. Soft blue eyes gazing back at her from the mirror, as Maggie watched her sister's eyes gazing at her. Smiling softly, as she reach for the small black elastic laying on the vanity.

"You think Daddy and Mr Grimes are really gonna figure out their problems?"

"I hope so Beth."

"Is it true?"

Her sisters soft angelic voice sounded like a gentle breath of air as she spoke. Soft blue eyes gazing down as she tied the band around her hair. Toying with the last bit, before she turned around on her seat.

"Is what true?"

"About Lori, the baby, and those....Pills."

"Yeah, it is Beth."

"I always wanted a child, something to call my own. I know now, ain't the time for talking like that, but, she's lucky."

"Yeah, she is lucky Beth."

 

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she paced, hands running through long glossy locks. Fingers bunching, and gathering them nervously, as she felt the endless flow of tears streaming down her face. He wasn't gonna stop, wasn't going to leave them alone, the baby, her, Rick, Carl. They weren't safe, they needed to go, send him away, something. Lori sighed softly, wiping at her eyes, trying to compose herself as she heard the zipper on the front of the tent. Her gasp filling the silence settled all around her, as Rick stepped inside. Working his boots off, as he moved toward the makeshift bed near the other side. Blue eyes gazing down at the floor, looking away from her.

"We need to talk."

"I know."

"Hershel wants us to stay, move inside the House. You, me, Carl, I told him I'd tell you tonight."

"Baby, thats-are we staying?"

"Looks like we are."

"I knew you'd convince him."

"It wasn't me, it was Maggie. She told me she was gonna talk to him."

His eyes looked away as he spoke, looking off toward the distance beyond their tent. Silent, as she climbed onto the cot behind him, wrapping her arms around him.

"Rick, We need to talk about Shane."

Silence settled between them once more. A dead, emotionless silence, one that had never been there between them before. Her eyes gazed at him, watching him, and feeling his body tensing beneath her gentle touch. Sighing softly, before he turned his head, gazing at her over his shoulder.

"What's he done now?"

"He thinks the baby's his. No matter what, it's yours.

"He'll accept that Lori."

"You're gonna have to make him."

"Rick, He won't listen to me. He's delusional and he's dangerous. You've seen what he did at the Quarry. He's threatened people. He's scaring people and he's scaring me. And I think he killed Otis. I think he left him behind and I think... I think he did it not just to save Carl but because he loves me..."

"But you don't know that Lori."

"And he thinks that we're supposed to be together no matter what."

"I've killed myself because of you, and Carl and the baby."

"You killed to protect what's yours?"

"That's right."

"Shane thinks I'm his. He thinks the baby's his. And he says you can't protect us, that you're gonna get us killed. He's dangerous, Rick, and he won't stop."

Blue eyes stared off toward the distance as she spoke, his hand gently grasping her own, before he pulled away. Slipping out of her embrace.

"I can keep you, the baby, and Carl safe Lori. Get your stuff together, we're not spending the night out here with Shane."

Lori nodded softly, as she hurried around their tent grabbing the few things they'd collected inside. Clothes, shampoo, her things, until she'd packed two simple bags. Tucking their family album under her arm as they headed toward the House. Their steps were hurried, faster than she'd expected them to be toward the Greene's home. Lori eased up the front steps behind him, waiting beside him, eyes gazing out toward the tents, the RV, everyone else as the door opened and they slipped inside.

 

Silence settled between her and Beth, as her sister moved around the room. Slipping into the bathroom and changing into her pajamas. Soft blue eyes looking so bright, yet sad at the same time.

"Beth, you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just, I keep thinking about everyone out there. Us, Daddy, if this place is gonna hold."

"It will Beth."

"C'mon Maggie, Daddys clueless. He had us waiting for a cure. He knows he was wrong."

"When has daddy ever admitted he was wrong?"

"Never."

Her voice was a gentle whisper as she climbed into her bed, slender fingers grasping at the soft blanket her mother had quilted for her. Maggie sighed softly, pacing back and forth. Trying, searching, for the words she knew her sister needed to hear.

"Maggie, one of those people, the ones who are supposed to be sick. Attacked you. You know daddy's wrong, they aren't sick, they're dangerous. They're going to overrun this place eventually and what's going to happen then?"

"We'll be safe Beth."

"How?"

"Rick, Daddy, they'll protect us."

"Rick will save his family, and the others out there. We're alone, Maggie, it's just me, you, and Daddy against a whole world of those things."

"Beth, please, you're chasing green eyed monsters. Nothings gonna happen, the farm will hold."

"I'm scared."

Tears streamed down her sisters face flowing fast, hard, as her soft sobs filled the silence settled around them. Maggie slowly climbed into bed beside her, arms wrapping her gently, pulling her close, as slender fingers ran through golden curls. Soothing her, reassuring her, that she was here. Alive, safe, beside her and always would be there. Beth's arms curled around her, grasping around her, holding onto her as if her very life depended on it. Soft shh's, escaped from Maggies mouth as her hand continued to run through golden curls. Trying to soothe away the fear, the sadness, that was swelling within her sisters heart.

"Shh, it'll be okay Beth. I know it will. We have each other, daddy, Rick, they'll keep us safe. Keep the farm safe, and I'll keep you safe. Just like always Beth."

"I love you..."

Her soft voice was choked in between sobs, as she spoke, sobbing and shaking against her embrace. The sound of footsteps outside the bedroom, pulling her from her sister, as she saw the shadows moving past. Heard her Daddys voice, and the sound of a door closing before her attention drifted back to her sister.

There was silence between them as her eyes drifted around the room they'd been given. It was quaint, old-fashioned like the rest of the House. But something for them, the first good that had come their way since this entire thing had began. A new place for their second chance. Somewhere safe for their baby to be born, somewhere they could have a life together. Lori sighed softly, as she stripped off her shirt, wavy locks brushing against the soft flesh of her back, as she moved around their room.

"Aren't you gonna get ready?"

"I can't Lori. I'm gonna take watch tonight."

"I thought Daryl was on watch tonight?"

"I told him he could take watch in the morning."

She nodded softly, climbing into bed, as she slipped beneath the blanket. Feeling the softness of the sheets beneath her bare feet, her legs, something she relished feeling again. Rick said nothing as he crossed the room, opening the door and slipping out into the hallway. His boots soft thudding along the floor, past Beths bedroom and down the stairs.

Maggie was silent as she listened to the footsteps, becoming softer, and softer, until silence took over once more. Filling their home with the same dead silence slowly taking over everywhere beyond their home. Beth snuggled against her, drifting off to sleep, as her eyes stared up at the ceiling. Hazel green eyes staring at the gentle glow of moonlight seeping into the room. Crawling across the ceiling, and casting shadows over them both. Slowly, Maggie eased out from her sisters bed. Hand gently running over golden curls once more, before she eased out of her room. Fingers gently grasping onto the doorknob as she slipped out and closed the door behind her. Easing along, until she was downstairs, eyes searching for anyone. Her daddy, Rick, only to find silence there. Her hand grasped the doorknob ready to open the front door and venture out when she stopped hearing the sound of voices on the other side.

"Why'd you ask me here man?"

"I wanted to talk."

"We don't need to."

"We do."

"No man, we don't."

"Hershels farm, I get that. Okay? Everyones already been on my ass enough."

"That isn't what I need to talk to you about. I heard what really happened at the school. Was it to survive?"

"Yeah. One of us wasn't gonna make it out. It had to be him. One shot to the leg, Carl lives. Reality is... He had no business being here-There. Whatever."

"You don't think I would've done it?"

"No, man, I know you wouldn't have."

There was silence between them suddenly, as if Rick, and Shane were trying to figure out what to say to one another. What the other man was thinking.

"You don't think I can keep Lori or Carl safe?"

"I didn't say that."

"Or my baby? Is it gonna have to be me too?"

"Rick, you can't just be the good guy and expect to live. Okay? Not anymore."

"I'm not the good guy anymore. To save Carl's life, I would've done anything-- anything. Now Lori says you're dangerous, but you're not gonna be dangerous. Not to us, not to me, not to this farm, not anymore. How about you look at me?"

Silence settled between them once more, as Maggie leaned, listening. Dangerous? Shane couldn't be here, her Daddy wouldn't have have that. Shewouldn't have that around her sister. Undoing everything she'd convinced her Daddy of believing. That their group was safe, that they'd help. One bad apple wasn't going to undo everything! Her thoughts fell away as she heard Ricks drawl filling the silence once more.

"You and Lori-- I get what happened. When I figured it out-- and I figured it out pretty quickly. I wanted to break your jaw, let you choke on your teeth. But I didn't. That wasn't weakness. It took everything. That is my wife. That is my son. That is my unborn child. I will stay alive to keep them alive. You don't love her. You think you do, but you don't. Now the only way you and me keep on... Is that you accept everything I just said right here, right now, and we move forward with that understanding."

"When it started it was just-- It was a couple of weird stories on the news. Then-- then it was so quick. Everything-- It just happened.It just happened. Two weeks later, I'm in the hospital and there were people shooting people in the halls. They were shooting people, man, not walkers. Then the walkers came through. You know, I tried to get you out, I tried, but we weren't gonna make it. Man, there was no way and I knew it. But I couldn't live with it. I couldn't live, knowing-- But I had to. I didn't keep Lori and Carl alive, man. They kept me alive. I want you to know that I didn't look at her before that. Brother, if I could take it all back, I would."

"That is my wife. That is my son. That is my child. If you're gonna be with us, you gotta follow my lead, you gotta trust me Shane. Can you do that?"

"Rick...."

"Shane, can you do that?"

"I can Brother."

Chapter 8: The Fall Of The Past.

Summary:

A new home.

A new chance.

Somewhere they can rebuild and wait things out, hopefully until they can go back to the farm someday maybe.

But for now, it's just a dream.

Notes:

A Few Quick Notes:

Okay, its been a while but the story continues.

I know this chapters shorter than most of them but, its been a while and I'm doing a bit of a time jump.

Hope you guys still enjoy this as much as you have.

Review please???

:)

Enjoy!

Shes been roaming the farm for Hours. Looking for something to take her mind off all the bullshit that's happening lately. Babies, cheating, Shane acting crazy. It's not how she's used to living.

"Maggie, you okay?"

She smiles softly, seeing Beth standing there, flashlight held in her hand looking at her.

"I'm fine," she says half truthful hoping her sister won't ask her whats bothering her.

"Daddy's looking all over for you."

"Tell him I'm just taking a walk."

Beth bites her lip softly, gazing at her. Soft blue eyes studying her for a moment before she clicks off her flashlight.

"Maggie, what's wrong?"

She opens her mouth when they hear the single shot in the distance.

"What's that?"

"Beth, take my hand."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The farm falls faster than she'd ever dreamed.

Overrun with those things every ones been calling Walkers.

People die.

People shes known for years.

Beth cries as they're tugged apart and end up in different cars.

She's hysterical crying as Glenn reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder and she can't help but hug him tightly.

"It'll be okay Maggie," he says in a soothing tone and somehow, she believes him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They find everyone else a few miles down the road.

Rick, Lori, Carl, Her Daddy, Beth, Daryl.

Shane's not there and she can see the looks exchanged between Rick and Lori and she knows he's dead.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They make camp later that night and she sneaks off into the woods.

"Maggie."

She stops hearing Ricks voice behind her.

Flinging her arms around him as their lips press together before she's hugging him.

Feeling the stroke of his fingers through her hair.

"I'm glad you're here."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day they find the prison.

A new home.

A new chance.

Somewhere they can rebuild and wait things out, hopefully until they can go back to the farm someday maybe.

But for now, it's just a dream.

Chapter 9: Safety Behind Walls.

Summary:

She can hear the rain.

It's soft at first, but she can hear it.

Notes:

A Few Quick Notes:

I thought we'd do another update to this.

Set against TWD Season 3 episode 4 Killer Within.

Review please???

:)

Enjoy!

She can hear the rain.

It's soft at first, but she can hear it.

Beading down and hitting against the windows, the roof, in a place so big it echoes and fills the dead silence with some form of life again.

It's calming.

It's peaceful.

Something none of them have experienced since the farm fell right out from under them.

She hears Beth cry sometimes.

Her Daddys soft words soothing her.

It was their home. Somewhere they'd felt so safe and then found that safety gone in an instant.

Her legs curl upwards against her chest, as she gives in and sheds the tears she's been holding back.

Sobbing quietly into her pillow.

------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later is when the alarm goes off.

Filling the silence all around them and surrounding them with walkers.

The tunnels are overrun.

But somehow, she manages to get Lori to safety in the boiler room.

When she starts screaming. Fingers grasping into one of the pipes fighting to stand upright.

"Lori, are you okay?"

She shakes her head. Dark locks shaking back and forth, and falling over her face in a curtain that hides the gritted teeth and eyes filled with pain.

"I-I think the babies coming," she says, voice etched in a panic and grasping onto her stomach.

"On the floor," she says, without a second thought.

She's crying, lying there.

Hair splayed out under her head while she runs her hands over her stomach time and time again. Before her hands grasping her, slender fingers gripping in to her flesh.

"Maggie, please. You-You have to do this."

"Lori, I can't please don't do this to me please."

She's crying harder now.

"If you don't me and the baby won't make it. Please, you have to do this Maggie."

Her eyes meet hers and they both know she won't survive this.

Won't survive and hold her baby for the first time.

She nods crying, before she does what she needs to do and Judith Grimes enters the world.

-----------------------------------------------------------

She comes out with Carl beside her.

Watching him staring blankly as he walks forward past his father and the others.

She's covered in blood.

Loris blood.

When she sees Rick looking at her. Blue eyes looking at the blood on her hands, and the newborn baby held in her arms.

"Where-Where is she?"

Her hand extends out as she starts sobbing again.

Crying because they both know the answer and then she watches him break down.

Watches the man she cares for shatter before her.

Before he gets up something different.

Something darker and grabs the axe before he heads back inside.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Milk and Silence

Notes:

And we are back I know its been a long time but let's finish this story.

Set against S3 EP5/6

The walls still reeked of blood.

Everywhere Maggie looked, she saw the ghost of Lori’s final moments—her face pale and drawn, her voice breaking as she begged Maggie to save the baby, not her. Maggie had done what was asked, what had to be done, but her hands still shook when she thought of the knife cutting, of blood slick on her palms, of the silence after. She tried to wash it off earlier, tried to scrub until her skin was raw, but the memory clung like it had seeped into her bones.

Judith. The baby was alive. That was the only comfort, the only small light. But Hershel’s voice cut through her haze, calm but firm, telling her the truth:

“She won’t survive long without formula.”

Maggie swallowed, heart tight in her chest. That meant a run. And she knew she had to go. For Lori. For Carl. For Rick.

Glenn immediately offered. Daryl, too, his crossbow already slung over his shoulder, jaw set. But when Daryl said he could only take one person on his bike the roads to the nursery too narrow for cars Glenn turned to her, searching her face.

“Maggie, maybe I should—”

She shook her head. “No. I need to go. Lori made me promise.”

The weight of it silenced them both. Daryl didn’t argue, just nodded once, like he understood, then handed Glenn his knife as backup before motioning her to climb on.

The ride to the nursery was rough, the wind biting at her face, her arms tight around Daryl’s torso. The world blurred past them, a dead land dotted with skeletal trees and sagging houses. Maggie’s chest ached with every breath, but she forced herself to focus on what they had to do.

When they reached the nursery, Maggie half expected walkers to be swarming at the doors, but it was eerily still. The smell of dust and mildew stung her nose as they crept inside, careful, weapons raised. Daryl moved first, silent and precise, clearing rooms with the practiced ease of a hunter.

