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Maggie believed she survived her losses as healthily as possible these days. Her father, her sister, and then her husband were ripped away from her by forces uncontrollable. If they got sick or bitten, perhaps she would have been more bitter; but they were killed by evil people, and nothing could have changed that. To shoulder the blame onto someone else, and then know of their same fate—the Governor, the leader at Grady Memorial, and Negan—brought a sense of poetic justice, and through that Maggie found peace.
Still, she felt the absence of her loved ones and the weight of their ghosts in equal measure, all the time. The birth of her son both eased and compounded this dilemma. The realization that Hershel would never meet his grandfather, sister, or father was softened by the fact that each lived on within him.
But other wounds were not rectifiable. There was no closing them, or willing the pain away with hopeful adages. As Maggie stood at the medical trailer, the door incompletely shut, she was reminded of this truth while she watched Daryl climb into Jesus’s cot. They had returned the previous day after a week-long run gone wrong: Daryl carried a half-conscious Jesus to the medical trailer, the latter sporting an infected gash down his leg, the moment they passed the gates. Daryl had driven straight back to Hilltop once they realized standard first-aid was impossible, and didn’t sleep the entire time Jesus was recuperating in bed. Only this morning, when Jesus finally awoke, was Daryl able to go back to his trailer by Jesus’s order.
Maggie had wanted to stop by again, but it seemed Daryl beat her to it, freshly showered and changed. His hair still hung in wet clumps, dampening the pillow he and Jesus shared. Jesus’s back faced the door and therefore Maggie; she could not hear the things he whispered to Daryl, cupping the other man’s jaw with his hand, and only saw Daryl’s face collapse from stress into fear into relief as his body shook with slight tremors.
The sight wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes, and Maggie felt sick watching it. She stumbled backward down the trailer’s steps and shut the door silently. She was not a jealous person, but comparison reared its head anyway: What did she do to deserve the loss of a lifetime? Why couldn’t she still have what Daryl obtained?
Her thoughts quickly spun out as she hurried into Barrington House and tramped up the staircase. She charged into her bedroom panting, and sought out her son.
Hershel’s gibberish noises stopped at her arrival, and his small head turned. When he smiled at her, something inside Maggie’s chest broke free, and she laughed as tears gathered in her eyes.
“There’s my boy,” she said, walking across the room.
Sitting beside the window, Sasha lifted Hershel into his mother’s waiting arms. “Jesus still asleep?” she asked.
Maggie looked up from her baby and nodded. “Yeah,” she lied.
Sasha scoffed. “Daryl’s gonna snap.” She curled her back and stretched her arms before rising from the chair. “Everything else okay?” she asked.
Maggie sat on the side of her bed, Hershel tucked against her chest. “Of course.”
Sasha narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh.” She sat beside Maggie and touched her arm.
Maggie's breath hitched at the physical contact and ducked her head.
Sasha stiffened. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I just—” She blinked away her tears and burrowed her nose into the dark, downy hair of her child.
Hershel cooed. Maggie smiled and lifted her head. Sasha smirked as he waved his hands, and offered a pinky finger for him to hold.
“We had a lot of fun today, didn’t we?” Sasha asked him. “We ate some applesauce, played with toys. It was great.”
Maggie basked in the closeness of her son and the person who had become her best friend. She paused for a moment, waiting to see if Sasha would move or announce her leave; but she stayed right where she was, content, with no pressing matters at hand. Maggie leaned against her shoulder, releasing Hershel to the great expanse of the bed.
“What’s going on