Nothing. No walkers, no moans. Just cribs overturned, toys scattered across the floor, little plastic rattles that seemed too bright, too innocent for this world.

Maggie’s throat tightened.

They found the supplies in a storage closet—cases of formula, diapers, bottles, wipes. Her hands trembled as she stacked them into the bag, like gathering pieces of hope. She brushed dust off a canister. It had to be enough for now.

Daryl gave her a look but didn’t say anything, just adjusted the weight of his crossbow and jerked his head toward the exit.

The ride back felt longer, heavier. Every bump on the road seemed to drive the grief deeper into her chest. When they finally returned to the prison, Maggie nearly stumbled rushing inside, clutching the bag like it was gold. Hershel took it quickly, his face tight with relief.

Judith fed. Judith lived. That was the miracle.

 

The baby’s lips smacked softly against the rubber nipple, drawing the formula down in desperate, greedy gulps. Maggie held the bottle steady, eyes locked on the tiny, trembling thing in her arms. Judith’s little fists waved uselessly, her breaths wet and uneven. It was a fragile sound, like the wings of a moth in the dark.

The ache in Maggie’s chest deepened. Lori should have been here. Lori should have been the one rocking this child, whispering comfort into the quiet. But instead, Maggie’s hands were stained with blood and ash. She pressed her lips to Judith’s soft head, inhaling the faint, sweet smell of powder and milk, and felt her throat close.

When the baby finally drifted off to sleep, Maggie placed her carefully in Beth’s arms and stood. She didn’t say anything, didn’t trust her voice. Her boots carried her through the dim prison corridors, instinct pulling her to the man she knew was unraveling the fastest.

Rick.

She found him in the darkened hallway near the boiler room. His back was to her, his shoulders hunched, his body braced against the cinderblock wall. She knew that stance. She knew the way a man folded in on himself when the weight became too much.

“Rick,” she whispered.

He didn’t turn. His breath came ragged, shallow.

He was crouched on the floor, his back hunched, his hands covering his face. He didn’t hear her at first, or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Maggie hesitated at the doorway, torn between leaving him to his grief and stepping closer.

But she remembered Lori’s last words, remembered the way she had begged her to take care of the baby, take care of Rick. The promise weighed on her tongue.

Slowly, Maggie moved closer, her boots scuffing against the floor. “Rick…”

He lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, his face hollow. He looked like a man unraveling, every thread of him pulled loose.

Maggie’s chest cracked at the sight. She wanted to say something anything but all the words felt useless. So instead, she knelt beside him, setting a hand on his arm. Solid. Present.

 

Her fingers brushed the flannel stretched over his arm. “She’s alright. Judith’s fed. She’s—” Her voice cracked, and she bit it back, the lie sour on her tongue. Nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be again.

That was when he turned. His face looked hollow, carved out by grief and fury. His eyes burned red, not from tears but from sleeplessness, from madness licking at the edges of him.

Something broke inside her at the sight. All the restraint she’d been carrying since the farm since Shane’s death, since Lori’s coldness, since Glenn’s soft concern snapped.

She shoved him back against the wall, her hands fisting in his shirt. “Don’t do this alone,” she hissed, her voice sharp, trembling. “Don’t you dare.”

He stared at her, chest heaving. Then his mouth crushed against hers.

It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and breath and hunger, a violent collision of two people too broken to ask for comfort in softer ways. Maggie moaned against him, her nails raking down his chest as he pulled her hips forward, grinding the hard line of his body against her.

“Rick—” she gasped when his mouth tore away from hers to bury against her throat. His beard scraped her skin raw, and she tilted her head back, giving him more. “God—”

His hands were rough, frantic. They shoved under her shirt, finding her breast and squeezing until it hurt, until she gasped and arched against him. Pain and need blurred together, and she welcomed both.

“Need you,” he growled against her skin, his voice breaking, raw.

“You have me,” she panted.

He turned her, shoving her forward until her palms slammed against the cold wall. Her cheek pressed against stone as he yanked her pants down, too fast, too harsh, and she cried out at the sudden bite of air against her skin. But she didn’t stop him. She pushed back, urging him on.

When he entered her, it was brutal, a hard thrust that knocked the breath out of her. Maggie’s eyes squeezed shut, her cry muffled against the cinderblock. The sound echoed in the corridor anyway, sharp and aching.

Rick’s hands clamped down on her hips, holding her there as he pounded into her, each movement rough, desperate. His breath came hot and fast against her neck, his low groans mixing with her ragged moans.

“Maggie,” he growled, voice shattering on the edge of grief.

“Rick!” she cried, her nails clawing at the wall, skin scraping raw.

He slammed harder, chasing the oblivion only this could give him. Maggie felt her body shudder, a violent wave breaking through her as release tore from her throat in a sharp scream. Her legs buckled, but his hands held her upright, forcing her through it.

When he came, it was with a guttural sound, his forehead pressing into her shoulder, his body trembling against her back. For a moment, they stood there, pressed to the wall, breathless, bound by ruin.

Finally, Rick staggered back, letting her turn. Maggie leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest, both of them shaking.

No words. No comfort. Just the silence of two broken people who had burned together for a moment, just to keep the dark away.

 

Rick stared at her, eyes empty but burning with something she couldn’t name grief, rage, guilt. Maybe all of it at once.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the prison pipes. Maggie’s hand stayed on his arm, her presence the only anchor she could offer.

Finally, Rick closed his eyes, his breath shuddering out of him. He leaned forward, just slightly, like the weight was too much. And Maggie, without thinking, let him.

Let him rest against her shoulder.

Let herself be the one to hold him together, if only for tonight.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Lines Between Us

The morning sun was weak, filtering through the prison walls in fractured ribbons that danced across the yard. Maggie’s hands still trembled from the night before—the memory of Rick pressed against her, his rough hands, the ache of her nails on his chest, lingered like a phantom burn. She moved through the yard with mechanical precision, passing out rations, securing barrels, counting each item as if the numbers could steady her pulse.

Glenn followed at a distance, his eyes always soft, always tracking her. He caught the way her hands shook as she lifted a bag of canned food, the subtle tremor in her jaw when she smiled.

“You okay?” His voice was quiet, low, threaded with concern. Maggie forced a brittle smile. “I’m fine,” she said. But the lie was heavy in her throat, sour and sticky. She knew Glenn noticed. He always noticed.

Something in her chest tightened at the thought of him. She loved Glenn—truly she did—but the pull toward Rick was heavier than reason or guilt. Rick, slumped and hollow in the guard tower, waiting, broken and restless, was a pull she could not ignore. She had been the only one to hold him through the darkness of yesterday, the only one to keep the edges from swallowing him.

Glenn reached out, hand brushing hers lightly as they stacked food together. “Maggie… seriously. You’re off today. Talk to me.”

Her fingers curled around a can of beans, nails pressing into the metal. “I… can’t right now,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to be steadier than her shaking hands. Her gaze flicked briefly to the distant guard tower, the place she had avoided all morning, and her heart ached.

Glenn frowned, letting his hand fall. “If you need to—”

“No,” she interrupted softly, voice catching. “I just… need a minute. Alone.”

By mid-morning, when the yard had quieted and the others were busy elsewhere, Maggie slipped away. Her boots echoed through empty corridors, a hollow drum matching her heartbeat. Each step toward the tower stretched her chest, tugging at her like a tether too taut. She pushed the heavy door open slowly and found Rick slumped against the railing, his gaze lost in the yard below.

He didn’t acknowledge her at first, just shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if accepting her presence required effort. She dropped her bag with a quiet thud, the sound startling in the silence. She knelt slightly, reaching for his arm. His skin was hot, tense, waiting, and her fingers hesitated, afraid to touch him too lightly, afraid to touch him too much.

“Rick…” she whispered.

His head turned slightly, eyes flicking toward hers but empty, clouded with exhaustion and grief. “Maggie…” His voice was soft, cracked, fragile. She could hear the tremor, the raw edge that spoke of sleepless nights, of horror carried in silence.

“I… I can’t stop thinking about last night,” she murmured, voice barely more than breath. “About… about us, about what we did.”

Rick swallowed hard, lips dry, eyes hollow and unfocused. “Neither… neither can I.” His words were tentative, trembling. He wasn’t asserting ownership, wasn’t growling or demanding. He was small, fractured, vulnerable, and her chest ached with the need to hold him together.

She pressed closer, brushing her lips against his in a soft, shaky kiss. His hands moved, tentative, hovering over her back and then finally resting, quivering, as if afraid to hold her too tightly. Her body pressed into him, need and desire pooling, slick and wet, arching instinctively as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“I… I can’t do this alone,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Not anymore.”

Rick’s hands pressed into her back, weakly, shakily. “I… I don’t know how…” His words trailed, voice cracking. He leaned into her, forehead resting against hers, seeking contact like a lifeline. Maggie’s fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, pressing against warm, trembling skin, grounding him.

“I’ll help you,” she said softly. “We’ll get through this… together.”

He let out a small, broken laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve… this.”

“You do,” she said firmly. “You need it. We both do.”

His hands roamed tentatively, unsure, desperate. The first brush against her ass was careful, searching. She pressed into him, needy, wet, slick, desperate for the comfort he could only give her if he let go of his fear. Clothes fell away slowly, each pieces carefully pulled away like the layers between them. His cock pressed hard against her slick and she gasped softly, rocking against him.

The first thrust was slow, hesitant, testing the waters. Her body arched, hips grinding, moaning softly into his mouth, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. He shivered, trembling as he pressed further, letting the friction build, letting them both feel it, need it.

“I… I need you,” he breathed, trembling, voice low.

“You have me,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, pulling him close, her legs tightening around his waist. The slick heat between them pooled, wet and hungry, drawing him closer. Each touch, each movement was urgent and fragile, a desperate mutual grasp for stability.

Rick’s thrusts grew heavier, still shaky, jagged, like he was trying not to break himself or her. She moaned, loud and wet, grinding against him, desperate to anchor him, to feel his need against hers. His hands pressed against her hips, trembling, holding her upright as her pussy clenched around him, hot and slick, drawing guttural moans from both of them.

“Say my name,” she whispered, voice low, trembling.

“Rick…” she breathed, shuddering as he sank deep inside her, slick and wet, twitching with every movement. The friction, the shared heat, the desperate intimacy—it was a tether between two broken souls, a lifeline neither wanted to release.

He gasped, shivering, eyes closing as his cock pulsed inside her, each thrust shaky and ragged. Her hands explored him, feeling the quiver in his arms, the tremor in his thighs, the raw need in his trembling body. They moved together, wet, slick, desperate, clinging to each other through grief and want.

Rick came first, shuddering against her, trembling, hot and slick, and she followed, heat convulsing through her body, slick with sweat and release, pussy clenching around him as her climax drew him closer, held him steady in the aftermath.

They sagged together, chest to chest, foreheads pressed, breathing mingling, hot and ragged. Rick’s hands rested lightly on her back, quivering, and she pressed her fingers against him, feeling his heartbeat, feeling him alive and fragile in her grasp.

“I… I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, voice raw and broken.

“You don’t have to,” she murmured, holding him close. “We just… survive. Together.”

He let out a shaky laugh, burying his face in her hair. “Messy…” he murmured.

“Yeah… messy,” she agreed softly. “But ours. Both of ours.”

They stayed pressed together, letting the wet, slick evidence of their union settle between them, letting their grief, guilt, and desire hang suspended, a fragile bond holding them upright in a world that had burned everything else. Outside, the prison waited, full of horrors and loss, but inside, here, they had each other.

Maggie pressed her face to his chest, feeling the tremor of his breathing, feeling the fragile heat between them, feeling alive, needed, human. “I love you,” she whispered, voice low but certain.

And for that moment, that raw, fragile heartbeat of a moment, it was enough. Two broken people, holding each other together, surviving by warmth, touch, slick desire, and grief.

Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Shadows Over Woodbury

Maggie’s hands shook as she pushed the crumpled map across the table, eyes darting between the scattered supplies baby formula, batteries, a tiny stuffed animal and Glenn. Every object felt like a relic of a life she might never see again. The town outside was unnervingly quiet, shadows stretching across broken streets like long fingers. She tightened her grip on her pistol, her nerves taut. Somewhere out there, eyes were on them. Watching. Waiting.

Glenn leaned close, whispering her name. “We’ve got most of what we came for,” he murmured, nudging the basket toward her. “Let’s just get back quickly.”

Maggie nodded, though her stomach twisted with unease. Before they could move, a shadow fell across the alleyway, long and sudden. Maggie froze.

Merle.

Both she and Glenn raised their weapons reflexively. Recognition sparked in Glenn, but Maggie’s heart dropped like a stone. The man who had haunted her memories of Atlanta, the tormentor who’d once made her skin crawl with fear and loathing, stood before them, grinning with cruel amusement.

“Dynamic duo,” Merle drawled, low and dangerous. “Didn’t expect to see y’all here.”

Glenn’s stance remained steady. “Merle,” he said, voice calm, even though Maggie could hear the tension.

Merle’s grin faltered slightly, but his eyes hardened again. His gaze flicked to Maggie, sharp, calculating. “You, though… come with me.”

Maggie’s pulse hammered. She knew better than to hesitate. When he lunged, grabbing her arm with frightening strength, the cold metal of his gun pressed against her temple.

“Drive,” he barked. The word wasn’t a request.

Glenn’s hands went to the wheel instinctively, his jaw tight. Maggie’s mind raced not just with fear for herself, but for Glenn, for Rick, for Carl, for the baby. She could feel Rick’s presence in her mind like a tether, fragile but unbroken, pulling her toward hope. Their secret touches, stolen moments in the prison garden, whispered words in the darkness they felt like another world now, one she clung to desperately as Merle shoved her into the car.

The ride was a blur of tense silence. Maggie counted breaths, tried to ground herself in each exhale, each pulse in her wrists. She imagined Rick pacing the prison yard, gnawing at his own hands with worry, thinking she and Glenn had been swallowed whole by Woodbury’s rot. Her chest ached for him, a low, constant ache that burned beneath her ribs. She remembered the last night they had been alone together, pressed close against each other after a long day of guarding the walls. His hands on her, his whispered confessions of desire, the way he had pulled her against him like he might never let her go… The memory made her stomach twist with longing and fear all at once.

Hours or maybe minutes; time had lost all meaning passed until they reached the Governor’s compound. Maggie’s wrists burned from the restraints as Merle shoved her through the gates, but she refused to cry out. She would not give them that satisfaction.

The interrogation began almost immediately. The Governor’s office smelled of antiseptic and fear. He circled her like a predator, offering smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. “You know,” he said, voice silky, “we could make this easy. Just tell me what I want.”

Maggie’s voice didn’t waver. “Go to hell.”

His patience snapped, and he tried to escalate, insisting she remove her shirt. Maggie straightened her back, chin high, fighting the panic that clawed at her chest. Not here. Not now. Rick’s coming. I know he is. The thought of him, of his quiet, fierce gaze, steadied her. She could almost feel the brush of his lips, the heat of his hands memories she had tried to bury in daylight. She clung to them like a life raft in a storm.

When he stormed out in frustration, Maggie sagged against the chair, closing her eyes. Glenn was still alive somewhere close by. That knowledge was enough to keep her moving, keep her thinking, keep her plotting.

Merle brought her back to the room where Glenn was bound and bloodied from a struggle. Relief surged through her, sharp and searing, tempered by the sight of him in pain. “We’re through with games,” Merle sneered, and Maggie felt the weight of dread press down again. But Glenn’s ingenuity shone through; a broken chair leg in his hand, a swift strike, and a walker Merle had released fell to the ground, buying them precious seconds. Maggie snatched a shard of bone he handed her, ready to fight.

Gunfire erupted outside. Maggie’s instincts screamed. This was it the chaos that would give them a chance. She ducked behind crates, heart hammering, as her thoughts surged to Rick. Where are you? Come for us. Please, come for us.

And then she saw him. Rick’s figure cut through the chaos like a living promise, unbroken and unrelenting. His eyes met hers for a single, intense heartbeat silent words, hidden truths, memories of touches they had shared in the dark, when the world outside had not yet demanded fear and blood. He was here.

Rick’s presence, so certain and real, grounded her amidst the terror. She remembered the secret times she had lain with him, pressed to him in the shadows, whispering words no one else could hear. The memory of his hands on her hips, his lips brushing hers, the way he had whispered her name like it was sacred it was a strength she carried now, fueling her resolve.

The fight was brutal. Gunfire echoed off walls, footsteps pounded on metal and wood, shouts mixed with growls and screams. Maggie’s pulse raced, fear and adrenaline mingling with something else—something like desperate hope. She moved with Glenn, ducking, striking, pushing forward through the chaos. Each glance toward Rick reminded her that they were not alone.

A group of walkers lurched toward her. Maggie raised the gun she had nearly forgotten, firing without thought, her body moving on instinct. For Rick. For Glenn. For survival. Each pull of the trigger, each glance at Rick, strengthened her, even as exhaustion clawed at her muscles.

Finally, they reached the wall, lungs burning, hearts racing, but alive. Rick helped them over, and Maggie felt a wave of relief wash over her.

When at last she allowed herself a glance at him, Rick’s eyes softened not the fierce, commanding gaze of a leader in battle, but the look he reserved only for her. Maggie’s throat tightened. She wanted to cling to him, wanted to fold into his arms and confess everything, wanted to be held, but there was no time. Not until everyone was safe. Not until they had escaped Woodbury entirely.

Glenn, battered but alive, leaned against the wall, murmuring, “They’re coming for us.” Maggie nodded. We’ll be ready. We have to be.

And in that moment, through the pounding adrenaline, the fear, and the relentless chaos, she felt the pulse of something she hadn’t let herself admit: desire, love, and a connection that was more than survival. Rick had come for them, and that knowledge, that certainty, was enough to keep her moving, enough to fuel every step, every breath, every desperate fight toward freedom.

As they melted into the shadows of Woodbury, disappearing into the night, Maggie glanced at Glenn, and let herself finally think of Rick not as a distant hope, but as a living, breathing promise. He was waiting for them. And she would not fail to reach him.

 

---------

The sick moans came first, muffled but unmistakable, echoing through the concrete halls of the prison. Maggie pressed her hand to her mouth, her stomach twisting in worry. Fever had taken hold of more than a few of the prisoners over the past days, and now it had reached her too. She leaned against the wall, trying to steady herself as another wave of heat rolled over her. Her limbs ached, but the sight of the others pale, shivering, desperate kept her moving.

Rick had been there all along, of course. Always there. His presence was a lifeline, steadying her when she faltered. She felt a warmth just from being near him, a tension that had nothing to do with the illness. He brushed past her in the narrow corridor, and her pulse jumped his arm just barely grazing hers, but enough to send a thrill she didn’t dare let him see.

“Hey,” he said softly, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. “You holding up?”

She forced a smile, even though her cheeks burned and her forehead dripped with sweat. “I will. Just… tired.”

He lingered a moment longer than necessary. Maggie caught the subtle flex of his fingers against her skin, the faint heat of his body so close she could almost feel it through her thin shirt. Her pulse raced, not just from the fever. She averted her eyes, pretending to check on the infected, but her ears caught the low timbre of his voice, steady and grounding, yet charged in a way that made her cheeks warm further.

 

---

 

By midday, rumors of the Governor’s approach had begun to filter through the prison. Maggie felt it in her bones before anyone else even spoke of it the tense air, the rigid set of Rick’s shoulders, the way he scanned the corridors like a predator. She found herself shadowing him, pretending to help with preparations, but really watching. Her body responded involuntarily whenever he moved close, brushing her as he passed supplies or leaned down to examine the weakened prisoners.

“Careful here,” Rick murmured, placing a hand near hers as they moved a stretcher. Maggie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, more than it should have. The closeness was accidental, he would say, but her mind refused to believe it.

She adjusted her grip, intentionally leaning into his side slightly, just enough to feel the heat of his arm against hers. His hand twitched where it hovered near hers, a faint brush of skin, and Maggie bit her lip to stop the small sigh escaping. She hated that he could affect her this way, that the mere proximity of him could unravel her focus. Yet at the same time, it grounded her. Anchored her amidst the chaos.

 

---

 

When it finally happened Maggie’s stomach flipped. She ran to Rick’s side, grabbing his arm instinctively.

“Rick!” she yelled over the roar of gunfire and shouting. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning, calculating, assessing danger. And then he turned toward her, giving her that glance—sharp, protective, but with something beneath it Maggie couldn’t name. Something private, electric.

“Stay close,” he said, his voice low and commanding, and Maggie nodded instinctively. She wanted to argue, to fight alongside him, but the look in his eyes kept her tethered.

The battle was chaos. Explosions of sound, smoke curling in the hallways, and Maggie’s heart beat violently not just from fear but from the way Rick’s presence pressed against her senses. Every time she reached for a fallen group member or ducked from incoming fire, his hand would brush hers, their bodies momentarily pressed together in the narrow corridors. Each accidental touch sent a shiver down her spine. She hated how aware she was of him—how aware he seemed of her.

In one hallway, debris collapsed near her, and she was pinned briefly. Rick’s strong arms caught her, holding her tight against his chest. Her cheek pressed against him. She could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the faint smell of sweat and leather that always seemed to cling to him. The moment was fleeting, life-or-death, but it burned in her mind like fire.

 

---

 

By nightfall, the prison was in ruins. Maggie clung to Rick as they fled through the smoke-choked corridors, the chaos of falling walls and fleeing survivors pressing in around them. She could barely breathe, both from exertion and from the tension that seemed to coil tighter whenever he was near.

“Rick,” she whispered when they finally ducked into a shattered wing, pressed against each other to avoid being seen by the Governor’s men, “we… we need to keep moving.”

He leaned close, his lips almost brushing her ear. “I know. I’ve got you,” he said, and the vibration of his voice against her skin made her shiver. She wanted to lean into him fully, wanted to let herself feel something beyond fear, but the need to survive pushed desire to the background, simmering.

The forest outside awaited them, darkness and danger, but also a strange freedom. Maggie found herself matching his pace without being told, instinctively trusting him. Every brush of his arm, every guiding hand, every protective gesture made her ache with a tension she could neither ignore nor act upon.

 

---

 

The first night in the woods, they made a small camp in a hollowed grove. Exhaustion weighed on both of them, but Maggie couldn’t sleep. She found herself sitting closer to him than necessary, her hand brushing against his as they sorted supplies. Rick’s eyes met hers, sharp and watchful, yet there was a softness there too—a mutual understanding that went beyond words.

“You’re not supposed to be worried about me,” he murmured, his fingers brushing hers deliberately this time, lingering.

“I can’t help it,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say more, to tell him exactly how much being this close, surviving together, stirred her, but the night’s dangers and the constant need to stay alert held her tongue.

Yet the tension built quietly, layer upon layer. Each time he shifted, each time he came close to steady her or pulled her out of danger, the pulse of desire threaded through fear. She hated how much she wanted it—and yet, she wouldn’t trade this connection, this intimate survival bond, for anything.

 

The fire was little more than a smoldering glow, casting long shadows across the trees. Maggie wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to contain the shaking that had nothing to do with the cold. The forest was quiet in an unnatural way, the kind of silence that made her ears ache with every rustle, every snap of a branch. She hated this stillness, hated the way it let her thoughts spiral Daddy, Beth, Carl, Judith—lost in the chaos, lost to her.

Rick knelt beside her, hands busy tending the fire, but his eyes never left her. Maggie felt the weight of his gaze like a blanket, protective and heavy, pulling at something deep inside her. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to sink into him and never think about the world outside this small circle of firelight.

“Hey,” Rick said softly, his voice rough from exhaustion. “Maggie… look at me.”

She shook her head, biting her lip to stop the sob that threatened. Her hands fisted in her knees. “I… I can’t. I can’t think right now.”

Rick’s hand found her shoulder, warm and grounding. “You don’t have to think. Just… breathe with me.”

She let out a trembling sigh, and before she knew it, he was holding her, his chest against hers, strong arms wrapping around her small frame. Maggie’s tears leaked freely now, soaking his shirt as she pressed into him. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand moved to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, pulling her closer.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a chaotic rhythm that matched the heat rising through her body. She had wanted comfort, and here he was, solid and unyielding, every inch of him radiating warmth and need. Her hand brushed against his chest, feeling the rapid pulse under his skin, and an ache she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in weeks flared to life.

Rick’s lips brushed her temple, then her hairline, sending shivers down her spine. “Maggie…” he murmured, voice low, almost breaking. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me.”

She pressed her face into his shoulder, needing him closer, needing to forget everything that had happened, everything she had lost. Her hands trailed along his back, gripping him as if holding him could anchor them both to the world. Rick’s hands were everywhere shoulders, arms, sliding down her sides tracing, seeking, grounding.

Their breaths mingled, heavy and ragged, the firelight dancing across their faces. Maggie felt a heat pool low in her belly, her grief and longing twisting into a desperate ache that only he could soothe. She tilted her head up, and his lips met hers, slow, searching, a kiss that held both restraint and demand. She moaned softly into him, the sound muffled but urgent, a release of months of tension, fear, and sorrow.

Rick’s hands moved lower, pressing against her thighs, lifting, guiding her closer. Maggie’s own hands roamed, exploring the contours of his body she knew so well yet could never get enough of. Each touch, each press of skin to skin, was a declaration they were here, they were alive, and for a moment, the world outside the forest didn’t exist.

When he shifted, pressing her gently onto the ground, the cold earth beneath them did nothing to dim the heat between them. Maggie’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for a deeper kiss as his hand roamed her body, tracing every curve with reverent intensity. She shivered under his touch, her body arching toward him instinctively, desperately.

Every kiss, every press of his hands, was a lifeline, a silent promise that they would survive this together, that grief and fear would not break them. She trembled with need, letting herself sink fully into the sensations, letting him hold the pieces of her she’d kept hidden from everyone else.

Rick’s lips traveled along her neck, shoulder, chest—each touch sending sparks of fire through her body. Maggie moaned, biting her lip to keep the sounds contained, but he encouraged every sound, every movement, grounding her in the shared heat of their need. Her hands gripped him tighter, pulling him closer, needing to feel him as close as possible.

They moved together slowly at first, careful, savoring the closeness, the intimacy born of both grief and desire. The forest seemed to hold its breath around them, the night giving space for this small, feral connection. Maggie let herself forget the world, let herself give in to the raw, consuming need for him, the ache of loneliness and sorrow melting into the rhythm of their bodies pressed together.

When they finally tumbled into the quiet collapse that comes after such intensity, Maggie rested against Rick’s chest, breathing him in, listening to the steady beat of his heart. She felt safe, if only for this moment, and allowed herself to relax into the warmth of him.

Her tears had dried, replaced by the soft glow of exhaustion and something else a fierce, desperate relief. Rick pressed a kiss to her temple, whispered her name, and for a few hours, the world beyond their forest campsite could not touch them.

She closed her eyes, resting against him, and for the first time since the fall of the prison, she allowed herself to believe that maybe just maybe they could survive this together.

Chapter 13: Echoes of Loss

Notes:

S4 ep9 Afters based but obviously changed

The world felt heavier after the prison fell. Not just because of the smoke still clinging to her hair or the way her throat burned with ash — but because she carried silence now. Daddys voice, Glenn’s laugh, Beth’s soft hums — all of it cut off like someone had swung a blade clean through the marrow of her life.

And Rick was the only one left with her.

The house they’d stumbled on sat half-collapsed at the edge of a forgotten street. Rick had barely been able to climb the porch steps, his chest rattling with every breath. He looked less like a sheriff and more like a man whittled down to the bone, haunted and half-dead. She’d gotten him inside anyway, dragging his weight against her shoulder until they hit the couch. The cushions were dusty, smelled like mold, but it was soft enough to catch him when his knees buckled.

Maggie stood over him, staring at the cracked plaster walls. It felt like being buried alive in someone else’s ruins.

“Stay awake,” she muttered, though his eyes were already sliding shut. She pressed two fingers to the side of his throat. The pulse was there, weak and thready, but still beating.

It should have been a comfort. Instead, it set something jagged loose in her chest. Because if Rick went — if Rick died — then she would truly be alone. Glenn might be out there, but there was no way to know. Beth too. She’d seen her sister running with the others in the chaos, but the crowd had torn itself apart like meat, and Maggie had lost her. Daddy… daddy was gone for sure. She couldn’t stop seeing it — the sword at his neck, her father’s steady eyes staring at her until the world blacked out.

Her knees gave way before the weight of it, and she sat on the floor beside Rick, hugging herself. The boards were cold under her palms.

Rick groaned. His chest hitched like every breath was another battle. His face was bruised and swollen, lips split. She reached out, almost without thinking, brushing the damp curls from his forehead. His skin burned under her fingers.

They weren’t supposed to be like this — she and him. What they’d done back at the farm had been buried deep, tucked away under guilt and necessity. Nights when the dark was too long, something had formed and shaped them into who they were now. When the air itself seemed to beg for release — that was when she’d gone to him, or he’d come to her. Always quiet, always quick, always denied by daylight.

But now, with daddys blood still fresh in her mind, there was no denying it anymore: Rick was the only one left who understood what it meant to carry people, to lose them, to still stand somehow.

She dragged herself to her feet, moving through the house. Her boots crunched on broken glass near the window. Outside, the yard was overgrown, a swing set swallowed by vines. No walkers in sight. Just dead grass waving in the wind.

The kitchen was stripped bare — cupboards hanging open like empty mouths. She found a single can of beans under the sink, rust clinging to the edges. She popped it with her knife, ate a few bites cold. The taste turned her stomach, but she forced it down. She’d need her strength if Rick couldn’t get back on his feet.

When she returned to the living room, he was still half-asleep, chest rising shallowly. The sound of his breathing filled the silence.

She sat beside him on the couch this time, staring at the ceiling where water stains bloomed in ugly shapes. “You can’t leave me here,” she whispered. “Not after all of it. Not after…” Her throat closed up.

Rick’s hand twitched, brushing against hers where it rested on the cushion. His fingers were cracked, dirt ground into the lines. She covered them with her own.

The memories came like a tide she couldn’t stop — the barn at the farm, straw sticking in her hair, his body pressed close. The way he’d whispered her name like it was a sin he couldn’t stop committing. Back then it had been heat and fear, but also comfort. Now it threatened to pull her under entirely.

She pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, eyes burning. “I don’t know how to do this without them. Without you.”

For a long time, the only answer was the rasp of his breath.

Then Rick stirred, voice broken and raw. “Maggie…”

She lifted her head quick, her name in his mouth like a spark. His eyes were open, cloudy but searching. He tried to push himself up, but the effort made him collapse back.

“Don’t,” she said, firm, pushing him down by the shoulder. “You need to rest.”

He gave a rough laugh that turned into a cough. “Rest. In this world?”

The sound clawed at her chest. He was right — rest was a lie. There was no stopping, no soft place to land. And yet here they were, in a stranger’s house, caught in a fragile moment that could shatter at any second.

“I’ll watch,” she said. “You sleep.”

But she didn’t sleep either. Hours stretched like wire. She checked the windows, paced the rooms, came back to sit near him. Every creak of the house sounded like footsteps. Every gust of wind a groan of walkers. Her body buzzed with exhaustion, but her mind refused to shut off.

She thought of Glenn. She thought of daddy. She thought of Beth’s voice calling her name and then disappearing into the chaos. Each memory was a knife twisting deeper.

And through it all, Rick’s presence anchored her. The rise and fall of his chest, the occasional groan, the way his hand twitched like he was dreaming of holding something.

By morning, light slanted through the broken blinds, cutting the dust into gold lines. Maggie sat at the edge of the couch, staring at him. He was still alive. Barely.

Her heart clenched with something sharp, dangerous. If she lost him too, she wouldn’t just break — she’d unravel until there was nothing left.

She leaned down, her lips almost brushing his ear. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The confession sat heavy between them, a weight she couldn’t take back.

 

Rick woke in fits and starts, his body fighting itself. Each cough rattled his ribs. Each grimace carved deeper lines into his battered face. Maggie sat beside him, restless, worn thin by silence. The house groaned around them, and she felt caged inside it, like all her grief had been nailed into the walls.

When his eyes finally found hers — clear for once, if only a moment — it sent a sharp pang through her chest.

“You’re still here,” he rasped.

“Where else would I go?” Her voice came out harsher than she meant. She wanted to pull it back, but there was no use. Truth tasted bitter on her tongue. “Everybody’s gone, Rick. Daddy… Beth… Glenn.” His name broke, splintering into air.

His hand twitched against hers on the couch, a small squeeze. It undid her. The strength she had been clutching to her chest spilled out like water through broken glass.

She bowed her head, pressing her forehead to the rough fabric of his shirt. He smelled of smoke and sweat, of blood dried into cotton. “I can’t lose you too.”

His breath hitched. “Maggie…”

Her name in his mouth tore her open. She lifted her head. His eyes burned with something she’d seen before — back at the farm, in the barn, when both of them had been so damn tired of fighting against themselves. She remembered the straw clinging to her hair, the quick desperate fumbles in the dark, the way his weight had pressed her down until she could almost forget the world outside.

She shouldn’t. God, she shouldn’t. But the world was ash now, and all that was left was need.

When his hand came up to cup her cheek, she leaned into it before she could stop herself. The scrape of his calluses, the heat of his skin — it was enough to burn.

And then his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It was broken, bruising, a clash of teeth and desperation. She tasted blood on his lip, her own tears on her tongue. The kiss was everything they weren’t supposed to have and everything they’d always reached for in the dark anyway.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer even though he winced with pain. His chest pressed against hers, shallow breaths grinding between them.

“Maggie…” he groaned into her mouth, and that sound unraveled the last tether holding her back.

She climbed onto him, straddling his lap. The couch creaked under their weight. His hands slid down to her hips, gripping tight, like he needed to remind himself she was solid, alive. She rocked against him, and even through layers of dirt and cloth, she felt him hardening beneath her.

The shock of it hit her like fire in her veins. She broke the kiss only to suck in air, but her body kept moving, grinding against him, chasing heat.

“Fuck,” she gasped, the word raw, a prayer and a curse all at once.

His fingers dug into her thighs. “Been thinkin’… about this….” His voice broke on the memory, low and rough.

“So have I,” she admitted, shame burning hot in her chest, but it only made her press harder, roll her hips until slick heat pooled between her legs and dampened her underwear. She needed him inside her, needed to feel something other than grief.

She shoved at his shirt, exposing bruised skin, scars and fresh cuts. He hissed when she touched the worst of them, but he didn’t push her away. He never had.

Her hands trembled as she unbuckled his belt. The sound of it coming loose was too loud in the quiet room. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, veins standing out along the length. She wrapped her hand around him, and he groaned, head falling back against the couch.

“Maggie…”

The way he said her name — torn, hungry — made her slick with need. She rubbed the head of his cock against the wet crotch of her underwear, smearing herself across him. The friction made her gasp, her thighs shaking.

“God, you’re so wet,” he rasped, voice hoarse with awe.

“For you,” she whispered, shame and desire tangled, her whole body aching with it. “Always for you.”

She shoved her underwear aside and sank down onto him in one desperate push.

The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, but it grounded her in a way nothing else could. She moaned, deep and broken, as his cock filled her, slick heat swallowing him inch by inch until he was buried inside her.

Rick’s hands flew to her hips, holding her still. His face twisted, caught between pleasure and pain. “Jesus Christ, Maggie…”

She leaned forward, forehead pressed to his, panting. “Don’t stop me. Don’t you dare stop me.”

And then she moved.

She rocked against him, slow at first, each slide of his cock dragging slick and wet through her walls. The sensation tore a cry from her throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth like someone might hear — though there was no one left. No one but him.

Rick’s grip tightened, guiding her movements, forcing her down harder, deeper. Each thrust made the couch groan, each roll of her hips a wet slap echoing in the quiet.

Her vision blurred with tears, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t just sex — it was survival, it was grief given form, it was the only way left to prove they were alive.

His mouth found her neck, teeth scraping, sucking bruises into her skin. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, grinding faster.

“Harder,” she begged, voice ragged. “Fuck me harder, Rick.”

And he did — his hips thrusting up to meet her, cock slamming into her wet heat, making her cry out with every snap. Slick coated his length, dripping down her thighs, soaking into the couch beneath them.

Her body clenched tight around him, shudders wracking her frame. She couldn’t hold back, couldn’t pretend she didn’t want this more than anything.

“I’m close,” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, Rick—”

He kissed her hard, swallowing her moans, thrusting faster, harder, until she shattered around him. Her walls clamped down, milking his cock, slick spilling over his thighs as she came undone in his arms.

He groaned, breaking the kiss, forehead pressed to hers as he fucked her through it, chasing his own release. “Gonna cum inside you,” he growled, desperate. “Can’t hold it.”

“Yes,” she gasped, rocking against him. “Please, Rick, do it — fill me.”

With a strangled cry, he thrust deep and spilled into her, cock pulsing hot inside her walls. She felt the rush of his release, thick and wet, mixing with her own. It sent another shiver ripping through her, leaving her trembling.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just panting, clinging to each other, covered in sweat and grief and need.

Maggie buried her face against his neck, his scent filling her lungs. “Don’t you leave me,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His arms tightened around her, a vow in the way he held her close. “Not as long as I’ve got breath in me.”

The house creaked, the world outside still waiting to break them — but for now, in the wreckage, they were alive.

Alive, and tangled in each other.

 

The morning crept in thin and gray, light seeping through broken blinds like smoke. Maggie had barely slept. Her body still ached, the echo of last night lingering in her muscles and between her thighs. She had clung to Rick through the hours of darkness, listening to his breathing, steady but fragile. Each rise and fall of his chest was a reminder that he was still alive, and that had to be enough.

Now, though, she couldn’t ignore the hunger gnawing at her belly or the dryness cracking her lips. The can of beans she’d forced down yesterday was gone, and Rick hadn’t eaten at all.

She eased off the couch, pulling on her boots. Her hands shook as she checked the knife on her belt, then the pistol she’d scavenged from a drawer. Two bullets left. Not much, but enough if she aimed straight.

Behind her, Rick stirred. His voice was low, rough. “Where’re you goin’?”

She froze, then turned. He was awake, eyes bloodshot, face pale under bruises. He looked weaker than he wanted her to believe, the kind of weak that made her chest ache to see.

“Out,” she said simply. “We need food. Water. Anything.”

Rick tried to push himself upright, teeth grit as his ribs protested. “Then I’ll come with you.”

She was at his side in two steps, pressing him back down with a hand against his chest. His breath hitched sharp, pain flashing in his eyes, but he still tried to push against her.

“You’re not ready,” she snapped. “You can barely stand, Rick. You can’t run. You can’t fight the way you are. If something happens out there—”

His jaw tightened. “If somethin’ happens, you won’t stand a chance alone.”

The words stung, even if she knew they came from fear more than insult. She swallowed hard. “I’ll manage. I’ve been managing a long time.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, a battle waged in silence. His eyes were fierce, demanding, but his body betrayed him — every shallow breath, every tremor in his hand.

Finally, Maggie softened her voice. “You’ll only slow me down. And I can’t risk losing you out there. Not when you’re already half-dead.”

Rick’s mouth opened, then closed again. His shoulders sagged, defeat dragging him back into the couch cushions.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, the curls damp with sweat. “Let me do this. Just rest. I’ll be back before dark.”

“You promise?” His voice cracked in a way that undid her.

“I promise.” She pressed her lips to his forehead, tasting salt and ash. “I’ll be fine.”

His hand caught hers before she pulled away, fingers squeezing with surprising strength. “Be careful, Maggie.”

“I always am.” It was a lie, but one he needed to hear.

 

The air outside was cold, sharp in her lungs. Maggie tightened her grip on the knife, scanning the street. The houses sagged with rot, paint peeling, windows broken. The world smelled of mildew and rust, a town gutted by time and death.

She moved fast, boots crunching on gravel, every nerve wound tight. Twice she ducked behind hedges at the sound of walkers shuffling, waiting until the groans faded. Her hands itched with the urge to run back to Rick, but she forced herself forward. He needed food. He needed water. And she was the only one who could get it.

The first house she searched had nothing but broken furniture and a few cans of paint. The second smelled of rot, a body collapsed in the kitchen, skull caved in years ago. Maggie scavenged a half-full bottle of bleach and shoved it into her pack anyway. Sterile was sterile.

By the time she reached the third house, her throat was dry, heart hammering. She kicked the door in, knife ready, and froze. Silence. No walkers. Just dust and the faint scent of mildew.

The kitchen cupboards had been raided, but under the sink she found a miracle: a crate of bottled water. Some of the seals were cracked, but four bottles were still good. She stuffed them into her bag, the weight almost too much to carry but too precious to leave behind.

In a drawer she found two cans of peaches, labels faded but intact. Her hands shook as she clutched them, tears burning her eyes. It felt like salvation.

The sound of glass breaking made her whip around. A walker stumbled through the hallway, jaw slack, arms reaching. Maggie’s pulse spiked.

“Shit.”

She lunged forward, knife flashing. The blade sank into its skull with a sickening crunch, the body crumpling at her feet. She yanked the knife free, panting, chest heaving. The blood smeared across her hand smelled like iron and rot.

Her vision blurred. For a moment she saw her father’s head again, rolling, the sound of his body hitting dirt. She squeezed her eyes shut, shoving the image back into the dark. Not now.

By the time she made it back to the safe house, the sun was dipping low, shadows long across the street. Her pack dug into her shoulders, bottles clinking with every step. She was trembling, more from relief than exhaustion.

Rick was half-sitting when she pushed through the door, eyes wide with fear that softened the second he saw her.

“You’re back,” he breathed, like he hadn’t believed she would be.

She dropped the pack on the table, pulling out the bottles of water and cans. “Food. Water. Even bleach.” Her smile was small, brittle, but real.

Rick stared at the bounty like it was gold. “How the hell…?”

“I got lucky.” She cracked a bottle open and pressed it into his hand. “Drink.”

He did, water spilling down his chin. She wiped it away without thinking, thumb brushing against his beard. He caught her wrist, holding her there.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone.” His voice was raw, conviction burning through the weakness. “It should be me takin’ care of you.”

Maggie swallowed hard, shaking her head. “You are. Just by being alive. By not giving up. That’s enough for me.”

He looked at her like she was something holy and broken all at once, eyes glistening in the dim light. His thumb stroked her wrist, slow, deliberate.

“I don’t deserve you carryin’ me like this,” he whispered.

Her throat closed up, the ache of loss clawing at her again. “Maybe not. But I need you, Rick. More than I need air, more than I need food. So let me carry you for now. Because if I don’t…” Her voice cracked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “If I don’t, I’ll lose everything I have left.”

He pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her as tight as his strength allowed. She buried her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Fragile. Mortal. But still there.

And in that moment, she knew she’d fight the whole dead world if it meant keeping it beating.

Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Shadows and Hunger

The house had grown quieter with each passing day, until it felt like it existed only for the two of them. Rick had stayed mostly on the couch, resting as Maggie moved through the rooms like a shadow, organizing what little supplies they had scavenged. Every creak in the floorboards, every gust of wind rattling the broken windows, made her flinch. She couldn’t let herself relax — not while the world outside still held teeth, and not while Rick was so fragile.

The first morning after they’d settled into some routine, Maggie checked the cupboards and found them nearly bare. She tucked her knife into her belt and left, telling Rick she’d be back soon. He protested at the door, voice ragged, throat hoarse. “I should be goin’ with you.”

“You’re staying,” she snapped, more firmly than she intended. His shoulder brushed hers as he tried to rise, but she pushed him back. “You’re barely standing, Rick. One wrong step and you’re dead before you even leave the house. I promise, I’ll be fine. Just rest.”

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tight, but finally sank back onto the couch, one hand pressed over the pain in his ribs. Maggie swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. She hated leaving him. Every step outside the door felt like abandoning a part of herself.

The world outside had turned brittle. Streets were littered with cars, some overturned, windows cracked. Sidewalks were cracked with weeds pushing through. Every house she approached seemed hollowed out, silent except for the occasional shuffle of a walker or the distant wail of the wind through broken siding. Maggie moved fast, scanning every corner, every shadow, every roofline. She felt like she was being watched, though it was just the echo of her own paranoia.

At the first house she scavenged, she found a few cans of beans, a bottle of water, and an old backpack to carry them in. The second had been looted, though under a loose floorboard she discovered a cracked but salvageable jar of peaches. She tucked it into the bag and paused. Her fingers brushed the dusty wood, and her mind flashed to Beth — her little sister’s laughter, the way she’d sing quietly to herself in the morning before the world went wrong. Maggie’s chest tightened. She pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing back a sob she couldn’t afford to let out.

By the time she reached the third house, the afternoon sun had sunk low. She kicked the door open slowly, knife ready. Dust hung in the air like smoke from a fire long gone. A walker lurched in the corner, thin and reeking. Maggie’s knife flashed, blade sinking into its skull with a sickening crunch. Its body slumped to the floor, and her boots crunched over the dried leaves that had worked their way inside the house through broken windows.

She noticed a pair of canned goods on the shelf, half-buried under fallen plaster. Beans, corn — not much, but enough to keep them alive another day.

As she turned to leave, she caught her reflection in a shattered mirror. Her eyes were rimmed with red, cheeks streaked with ash and sweat, hair matted. She didn’t even recognize herself anymore. For a moment, grief clawed through her chest. Beth. Daddy. The prison. Everything that had been left behind, everything ripped apart, swallowed in the chaos. She stumbled out into the street, shoving the bag against her shoulder, tasting the dust in her mouth.

When she rounded the corner toward the house, a figure appeared before her, half-shadow, half-movement. Her stomach dropped. It was Rick, standing in the middle of the street. His face was tense, eyes wide, hand resting on the grip of a pistol.

“Go,” he barked. “Go, now.”

“What?” Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Don’t stop. Just keep moving.”

Her knees wobbled, fear coiling through her like a live thing. “Are you—”

“No time,” he said sharply, grabbing her arm for a moment, then letting go. “I’ll follow. Just—move.”

Maggie swallowed hard, adjusting the pack. She could see it now — shadows flickering through the broken windows of their safe house, figures moving too smoothly, too purposefully to be walkers. Her mind raced. Whoever it was, they weren’t coming in peace.

Without another word, she nodded and started down the road. Rick followed closely behind, his steps uneven but steady. The pack weighed against her shoulder, bottles clinking, the knife in her belt ready for anything. Every sense was on high alert.

The road stretched empty for miles. Maggie’s thoughts churned, refusing to let her just walk. Beth. Daddy. The prison. The life that had been burned away. Each memory was a shard cutting through the haze of survival. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, willing herself to keep moving. Rick’s hand brushed hers once as he adjusted his footing, and the touch was grounding — a tether in a world gone feral.

By the time twilight fell fully, they found a small clearing in the woods. Maggie knelt first, inspecting the ground, choosing a place that gave cover yet visibility. Rick sank onto a fallen log, exhaustion cracking his face.

“I’ll make a fire,” she said softly, setting down the pack. She scraped together twigs, leaves, anything that could spark a flame. She struck flint and watched the tiny sparks catch, coaxing them into life. The warmth was small, but it felt like a tiny victory.

Rick was quiet, eyes hooded, watching her work. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he muttered, voice rough.

“I told you,” she said without looking at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re carrying too much,” he said. His gaze sharpened, flicking to the pack. “Let me take some of it.”

She shook her head, setting the food and bottles down. “I can handle it, Rick. You heal. That’s what matters.”

He groaned, pressing a hand over his ribs. “I should be taking care of you. I should—”

“You are,” she interrupted, softer now, kneeling by the small fire. “Just by being alive. By surviving. That’s all I need right now.”

The wind rustled through the trees. Shadows lengthened. Maggie felt the weight of the past days pressing into her again — Beth’s voice calling, Daddys steady hands, the prison’s walls echoing with laughter and fear. Each memory cut like a knife. She crouched by the fire, hugging her knees to her chest.

Rick shuffled closer and sat beside her, though he stayed silent, letting her grief spill into the night. The warmth of his presence was enough for now. She could feel him listening, holding space, giving her the permission to break down without fear.

“I can’t…” Maggie whispered into the dark, voice trembling. “I can’t lose anyone else. Not after everything.”

Rick’s hand found hers, rough and calloused, brushing against her knuckles. “You won’t,” he said. His voice was quiet but certain. “I won’t let you.”

She nodded, letting herself lean against him, tears slipping down her face. The fire crackled between them, tiny flames holding back the dark, fragile as hope.

Night fell fully, and the world was silent except for the fire and their breathing. Maggie closed her eyes, trying to still the whirl of memories, the ache of grief. She let herself feel it all — Beth, Daddy, her life burned away — and yet, somehow, she also let herself feel the tether to Rick, the pulse of survival in his presence.

The road behind them was long, empty, and full of danger. But for this night, in the woods, with the fire between them, Maggie allowed herself a fragile sense of safety.

She knew tomorrow they would walk again, scavenging, hiding, surviving. She knew the world had teeth, and it would bite. But tonight, she could breathe. Tonight, she could cling to the only thing that felt like a thread to life: Rick.

And that, she decided, would have to be enough.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15: The Teeth of Survival

The woods had a silence that gnawed at Maggie’s bones. It was the kind of silence that pressed against her skull, stretching taut the membrane of her nerves until every snapped twig, every whisper of wind through branches, felt like a blade against skin. She hadn’t spoken much in days. Neither had Rick. There was only the rhythm of their feet, the rasp of their breaths, and the unending ache of absence inside her chest. Beth. Daddy. The prison. All of it burned down, shattered, stripped away.

And still, somehow, she walked.

Rick had healed enough to move, though every shift of his ribs still seemed to pull the breath out of him. He didn’t complain. Didn’t wince. Just carried that taut mask across his face, jaw always clenched, eyes always sweeping the treeline like a feral thing daring the world to challenge him. Maggie had begun to realize that Rick wasn’t simply surviving anymore. He was sharpening. Hardening into something beyond human.

That night, they’d camped in the underbrush a mile off the road. A thin fire smoldered low between them, throwing light up across Rick’s gaunt cheekbones. Maggie sat hunched, knees to her chest, watching sparks climb and disappear into the canopy. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing Beth’s small face, pale and still, though she hadn’t even seen her die. She imagined it anyway. Imagined her daddy’s body on that prison floor. Imagined Hershel’s voice cut short in blood.

The grief was bottomless, but there was no time to drown in it. The world wouldn’t stop for her tears.

Rick noticed. She could feel the weight of his gaze sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking. Not gentle, not pitying—just watchful. As if he was measuring whether she’d hold or break.

They’d been silent for hours when it happened. The sound.

Bootsteps. Heavy, deliberate, crushing through brush instead of gliding like prey. Maggie stiffened, hand going for the knife at her belt, eyes darting to Rick. His face had gone still in a way that made her skin crawl—blank, but with something violent simmering just under.

He leaned close, whisper low and sharp: “Stay behind me. Don’t move until I say.”

The footsteps grew louder, more of them now, voices like gravel and smoke breaking the night. Men. At least half a dozen. Maggie’s gut clenched. She thought of the Governor’s men. Thought of Woodbury. Thought of men with eyes that treated women as spoils.

Shapes emerged from the dark, lanterns swinging. Seven of them, broad-shouldered, dirty, with grins that peeled back lips to show broken teeth. They carried rifles and clubs like they owned the trees.

“Lookee here,” one drawled. His beard was matted, his shirt stained with grease and something darker. “Couple strays.”

Rick didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Maggie’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face hard.

Another man stepped forward, bigger than the rest, with a cruel smile and eyes that lingered too long on Maggie. “Well, hell. Ain’t this our lucky night.”

Maggie’s stomach turned, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, not looking away. She’d learned enough from her daddy to know that showing fear was blood in the water. Still, her hand tightened on her knife until the hilt bit her palm.

The leader Joe, she thought she heard one of the others call him spread his arms like a preacher at the pulpit. “Now, we got ourselves some rules. We claim what we find. That means your fire, your gear—” His eyes flicked back to Maggie, hungry. “—and her.”

The men chuckled low, the sound rustling through the leaves like rot. Maggie felt bile rise in her throat, but she held her ground. Her grief curdled into something sharp and burning.

 

Maggie couldn’t breathe. The man’s hand was hot and rough against her cheek, his grip forcing her face upward as if she were nothing more than a carcass pinned for slaughter. His breath reeked of rot and stale meat, the sour tang of whiskey burning her nostrils as he laughed in her ear.

 

Maggie’s body twisted, but the Claimers closed in like wolves, their shadows blotting out the moonlight. One of them grabbed her wrists, another pawed at her jacket, fumbling to strip her down. Panic burned through her veins, and for a moment she thought she might split apart from the weight of terror.

Her gaze shot across the circle—Rick, pinned, straining against two men, his face pressed into the dirt. His arms jerked violently, blood slicking his knuckles from where he had fought them to the last. He saw her. God, he saw everything.

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them. Not words, not even thought—just raw, pulsing intent.

And then it happened.

Rick moved with the suddenness of a predator loosed from its chain. His head reared back, his jaw clamped, and before the man holding him could even react, Rick lunged forward—teeth sinking deep into the thick flesh of Joe’s throat.

The sound was obscene. Wet. Tearing. A hot gurgle of blood erupted across Rick’s mouth and beard as Joe’s strangled cry split the night.

Maggie froze, her own scream trapped in her chest, as she watched Rick rip the man open with nothing but his teeth.

Joe stumbled backward, clutching the wound, his eyes wide in shock as he choked on his own lifeblood. Rick spat the chunk of flesh onto the ground, his face drenched crimson, his chest heaving like a wild animal unbound.

The Claimers shouted, panic breaking their circle, but it was too late.

Rick was already on the next one.

Maggie’s captor loosened his grip, stunned by the spectacle, and that tiny hesitation was all she needed. She drove her knee upward, slamming into his groin, and tore her wrist free. Her fists connected with his jaw, the bones in her knuckles screaming with pain, but she didn’t care—she needed him off her.

“Rick!” she gasped, voice shredded with terror.

Rick heard nothing. Or maybe he heard everything—her voice, the threat, the blood—because his movements grew more frenzied. He slammed the second man’s head into the dirt, over and over, until it was nothing but a wet ruin.

The third lunged for Maggie again, knife flashing, but she ducked instinctively, grabbing a rock from the ground. She swung it into his temple, the crack reverberating up her arm, and he staggered. Before she could strike again, Rick was there, tearing him off her, driving the knife into his chest with a grunt so deep it sounded like it came from the earth itself.

 

The other men shouted, surged forward, weapons raised. Maggie’s shock burned away into raw instinct. She leapt up, knife flashing, slashing across the arm of the first man that grabbed for her. Blood spattered her face, hot and metallic.

He didn’t look like Rick anymore. He looked like the walkers. Like death wearing skin.

 

Maggie staggered back, breath ragged, but another Claimer swung a bat at her head. She ducked, slashing low, the knife plunging into his thigh. He screamed, toppled, and she drove the blade again into his throat. Warm spray blinded her, but she didn’t stop until he stilled.

Rick tore through them with no hesitation, no mercy. One man’s skull shattered against a tree. Another’s ribs caved under the butt of Rick’s pistol. He moved like a storm given flesh, every strike fueled by something beyond rage.

By the time the last man tried to run, Rick was already on him, dragging him down into the dirt. Maggie turned away, but the wet crunch that followed told her enough.

 

Silence crashed down again, heavier than before. The fire crackled weakly, throwing light across the carnage. Blood slicked the ground, the trees, their skin.

Rick stood in the center of it, chest heaving, his face and beard soaked scarlet. His eyes found Maggie through the haze of violence, and for a moment, she swore she saw the walker in him the predator that didn’t care about humanity anymore.

Her stomach twisted. Fear prickled hot against her grief. And yet she wasn’t afraid of him. Not really.

She was afraid of what he meant. What he showed her about survival.

Rick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the gore across his cheek. He stepped toward her slowly, each breath ragged, but his gaze softer now, searching her face as though to ask if she was still with him.

Maggie’s knife slipped from her hand into the dirt. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, eyes blurring. Not from fear. From everything. Beth’s absence. Daddy voice gone. Now this—the final nail in the coffin of who they used to be.

The world had stripped them bare, and this was what survival looked like. Teeth and blood and the feral will to tear out a man’s throat.

Maggie sank down onto her knees, shaking. Rick crouched in front of her, hand hovering like he wanted to touch her but didn’t dare. His voice, when it came, was hoarse and raw.

“They won’t touch you,” he said. “Not ever. Not while I’m breathing.”

Maggie lifted her eyes to him through tears, and she believed him. God help her, she believed him.

Maggie closed her eyes, tears sliding down her blood-smeared cheeks. The corpses around them stank of iron and shit, the earth soaked in red. But all she could feel was the thrum of Rick’s heartbeat against her own, the savage covenant sealed in blood between them.

The world was gone. Everything she thought she’d ever have was gone.

But Rick—Rick was still here.

And in this moment, kneeling in the wreckage of the Claimers’ bodies, Maggie understood something terrible and irrevocable.

She belonged to him. To his violence. To his survival.

To the monster who had saved her life.

Chapter 16: Ashes in Their Mouths

Maggie couldn’t wash the blood away.

It clung to her skin, tacky beneath her nails, smeared across her throat where Joe’s hand had pressed her down. Even after she’d splashed water from her canteen over herself, even after she rubbed her palms raw with dirt, the stink of iron and sweat clung like a second skin.

Rick didn’t try to clean himself. He walked ahead of her along the broken road, shoulders rigid, hands flexing as if the memory of knives and throats still trembled through his tendons. His shirt was stiff with gore. His beard gleamed wet in patches where Joe’s lifeblood had dried into clots.

He looked like a revenant—something clawed up out of a grave, set walking by rage alone.

Maggie followed because she didn’t know how not to.

The Claimers’ bodies were still cooling in the woods behind them. She hadn’t looked at their faces before she turned away; she couldn’t. She’d seen enough, the images burned into her head. The way Rick’s teeth had sunk into Joe’s neck. The tearing sound. The spray. The animal snarl that had torn from Rick’s chest like it wasn’t made by a man at all.

Every blink brought it back.

Every blink brought Beth too—Beth’s wide, desperate eyes when the prison fell, Beth’s laughter on the farm, Beth’s voice in song. Hershel’s hand resting warm on her shoulder. Glenn’s crooked grin when he promised her they’d make it.

They were gone. All of them.

And Maggie had only Rick now.

Her boots dragged on the asphalt, her body heavy with exhaustion and grief, but her mind wouldn’t let her collapse. She kept her eyes on his back, the sway of his shoulders, the deliberate roll of each step. If he faltered, she’d see it. If he broke, she’d know it.

At dusk, Rick slowed and finally stopped near the treeline. “We’ll camp here,” he said hoarsely, his voice sandpapered down by blood and screams.

Maggie dropped her pack, knees giving way as she sat hard against a fallen log. The woods around them breathed heavy with summer insects, thick and buzzing, as though nothing had changed, as though the earth itself hadn’t just been drenched in slaughter.

Rick crouched by a patch of dirt, his movements sharp and restless. He cleared a space for a fire but didn’t strike it yet. His hands shook too much.

Maggie swallowed hard, her throat raw. “You saved me.”

The words broke the silence like brittle glass, but she couldn’t stop them. They pressed out of her chest, too heavy to hold.

Rick froze. His shoulders locked, his head bowed, and for a long moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, slowly, he lifted his face to her.

His eyes were wrecked things—bloodshot, hollow, fevered.

“I had to,” he whispered. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching. “Didn’t matter what I had to do. You—” His breath hitched. “I couldn’t let them—”

His voice broke clean in two. He dropped his gaze, fingers digging into the dirt as if trying to ground himself before he split open completely.

Maggie stared at him. This man who’d torn another’s throat out with his teeth. This man who’d saved her, who was dripping blood because of her.

Something inside her twisted, sharp and awful. A part of her wanted to weep, to collapse into his arms, to let the horror out in sobs until nothing was left. Another part wanted to run—far, fast, never look back. Because what did it mean, to be saved by a man who could do that?

She pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her face into them, and the sob finally clawed its way out. It was ugly, ragged, loud in the still woods.

Rick didn’t move at first. She could feel his stare heavy on her, burning through the crown of her bowed head. Then she heard it—the slow scrape of his boots, the shift of his weight. He came closer, hesitating, then sat down against the log beside her.

His arm brushed hers. Warm. Trembling. Human, for all the monster she’d seen.

“You’re alive,” Rick murmured. He said it like a vow, like a prayer, like he was speaking it into the bones of the earth itself.

Maggie turned her head, eyes wet and swollen, meeting his stare through the blur. He was still smeared in red. His lips were cracked, stained. She should’ve flinched. She should’ve hated him.

But she didn’t.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, the fabric stiff with drying blood, and let the tears fall.

 

The fire never came. Rick scraped the ground bare, cleared a circle, gathered twigs. But when it came time to strike a spark, he stared at the tinder like it was a grave he couldn’t bring himself to dig. His hands hovered, then fell limp at his sides.

The night pressed thick around them, heavy with heat and insect hum. No moonlight broke through the trees. They were buried in shadows, two blood-soaked souls with nothing but silence between them.

Maggie lay on her side against the log, her arms wrapped tight around herself, as if she could hold her body together against the jagged edge of memory. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every time she shut her eyes, Beth’s face surfaced—her baby sister’s wide, blue eyes staring, lips trembling. Sometimes Beth screamed in her dreams. Sometimes she sang.

Maggie opened her eyes again, throat tight, chest aching.

Rick sat a few feet away, elbows balanced on his knees, head bowed low. His fingers kept twitching, curling into fists, opening again. Every so often, his jaw clenched so hard she could hear the teeth grind.

She wanted to speak. To say thank you. To say I’m scared. To say I don’t know who you are anymore.

Instead, she whispered, “I keep seeing them.”

Rick lifted his head slowly. His eyes glimmered faint in the dark, hollow but sharp. “The Claimers?”

Her throat bobbed. “Beth. Daddy. Glenn.” The last name tore itself out of her, raw as an open wound.

Rick’s face shifted—grief passing through it like stormcloud shadow. His hand dragged across his beard, smearing blood that had already dried into his skin. “I see Lori. Carl’s mama. Every night.” His voice dropped lower. “And Shane. And all the ones I killed.”

Maggie shuddered. The words felt like stones tumbling into the space between them. Heavy, immovable.

“You did what you had to,” she whispered.

Rick’s lips pressed tight. His gaze drifted to his hands, scarred and smeared. “That’s what I keep telling myself.” His voice cracked. “But tonight—tonight I didn’t even think. I just—” His breath caught, ragged. “I bit him. Like an animal.”

Maggie flinched, remembering the hot gush, the tearing sound. The blood on his teeth.

“You saved me,” she said again, sharper this time, forcing the words into him like nails hammered deep.

Rick looked at her, eyes wild and broken all at once. “Maybe I lost myself to do it.”

The silence stretched. Maggie’s chest heaved. And then, softly, she leaned toward him. Her shoulder pressed against his, her head resting on the stiff line of his arm. She felt him stiffen, then slowly ease, his breath falling heavier.

Neither spoke again. They sat until dawn bled pale over the treetops.

 

---

When morning came, Maggie’s bones ached like she’d been beaten. Her stomach growled, dry and sour, but she had no appetite. She shoved the last half of a stale protein bar into her mouth anyway. The taste turned to dust on her tongue.

Rick hadn’t slept. She could tell from the way his eyes looked—red-rimmed, sunken. He splashed water over his face from the canteen, but it only streaked the blood into thinner rivulets. His shirt was stiff with it.

“You should change,” Maggie said hoarsely, pulling her pack onto her shoulders.

Rick’s mouth twitched, almost a laugh. “Ain’t got much else.”

He fell in step beside her as they pushed back onto the road. The asphalt stretched endless, shimmering under the heat, bordered by woods that whispered and shifted with things unseen. Every crow-call made Maggie’s skin prickle.

Hours passed. Sweat glued her shirt to her back, her boots rubbed raw against her heels. Rick limped slightly—an old wound, half-healed—but he didn’t complain. He just kept moving, like momentum was the only thing keeping him from collapse.

Around midday, they ducked into the trees, scavenging. Maggie found a half-crushed case of bottled water beneath a toppled billboard, the plastic gritty with dirt. Her throat almost closed with relief. She carried it back to Rick, shoving one into his hands.

He twisted the cap, downed half in one gulp, then looked at her. His expression softened, the hardness melting for just a moment. “I should be takin’ care of you,” he rasped.

The words pierced her chest. For a heartbeat, she wanted to scream at him. My daddy should be here. Beth should be here. No one should have to take care of me, because they should all still be alive.

But her mouth trembled, and all that came out was, “You already did.”

Rick’s gaze held hers. Something fierce and fragile burned there, something that terrified her more than the blood on his teeth. He nodded once, slow, like he accepted her words but didn’t believe them.

They walked on.

By dusk, Maggie’s legs felt carved from stone. Rick found a shallow hollow near a stream and gestured for them to stop. They spread out their meager supplies—two bottles of water, the last can of beans, a few stale crackers. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

When they finished, Maggie sat cross-legged, staring at the stream glinting faint with dying light. Her reflection wavered in the ripples—gaunt face, hollow eyes, hair tangled and streaked with dirt. She barely recognized herself.

Beth’s reflection shimmered there too, just for a heartbeat. Young. Soft. Still singing.

Maggie’s breath hitched, and she looked away hard, pressing her nails into her palms until they left crescent moons.

Rick’s voice cut through the stillness. “We’ll keep moving. Find others. We will.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to let his words stitch up the holes inside her. But the grief was a weight too heavy, pressing her down into the dirt.

Her head fell into her hands, shoulders shaking. The sobs came, broken and raw. She couldn’t stop them.

Rick didn’t speak. He shifted closer, his arm wrapping awkwardly around her shoulders. His touch was heavy, trembling, warm through the chill. He held her while she wept into the crook of his neck, his beard scratching her temple.

And in the hollow of her grief, in the shadow of his savagery, Maggie realized something that sickened and steadied her all at once.

The world had stripped them both down to bone and blood. There was no one else left to catch them.

So she clung to Rick, to his ruin and his strength, and told herself it would be enough.

Chapter 17: The Road Devours All

The days blurred.

Maggie lost track of time on the road. The sun rose, burned overhead, and sank, and she measured her life in footsteps, in the ache of her legs, in the parched rasp of her throat. Each morning, she woke to the smell of dried blood on her clothes. Each night, she curled beneath the trees, haunted by screams that weren’t there anymore.

Rick stayed near her, always a step ahead or a half step behind. He moved like a man wound too tight, ready to strike at shadows. His eyes scanned the edges of the woods, his fingers brushing the knife at his belt whenever branches shifted.

Maggie didn’t know if he slept. Sometimes she woke in the dark to see him sitting upright, head bowed, shoulders coiled. A sentry, or a man afraid of closing his eyes.

The road devoured them slowly.

They scavenged where they could—half-empty gas stations, wrecked cars, a ransacked farmhouse where the wallpaper still bore pictures of smiling children. Maggie found a jar of peaches once, hidden behind a stack of overturned dishes. She and Rick shared it in silence, the syrup sticky on their fingers, the sweetness almost painful after so long without.

Other days brought nothing. Empty shelves. Empty roads. Empty bellies.

Maggie’s grief hung heavy. Every sound of laughter in her memory cut her open. She saw Beth in every blonde-haired corpse, heard Glenn in the echo of every footstep behind her. She carried their ghosts with her like stones in her pockets.

But Rick—Rick was still here.

And he watched her, always. Sometimes she caught his eyes on her when she wasn’t looking—sharp, unreadable, as though he were trying to hold her together by will alone.

One night, after a long silence broken only by crickets, he rasped, “You holdin’ up?”

The question nearly undid her. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t, that she was breaking, that every step felt like dragging her father’s corpse behind her. Instead, she nodded, throat tight. “I’m still walking.”

Rick’s gaze lingered. He nodded once, but the way his jaw worked told her he didn’t believe her.

 

Three days after the massacre, they found signs.

At first it was only a boot print, pressed deep in the soft mud at the road’s edge. Maggie crouched, her hair falling into her face, staring at the outline. Too sharp, too recent.

“Someone’s been through,” she murmured.

Rick squatted beside her, his hand brushing the dirt. His eyes narrowed, tracking the direction. “Not long ago. Maybe a day.”

Her chest tightened. Hope and fear twisted together. Other survivors meant danger. Other survivors meant maybe—just maybe—not being alone.

They followed the prints. Sometimes they lost them in gravel or grass, but Rick’s hunter’s eyes picked them back up. His body carried a restless energy, his hand never far from his knife, his lips pressed in a grim line.

Maggie walked behind, her heart thudding. She prayed without words, her chest aching with it.

By dusk, they reached a clearing. The tracks ended in a trampled patch of grass where someone had sat or camped. Ashes from a fire pit lay cold, a curl of smoke long since gone.

Rick crouched low, scanning. “Not long ago. He’ll be close.”

“He?” Maggie asked, her voice cracking.

Rick’s eyes flicked to her, then back to the ground. “Boot print looks like a man’s. Heavy stride.”

Maggie’s pulse thundered. Her hands trembled where they clenched her pack straps.

She wanted it to be Glenn. God, she wanted that so bad it hurt to breathe. But Glenn was gone. She knew it in her marrow.

Still, the thought made her dizzy.

They waited near the ashes until the sky bruised into night. Rick’s patience was iron, but Maggie’s nerves frayed. Every crack in the underbrush sent her clutching her knife. Every whisper of wind made her skin crawl.

And then—footsteps.

Rick heard them first. His hand snapped up, motioning her low, his body sliding into the brush. Maggie followed, crouching, her heart hammering.

The figure came into view slowly. A man, gaunt but broad-shouldered, crossbow slung across his back, moving with the weary tension of someone who’d been on the road too long. His hair hung lank, his clothes stained.

Maggie’s breath caught in her throat.

“Daryl,” Rick rasped, voice raw.

The man froze. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing, hand flying to his weapon. But then recognition broke through—the rough features softening just slightly.

“Rick?” Daryl’s voice was gravel, disbelief threaded through it. His gaze shifted, and when it landed on Maggie, his mouth parted. “Maggie. Jesus.”

She staggered upright before she could think, her knife forgotten at her side. The sight of him—alive, real—made her knees buckle. She pressed her hand to her mouth, a sob strangling free.

Daryl moved toward her, slower than she wanted, as though afraid she might vanish if he rushed. When he stopped in front of her, she couldn’t hold back. She threw her arms around him, clutching tight, her face buried against his shoulder.

He stiffened at first—Daryl always did—but then his hand came up, rough and warm against her back. “Thought I’d lost y’all,” he muttered, voice thick.

Maggie couldn’t answer. Her tears soaked his shirt.

Rick stepped closer, his face unreadable, but his shoulders loosened for the first time in days. Relief softened his features, the wildness dimming, if only a little.

For the first time since the prison, Maggie felt something that almost resembled safety.

Not peace. Never peace. But a fragile thread, thin as spider silk, pulling them forward.

Daryl’s eyes flicked to the road behind them. “We shouldn’t stay here. Too exposed. Come on.” He motioned them toward a thin tree line, the shade offering some concealment. Maggie followed, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the brush. Every sound—snap of a twig, rustle of leaves—made her flinch. The world had taught her to expect death at every step, and she was not ready to forget.

As they moved through the trees, Maggie felt Rick’s presence at her side. Silent, watchful, protective. She leaned into it slightly, allowing herself a fleeting moment of comfort. Daryl walked ahead, silent but aware, a shadow among shadows. They had survived blood and fire, walkers and living threats alike, and still they moved. Still they breathed. Still they hoped—fragile, ragged, but unbroken.

Night fell slowly, the darkness thickening around them like a living thing. Maggie’s feet ached, her throat burned, but she kept walking, guided by Daryl’s sure steps. Finally, they came to a small clearing, dry leaves forming a natural bed. Daryl dropped his pack, gesturing for them to do the same. Maggie sank to her knees, pulling off her boots, letting the chill of the earth press against her skin. Rick leaned against a tree, eyes closed, muscles still tense even in rest.

Maggie’s mind wandered, restless, spinning through memories she didn’t want to face. She thought of Beth singing softly, Glenn smiling, her father’s quiet strength. The images brought tears to her eyes, tears she let fall freely now, without shame. Daryl didn’t speak, didn’t judge; he simply sat nearby, sharpening a blade, the soft scrape against stone oddly comforting in its simplicity.

Rick’s hand found hers again, this time resting there without words, a grounding presence. She clutched it, squeezing tightly, letting the warmth anchor her. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to breathe, to be human, to grieve without fear. The road ahead was still long, fraught with danger, but they were together. For now, that was enough.

The fire Daryl coaxed to life was small, flickering weakly, but it was enough to cook a meager meal. Maggie chewed in silence, the taste of charred meat and stale bread filling her mouth, grounding her in the present. She watched Rick and Daryl, both men hardened by loss, and felt the fragile thread of hope tighten slightly. They were not broken. Not yet.

As she lay back against the dirt, eyes on the stars barely visible through the canopy, Maggie whispered a quiet prayer—for Beth, for her father, for Glenn, and for the tenuous bond she now clung to with Rick. Survival was a cruel teacher, but it had taught her resilience, grit, and the strength to keep moving when everything inside her wanted to collapse.

Daryl’s low whistle drew her attention. “There’s a road up ahead,” he murmured. “Might lead somewhere safe… or at least someplace with supplies.” His eyes flicked to Rick, then Maggie. “We stick together. No one gets left behind.”

Maggie nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over her. She closed her eyes, letting the fire’s warmth seep into her bones, holding onto the presence of the men beside her. Tomorrow, they would walk again. Tomorrow, they would fight again. And through it all, they would survive. Together.

The road behind them was littered with death and memory, but ahead—however distant—there was possibility. Maggie clung to that sliver of hope, fragile as it was, and let sleep finally claim her, even as the night whispered of more horrors to come.

Chapter 18: Hunger and Ash

Maggie’s legs ached in a way that throbbed deep into her bones, each step along the dirt and gravel scraping at her heels like sandpaper. The sun pressed down relentlessly, burning her neck and arms through the thin fabric of her shirt, but it was the quiet, creeping exhaustion that weighed heavier than heat or thirst. She had learned to move without thinking, to step over rocks and fallen branches as though her body had memorized the route even before her mind had.

Rick walked just ahead, his broad shoulders hunched against the sun and the wind, his hands gripping the makeshift walking stick he’d fashioned from a broken branch. The sight of him gave her a small, hollow reassurance, as if presence alone could stave off the pressing fear gnawing at her gut. Daryl moved behind them, eyes darting constantly, crossbow slung at the ready, every step deliberate, silent, like a shadow carved from the trees themselves.

They had been walking for hours, though it felt like days, the landscape around them a constant blur of gray and brown. The world had been stripped bare of comfort. The silence that followed Rick’s occasional orders to check their surroundings was thick, filled only by the rasp of dry wind through dead grass and the crunch of their boots over the unforgiving earth.

Maggie felt the ache in her stomach again, the gnawing emptiness that had become a constant companion since they left the last house they’d scavenged. She tried not to think about it, tried to focus on keeping her footing, keeping pace. Every time her mind drifted, it landed on the road ahead, the vague promise of safety, and the shadows of what they had lost. She bit back the frustration that threatened to rise, forcing it down into the dry dust at her tongue. Survival didn’t have room for weakness, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

Rick glanced back at her, eyes narrowing. “You okay?” His voice was rough, low, not demanding but carrying the weight of expectation. She met his gaze, not bothering to hide the rawness in her own.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, forcing a tight nod. “Keep going. You need to rest too.”

He shook his head, a flicker of something unsaid passing through his expression, but he didn’t argue. Not yet. There was a line they had learned not to cross, the fragile boundary between care and suffocation. She had seen it in his eyes before, the need to protect her clashing with the instinct to move forward, to survive. She let him take it slowly, let the rhythm of the road become their pulse.

Daryl’s presence behind them was a constant, tense, barely perceptible. Maggie had watched him closely for days now, studying his posture, the way his eyes scanned the horizon, always alert. He didn’t speak unless he had to, and even then, it was clipped, efficient. She had learned to read him in the small gestures—the tilt of his head, the tightening of his jaw—and in them, she found a strange, unspoken reassurance. They weren’t alone, not yet.

The road curved ahead, leading them past the charred remnants of houses and abandoned cars, evidence of lives ripped apart by the world they had inherited. Maggie’s stomach clenched at the sight, but she forced herself to breathe, to focus. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. The world was still moving around them, indifferent, dangerous. They couldn’t stop, not here, not now.

By late afternoon, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in muted reds and oranges, and Maggie’s legs screamed in protest. They came to a small grove of trees and finally allowed themselves to rest. Rick immediately moved to check the area, peering through the brush with the careful precision of a man who had learned too well that danger could come from anywhere. Daryl slumped against a tree, cleaning the blade of his crossbow with methodical care, while Maggie sank to the ground, letting her back press into the rough bark.

Her fingers dug into the dirt, gripping the soil as if holding onto something tangible could anchor the world. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence wash over her. The wind stirred the leaves, whispered through the branches like faint voices, and Maggie let herself feel the exhaustion, the relentless ache that had become her constant companion.

Rick sat beside her without a word, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. The silence between them wasn’t oppressive—it was a shared understanding, a tacit acknowledgment of the hardships they had endured together. Daryl remained on the edge, alert, the faint click of his crossbow the only sound breaking the quiet.

“Food?” Maggie asked, voice hoarse. She pushed herself to her knees, glancing toward the empty packs they carried. Her stomach growled in response, a cruel reminder of their vulnerability.

Rick shook his head. “Not much left. We’ll find something tomorrow.” His tone was firm, but beneath it lay an edge of guilt, a shadow she recognized. He had always been the protector, and every day he survived while she did too carried the weight of responsibility.

Daryl grunted in agreement, scanning the horizon again. Maggie noted the way his hands flexed around the crossbow, restless, a coiled tension that never fully dissipated. She wanted to reach out, to say something, to bridge the silence, but the words never came. Survival didn’t leave room for idle conversation. It left room only for moving forward, for staying alive.

Night fell, and they made a small camp under the trees. Maggie lit a tiny fire, the smoke curling into the darkening sky. They ate sparingly—what little they had scavenged from abandoned homes along the road. The firelight cast shadows across their faces, flickering, fragile. She watched Rick’s jaw work as he chewed, eyes distant, and Daryl’s hands, never still, manipulating the straps and edges of his gear. Maggie felt the pull of exhaustion in her limbs, the heavy weight of the road pressing down, but she forced herself to eat, to drink what water they had left.

The night stretched on, a long, unbroken tension. Every rustle in the underbrush made her heart leap, every snapping twig a reminder that danger was never far. She kept her eyes open, scanning, listening, feeling the heartbeat of the world around her in every breath. Rick shifted beside her, restless even in sleep, muscles coiled like a predator. Daryl remained awake, the crossbow across his lap, eyes flicking to every shadow.

Morning came in muted light, the sky gray and heavy with clouds. Maggie rose first, quietly, tending the small fire and packing their meager belongings. Rick followed, already alert, already planning the route. Daryl’s quiet presence remained behind, but she felt him watch, waiting, protective in a way that didn’t need words.

They moved out, three figures threading their way along the road, worn and battered but unbroken. Maggie kept her gaze forward, scanning for any sign of food, water, or shelter. The wind was sharp in her face, carrying the faint scent of smoke and rot, the memory of other survivors, other dangers.

Hours passed, the monotony of walking broken only by brief stops to rest or search for supplies. Maggie’s body screamed, but she ignored it, focused on the rhythm of the road, the pulse of the world pressing them onward. She could feel Rick beside her, steady, commanding, protective. Daryl trailed behind, silent, ever-watchful.

Daryl nodded, expression unreadable, but there was a glimmer of something beneath the surface—recognition, camaraderie, trust earned in blood and shared danger. Rick relaxed slightly, still alert, but allowing the moment to breathe.

They moved together then, three figures threading the road, wary but determined. Maggie’s gaze shifted forward, catching the faint glimpse of a sign in the distance—something she didn’t fully understand yet, a word scrawled on a weathered board: “Terminus.”

The road ahead was long, uncertain, and fraught with danger, but for the first time in days, Maggie felt a spark of fragile hope. They had each other, a fragile trio bound by necessity, fear, and survival. The world pressed down, relentless and unforgiving, but together, they would face it.

Maggie tightened her grip on the strap of her pack, eyes forward, body aching, heart heavy but beating. They would keep moving. They had to. The road was theirs, for now, and Terminus waited somewhere ahead, a promise they couldn’t yet see but couldn’t ignore.

So they walked, three figures against the gray horizon, each step a battle, each breath a victory, carrying them forward into the unknown.

The road stretched ahead like a wound, a scar carved into the land that refused to close. Maggie’s boots scraped against gravel and dirt, the steady ache in her legs growing sharper with every mile. The sun pressed down with merciless weight, making sweat trickle along the back of her neck, sticking cloth to her skin. The heat and the hunger made her dizzy, but she pushed forward, eyes fixed on the wavering horizon.

Behind her came the low rasp of Rick’s breath. He wasn’t fully healed—she could hear it in the way his chest worked harder than it should, could see it in the stiffness of his movements—but he didn’t complain. He never did. He carried his pain the way he carried his gun, tightly gripped, like it was just another piece of survival.

Daryl trailed them both, crossbow slung, eyes moving constantly. He never seemed to stop scanning, never seemed to let his muscles soften even for a second. Maggie didn’t know if the man even remembered how to rest. His silence pressed against her like a weight; it wasn’t unfriendly, just heavy.

It had been two days since they’d seen the first sign. Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive. The words had looked almost foreign, painted in bright, stubborn letters as if hope itself could be nailed to a post and left to weather. She hadn’t wanted to believe in it, not after the prison, not after the smoke and blood that had followed them. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself either.

Every mile since, more signs appeared. Broken boards nailed to trees, rusted metal signs hammered crookedly into the dirt, the words repeating themselves like a prayer: Terminus.

She didn’t know if she believed in prayers anymore.

Rick slowed, resting a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was warm, grounding, but his fingers trembled slightly with the strain he tried to hide. “We should rest,” he said, voice low, hoarse.

Maggie scanned the roadside. Trees bent against the wind, branches clawing at the gray sky. An overturned truck sat rusting in the ditch, its tires stripped, its cab dark and empty. Not safe, but safer than open road. She gave a short nod.

They climbed down into the ditch, pushing through weeds and glass. Daryl moved ahead, checking the truck with sharp, deliberate movements. When he came back, he gave a short nod: clear enough.

Inside, the air smelled of rust, mildew, and rot. Maggie slid down against the wall of the cab, exhaustion flooding her limbs the second she let herself stop. Rick sat opposite her, back pressed to the metal, his face half-shadowed. Daryl stayed outside, crouched on a rock, always watching the trees.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. The silence of the world pressed around them, broken only by the wind and the distant call of crows.

Maggie dug into her pack, pulling free what was left: half a bottle of warm water, two pieces of stale jerky. She broke one and pushed it toward Rick. He stared at it for a moment before shaking his head.

“You need it more,” he said.

Her throat tightened. “Don’t start with that,” she muttered. “You’re not invincible, Rick.”

His jaw flexed. For a moment, she thought he’d argue, but then he reached out, took the food, and ate it slowly, chewing like every bite was heavier than the last.

The silence returned. Maggie shifted against the wall, trying to keep her mind blank, but memories pressed in like knives. The prison. The flames. The screams. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, willing herself not to break.

Rick’s eyes met hers across the shadows. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. She could read the guilt there, the weight of everything he carried. And beneath it, something else. Something raw.

Her body reacted before her mind could argue. She shifted closer, knees brushing his. His breath caught, almost imperceptibly. Her hand slid against his thigh, trembling but sure, searching for grounding in the heat of him.

“Maggie…” His voice was rough, warning and want tangled together.

“Don’t stop me,” she whispered, throat dry, need burning hotter than shame. “Not now.”

Her palm pressed higher, over the bulge straining against the worn fabric of his jeans. He shuddered, head dropping back against the metal wall, a low groan rumbling from his chest. The sound scraped at her nerves, raw and dangerous, but it fueled her too. She needed to feel something other than hunger and grief, needed to know she wasn’t dead inside yet.

Rick’s hand caught hers, holding it still for a heartbeat, his breath ragged. “We shouldn’t…”

She leaned forward, her forehead pressing against his, the closeness suffocating. “We have to.”

Something broke in him then, some wall he’d been holding up. His grip shifted, not to stop her but to guide her. She tugged at the rough denim, freeing him into the cool, stale air. Her fingers wrapped around the thick heat of his cock, slicking with the precum already weeping at the tip. The weight of him in her hand made her breath falter, made her hunger twist into something sharper.

Rick’s hips jerked into her touch, his groan muffled against her shoulder. “Fuck, Maggie…” His voice was a rasp, a plea torn from him.

She stroked him slow at first, then faster, feeling the wet slide, the pulse of him throbbing against her palm. The sound of it filled the cramped space, slick and obscene, drowning out the silence of the dead world outside. He thrust into her fist, desperate, teeth gritted as if trying to hold something back.

Her own thighs clenched, wetness pooling between them, slick and hot against the worn fabric of her underwear. She pressed closer, rubbing against his knee for friction, her breath breaking into ragged gasps. The need was unbearable, a fire eating her hollow.

Rick’s hand slid down, fumbling beneath her waistband, fingers finding her soaked and swollen. She gasped, biting back a cry, hips bucking into the sudden invasion. His rough fingers worked her open, spreading her slick, rubbing slow circles around her clit until she was shaking.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he whispered, voice half awe, half hunger.

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste blood, as his thumb pressed firmer, his fingers curling inside her. The sensation was too much, too raw, the pressure of his cock in her hand syncing with the pulsing ache inside her. Her orgasm ripped through her before she could brace for it, blinding and vicious, her body convulsing against his, slick pouring down his hand.

Her grip on him tightened, stroking harder, faster, until his hips jerked and he came with a guttural growl, hot spurts covering her wrist, his body shaking with release.

For a long moment, the cab was filled only with their ragged breathing, the air thick with sweat and sex.

Maggie pulled her hand back, wiping it on her jeans, shame and relief tangling in her chest. She didn’t look at him, afraid of what she might see, afraid of what she might want.

Rick reached out, catching her chin, forcing her eyes to his. His thumb brushed her cheek, rough but tender. “We’re alive,” he said, voice steady despite the tremor in it. “That’s all that matters.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, though the words felt too small, too fragile.

Outside, Daryl’s low whistle cut through the quiet. “Time to move.”

They straightened themselves quickly, tucking the moment away like contraband. Maggie’s legs still trembled as she followed Rick out of the cab, the cool air stinging against her damp skin.

The road waited. So did the signs.

They walked on, silent, the world pressing down on them. Another sign appeared nailed to a tree, the words painted bright against the ruin: “Sanctuary for all. Those who arrive, survive.”

Maggie stared at it, chest tight. She didn’t know if she believed in it. But she kept walking anyway.

Chapter 19: The Gates

The road was brittle underfoot, gravel scattered sharp like broken teeth across the earth. Every step sounded louder than it should have, as though the world itself had gone quiet to hear them coming. Maggie kept her eyes on the faded blacktop, though her ears searched the air.

She smelled it first. Smoke.

Not the acrid bite of something burning down, not the rotting stench of walker flesh set aflame. This was thinner, lighter, a drift of wood smoke that curled through the air like a hand beckoning them forward. Her stomach pinched hard inside her. Fire meant people. People meant food, shelter—or trouble.

Rick stiffened beside her, his gait slowing. Daryl glanced up too, nostrils flaring as if he could read the story on the air. None of them spoke. Words felt dangerous, like calling attention to themselves in a world that punished sound.

The signs had been there for days. “Sanctuary for All.” “Those Who Arrive, Survive.” Spray-painted letters on bent metal and weather-beaten wood, nailed to trees and leaning against ruins like promises left behind. Maggie wanted to believe in them, but every mile sharpened her suspicion. Hope in this world was like stepping blind into an open snare.

The closer they came, the stronger the smell grew. Not just smoke now—meat. Cooking meat. The sweetness of it made her mouth water even as her throat tightened in protest. It smelled wrong. Too thick, too sweet, almost like sugar seared on iron. She hadn’t smelled anything like it since the farm, when her daddy roasted hog on Sundays and the whole sky seemed painted with smoke. Only this wasn’t memory. This was something else.

Her boots scuffed to a stop. Rick turned his head slowly, eyes catching hers. They didn’t need words. The fear in his look was the same one crawling in her gut.

Still, they walked on. What else could they do?

 

---

The gates rose up quiet and sudden, almost too neat against the ruin. Chain-link stretched tall, welded into frames, reinforced with steel beams scavenged from God knew where. Flowers bloomed along the fence line—sunflowers and daisies that looked too bright for a world steeped in rot. Their faces tilted up at the sun like nothing had ever gone wrong. Maggie’s chest ached just looking at them.

It was wrong. All of it.

The gates were open, wide enough for them to walk through without lifting a hand. No guards stood watch, no guns, no sentries. Just silence. Silence and flowers.

Maggie slowed, boots scraping gravel, and her hand twitched near the knife strapped at her thigh. She couldn’t stop her eyes from scanning the heights of the fence, searching for shadows, gun barrels, eyes. She found nothing. The stillness made her skin crawl worse than any walker ever had.

“Too quiet,” Daryl muttered, crossbow already raised slightly. His voice was sandpaper low, barely carrying.

Rick’s jaw clenched, sweat streaking through the dirt on his face. He looked at Maggie before he looked ahead again, and she knew he was weighing every choice, every step. But hunger clawed at them, and exhaustion pressed on heavier than caution could hold back.

They stepped through.

 

---

The air inside the fence was different. Warmer, thick with the smell of cooked food. Grills smoked near the courtyard, where tables were set up with trays and bowls like some strange feast waiting. The sound of a woman’s voice floated over, sweet as the smoke.

“Hey there.”

Maggie flinched despite herself.

The woman stood near a grill, spatula in hand, apron tied neat around her waist like some echo of the old world. Her hair was pinned back, her smile wide and soft. Too soft.

“Welcome to Terminus,” she said, voice honeyed, carrying too easily in the still air. “You must be hungry.”

Maggie’s stomach lurched at the word, tightening with hunger and distrust all at once. She couldn’t stop staring at the woman’s hands—the way she held the spatula, the way the meat sizzled and smoked on the grill. The smell was stronger now, coating her tongue. Almost sweet. Too sweet.

Rick didn’t speak. His hand hovered near his holster, fingers twitching with every shift of the woman’s eyes. Daryl’s bow stayed half-raised, pointed at the ground but ready in an instant.

The woman—Mary, she introduced herself—didn’t seem bothered. Her smile didn’t break even as her eyes flickered over their weapons, their filth, their suspicion.

“You’ve come a long way,” Mary said. “That’s what we’re here for. A safe place. A chance to rest.” She turned a piece of meat on the grill, juices hissing against the flame. “You want some food? We’ve got plenty.”

The smell clawed at Maggie, her mouth filling with saliva she hated herself for. She hadn’t had real food in weeks, not since the house, not since the scraps they’d scavenged along the road. Her body wanted her to reach out, to take the plate Mary was already laying out.

But her mind screamed no.

She glanced at Rick. His eyes were narrowed, his whole body stiff like a spring coiled tight. He wasn’t going to eat. She knew it the way she knew her own heartbeat.

Daryl shifted beside her, expression flat and hard. He didn’t lower the bow.

Maggie swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. Something was wrong here. Too much food, too much calm, too many smiles. The flowers at the gate, the open fences—it was all theater.

Mary set the plate down on the table, gesturing to it with that too-soft smile. “Eat. You’re safe here.”

The smell rose heavy and cloying, pressing into Maggie’s lungs until she felt sick. She didn’t move. None of them did.

For the first time since they’d stepped inside, Maggie realized she couldn’t hear birds. Couldn’t hear wind through leaves. Only the hiss of meat on the grill and the hollow ring of silence wrapping around it.

She wrapped her fingers tighter around her knife hilt and thought, this is a trap dressed up in Sunday clothes.

 

Rick didn’t move.

The plate sat there, steam curling in the air between them, carrying the smell that gnawed like a dog at the edges of Maggie’s hunger. She hated how badly her body wanted it, hated the twitch in her jaw, the way her stomach clenched like a fist.

Rick’s eyes never left Mary. They were sharp, feral, the kind of eyes that saw past smiles and aprons, down to the bones of things.

“No,” he said finally. Just that one word, flat and hard as a bullet.

Mary’s smile flickered, only for a heartbeat, but Maggie caught it. A crack in the mask. Then it was back, warmer than ever, almost motherly.

“You must be tired. Hungry,” Mary said, her tone dipping softer. “Nobody makes it this far without hurtin’ for rest. That’s all right. That’s what we’re here for.”

Beside Maggie, Daryl shifted his weight, his bow never lowering. He spat to the side, a rough sound in the stillness. “Don’t trust handouts.”

Mary’s gaze slid to him, then back to Rick. She didn’t look at Maggie long, but when her eyes did meet hers, Maggie felt a cold ripple along her spine. Like Mary knew something about her already, like she was being measured.

Her fingers itched around the hilt of her knife. She wanted to cut the air between them, slice open the silence and see what spilled out.

Rick finally moved, just a fraction, his hand brushing Maggie’s arm, steadying. The contact was brief but grounding, heat through grime. He didn’t say anything to her, but she heard it anyway: Don’t break. Not here.

Mary’s voice rolled smooth again, too smooth. “You’ll see. Terminus is safe. We all look out for one another.”

Her words were sweet, but Maggie’s ears twisted them into something else: we all watch one another.

 

---

They didn’t eat. None of them.

Mary let them be, turning back to her grill as though it didn’t matter, as though she hadn’t noticed their suspicion. But the way her shoulders stayed too straight, the way her head tilted ever so slightly—it was theater. All of it.

When she gestured toward the courtyard, her smile never faltered. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can wash up. Where you can rest.”

Rest. Maggie’s skin prickled. The word carried a weight that didn’t soothe. It pressed heavy, like dirt piling on a coffin lid.

Still, they followed. What else could they do?

 

---

Inside the gates, Terminus stretched strange. Corridors of fencing led them like cattle chutes, walls patched with welded scrap, pathways too narrow to turn broad. Maggie’s boots crunched over gravel, each step echoing too loud. Her eyes kept catching on details: locks on doors, chains coiled neat beside gates, cameras nailed high in corners, some broken, some not.

Her breath hitched. This wasn’t sanctuary. It was a cage.

Daryl walked just ahead, his shoulders tight, crossbow held ready though the angle was awkward in the narrow space. Rick stayed close at her side, every muscle wound tight, his jaw set so hard it looked carved from stone.

The deeper they went, the less air there seemed to be. The smell of cooking meat still lingered, but fainter now, layered with the sharp tang of oil, iron, the cold metallic bite of blood that no amount of scrubbing could hide.

Maggie’s chest tightened. The flowers at the gate had been too bright, too alive. Here, the brightness was gone. Here was the shadow that brightness tried to cover.

 

---

Mary led them past rooms too clean, doors too straight. People moved in the distance, faces pale with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. They nodded as the trio passed, but their gazes slid over them too quickly, as if they weren’t seeing at all—just acting a part.

Maggie felt every hair rise on her arms. The weight of eyes pressed in though no one stared long. It was like walking through a stage play where everyone had forgotten their lines except the smiles.

Rick’s hand brushed her arm again. His voice was low, cracked like gravel. “Stay sharp.”

She nodded, though her throat was dry, words lodged hard.

Daryl muttered under his breath, barely a growl, “Whole place stinks wrong.”

Maggie swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep walking, forcing her boots not to falter on the gravel that sounded louder than thunder.

 

Mary stopped near a door, pushing it open with a practiced flick. “This way. You can rest. You’ll see—we take care of our own here.”

The words echoed down Maggie’s spine, sour as bile.

She stepped past the threshold, Rick and Daryl close at her sides, and the smell shifted again. Cleaner here, almost antiseptic. Too clean. The kind of clean that tried to wash away something foul.

Her fingers curled tighter around her knife, and she thought: we’ve walked straight into their mouth.

The gate clanged shut behind them with a sound that wasn’t loud at all, but it echoed in Maggie’s chest like a gunshot.

The trap hadn’t snapped yet. But it was waiting.

She knew, deep down in her bones, they were already inside it.

Chapter 20: No Sanctuary

The air inside Terminus was thick, metallic, and sweet with a stink that made Maggie gag. Smoke from somewhere outside curled under the cracked windows, carrying the faint tang of burning plastic or perhaps meat over fire. She tried to focus on the rhythm of her own heartbeat, but the hollow sound of her boots on the concrete floor, echoing in the cavernous room, made it impossible.

Rick and Daryl were at her sides, arms bound tightly, eyes darting everywhere. A couple of other survivors—faces she didn’t know, trembling and pale—were lined up ahead. A long metal trough ran along the center of the room, drains glinting wetly in the dim light. Maggie’s stomach churned when she saw the dark stains already marring its surface.

The first man in line jerked violently, his knees hitting the cold floor. She felt Rick tense beside her. The door at the far end of the room creaked open, and two figures stepped inside, swinging thick, worn baseball bats. Their movements were methodical, practiced. There was no hesitation.

The first blow came down on the back of the man’s skull with a sickening crack. His body slumped forward, neck snapping unnaturally, and one of the underlings slit his throat. Crimson arced out in a fine spray and pooled in the trough. Maggie wanted to look away, to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. She was frozen by fear, by the grotesque inevitability of it.

Another man fell, and another. Each life extinguished in the same precise, brutal rhythm. The smell of blood, coppery and hot, filled her nostrils. She fought the bile rising in her throat. Daryl’s hand brushed hers, a silent signal to stay steady, to survive.

Maggie’s mind raced. We’re next. Her pulse thundered in her ears as the door creaked again. This time it wasn’t the butchers who entered—it was Gareth. His presence made the air even colder, the shadows longer.

“So,” Gareth said, calm, measured, almost casual. “You have a bag of weapons, Rick. Where is it?” His eyes flicked over the group like a predator assessing its prey.

Rick didn’t answer.

Gareth stepped closer, knife in hand, pressing it lightly against Bob’s temple—one of the unnamed survivors. The faintest pressure, and Bob’s eye widened in fear. Rick’s jaw tightened.

“You tell me,” Gareth said, and his knife traced a slow, deliberate path. “Or he dies.”

Maggie wanted to scream. The room was spinning with the scent of blood and fear. She swallowed, tasting iron on her tongue.

Rick’s voice was low, trembling slightly but firm. “It’s a machete,” he said. “Red handle. There’s more in there… but if I get it, I promise you—I’ll use it on you first.”

Gareth smiled. A dangerous, thin smile. “We’ll see.”

One of the butchers swung a bat toward Rick, but the man never reached him. With a force born of pure desperation, Rick yanked the wooden blade from its sheath, cutting through the rope that bound his wrists.

Daryl followed almost instantly, snapping free and drawing his own knife. Maggie didn’t hesitate—her hands, shaking, found the nearest piece of debris: a jagged shard of metal. Her first strike caught the butcher’s arm, blood spraying, and the second slammed into the other’s temple.

The corridor outside erupted into chaos. The two other survivors screamed, some fell, some scrambled. Maggie lunged forward, slashing and kicking, adrenaline overpowering nausea. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the faint, cloying smell of smoke. Maggie’s stomach turned, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

Rick’s machete cleaved through one of the butchers, swinging in a wide arc that cut them down before they could strike again. Daryl moved like a ghost, silent and lethal, his knife finding gaps in the Terminus men’s defenses with terrifying efficiency. Maggie could feel herself shaking, but every moment she hesitated was a moment closer to death.

“Back! Back!” Rick barked, herding the group toward a side corridor lined with weapons racks. The smell of gun oil and rust was almost comforting in comparison to the blood on the floor. Maggie grabbed a small axe from the rack, swinging at anyone who tried to intercept them.

They fought their way down the hall, each door they passed revealing more horrors—rooms where people had been butchered, some bound, some left half-dragged into the troughs. Maggie’s stomach roiled, but her focus remained razor-sharp. She had to stay alive. She had to get Rick and Daryl out.

Finally, they reached a heavy steel door. Rick yanked it open to reveal a storage room—filled with guns, machetes, axes, and knives. “Arm up,” he growled. Maggie took a deep breath, grabbing a hunting knife and tucking it into her belt. Her hands were slick with blood, the sticky warmth of it clinging to her skin.

Outside, the screams continued, echoing down the corridors. The sounds of bodies falling, bones breaking, and terrified cries mixed with guttural growls from walkers wandering the grounds outside. Maggie’s mind felt like it was splitting in two: one part paralyzed by horror, one part fueled by the need to survive.

Rick motioned toward the other side of the room. “We hit them now, while they’re scattered. We take back control. We leave no one standing.”

Maggie nodded, gripping her knife. She didn’t care anymore about being polite. She didn’t care about moral codes. These people had turned human life into a show of slaughter. Every step she took toward the next doorway, she felt the weight of all the lives lost here—the smell of blood thick in her lungs, the metallic taste lingering.

The first Terminus thug fell under Daryl’s blade. Maggie followed, driving her knife into the next one as he lunged. The fight was brutal, messy, and merciless. Every strike, every kill, a release of the tension that had held her body rigid. Every scream, every crash, hardened her resolve.

Rick moved like a storm, machete swinging with terrifying precision, leading them toward the back of Terminus. “Stay close!” he shouted, voice carrying over the chaos. Maggie felt Daryl beside her, silent, deadly, a protective shadow. Together, the three of them carved a path through the carnage.

Finally, Maggie’s lungs burned. Her arms shook. The acrid, cloying smell of smoke grew stronger, drifting in through a crack in the far wall. Outside, she glimpsed daylight, and the faintest hint of hope—the chance to escape, to live.

Rick kicked open a side door, and the trio spilled out into the open yard. Maggie glanced back at the building—at the horrors within—and her stomach twisted. But there was no time for grief. Not yet. Not when survival demanded every ounce of their focus.

She wiped sweat and blood from her brow, took a deep breath, and followed Rick and Daryl toward the outer fences. Ahead, the faint smell of smoke and burning wood suggested the next phase of their plan. Terminus would not hold them. Maggie vowed she would see to it.

No sanctuary, she thought, feeling the words burn into her mind. No one survives this place unscathed—and we’re not going to be the ones who do.

The gates loomed ahead, deceptively calm, flowers blooming along the fence lines like a grotesque parody of safety. Maggie’s hands tightened on her knife. She felt the weight of the blood already spilled, and the weight of what had to come next.

 

Maggie crouched in the shadows of the overstuffed storehouse, her breath shallow, trying to steady the tremor in her hands. The others were moving with Rick and Daryl, readying to make their break, but Maggie had her own role—a dangerous one. She had to create the distraction that would give them the edge. She glanced at the barrels of fuel stacked near the back wall, an idea forming as sharp as a blade in her mind.

Every second counted. She couldn’t let herself think about what she was about to do. The noise would be deafening, the risk enormous, but hesitation wasn’t an option. She moved silently, slipping past the twisted bodies and abandoned belongings, every step a careful calculation. The fuel barrels sat in neat rows, nearly begging to be used.

Maggie’s fingers worked quickly, gathering rags and scraps of cloth. She soaked them in the fuel, twisting them into crude fuses. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she arranged them along the barrels, connecting one to the edge of a wall that Rick and Daryl had marked as their exit. A single spark, and the fire would tear through the stockpile, breach the walls, and flood Terminus with walkers. The chaos would buy them their chance.

She lit the makeshift fuse, ducking low behind a stack of crates. The flame hissed as it caught, a tiny promise of destruction. Maggie pressed herself to the ground, counting the seconds. Then the explosion hit.

It tore through the air with a violent roar, shaking the building, sending splinters of wood and shards of metal flying. The fire surged, igniting fuel, and the building shuddered under the heat. Walkers moaned and stumbled into the chaos, drawn by the smoke and flames. Screams erupted from the far end of Terminus—those who had been foolish enough to survive the initial slaughter now screamed as the undead closed in.

Maggie didn’t wait to watch. She darted toward the kitchen, the place she knew Mary often lingered, her mind set on confrontation. Her boots pounded the floorboards as smoke and flame filled the air, thick and suffocating. She slipped through the kitchen doorway, every sense on high alert.

Mary was there, busy stacking supplies, her eyes widening as the walls around them groaned and cracked. “Maggie!” she hissed, disbelief and panic twisting her features. “You don’t—”

“I know exactly what you’ve done,” Maggie spat, raising her weapon. “You and your little ‘sanctuary.’”

Mary’s hands shook, but her voice carried a cold, rehearsed calm. “You don’t understand. Terminus… we started this to survive. To protect each other. To build a place where the world outside couldn’t touch us.”

Maggie laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Protect each other? You butchered them. You slaughtered your own people and lured the rest in. That’s not protection. That’s horror.”

Mary’s face twisted, a mix of fear and stubborn pride. “It was necessary. The world is cruel. You—” Her words were cut short as Maggie fired, shooting her in the leg. Mary collapsed with a scream, her hands clutching the wound, eyes wide with pain and betrayal.

Maggie didn’t hesitate. She stepped back, letting Mary face the walkers that were already clawing at the edges of the room. The moans and screams echoed as Maggie turned and fled, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t look back. Mercy had no place here—not for Mary, not for anyone who had twisted survival into slaughter.

She tore through the corridors, smoke stinging her eyes, chaos everywhere. Fire and walkers and shouts collided into a symphony of terror. And then, like a beacon through the smoke, she saw Rick and Daryl, moving with purpose, cutting through the debris toward her. Relief surged briefly, only to be replaced by the lingering edge of adrenaline and fear.

“Over here!” Maggie shouted, waving. Rick pivoted, keeping his gun raised, eyes scanning. Daryl fell into step beside her, crossbow ready. Together, the three of them moved toward the breach, toward freedom.

The walls were crumbling, the explosion still sending waves of heat and noise into the air. Walkers poured from the breached areas, a tide of gnashing teeth and grasping hands. Maggie’s boots slipped in blood and ash as they ran, hearts pounding, lungs burning.

Rick slammed his shoulder into a doorframe, forcing it open, and they tumbled through, emerging into the open yard outside. Maggie’s hair clung to her sweat-soaked face, eyes stinging from smoke. She glanced back. Terminus, that false promise of safety, was falling apart behind them. Flames licked the edges of the gates, smoke curling into the darkening sky.

Daryl’s crossbow barked, felling walkers that had begun to close in. Rick’s gun roared in sharp bursts. Maggie kept moving, her feet driven by sheer determination. They were almost clear when a walker lunged at her from the side. She kicked it away, stumbling but recovering, heart hammering with pure, raw panic.

At last, they reached the train tracks leading out of the yard. They collapsed behind a rusted car, gasping, shaking, and bloody. Maggie’s clothes were torn, smeared with ash and grime, but she was alive. That was all that mattered.

Rick looked at her, eyes hard but proud. “You did it,” he said, voice rough. “You gave us a chance.”

Maggie shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She could still hear the chaos behind them, the cries and moans, the fire and the gnashing teeth of Terminus’s victims and perpetrators alike. Nothing could erase the horror they’d seen—but at least they had escaped it.

Daryl offered her a hand, and she took it, gripping tightly, grounding herself in the presence of the men who had survived alongside her. Together, they moved toward the edge of the woods, their steps unsteady but determined.

As they put distance between themselves and the ruins of Terminus, Rick stopped. He reached for a piece of the old painted sign near the gate, smearing mud across the faded letters. Maggie watched as the word Sanctuary disappeared beneath the dark smear of earth and grime. Rick’s hands worked methodically, and when he finished, the message was clear: No Sanctuary.

Maggie nodded, her own hand brushing against the wet mud, leaving a mark of her own. It was a warning. A promise. A declaration. They had survived, but Terminus’s horror had left its mark, a scar that would never fade.

The three of them moved into the trees, disappearing into the forest beyond, leaving behind the lies of safety and the ruin of a place that had called itself a refuge. Maggie’s heart was still pounding, her blood still hot with adrenaline, but beneath it, a steely resolve began to grow. They would survive. They would endure. And no one—no twisted mind like Mary’s—would ever trap them again.

The forest swallowed them, shadows stretching long and dark in the fading light. Behind them, Terminus burned, a monument to deceit and carnage. Ahead, the world was uncertain, dangerous, and unrelenting—but Maggie’s steps were steady, her mind sharp. Sanctuary was a lie. They had learned that. And now, there was only survival, one fierce, bloody step at a time.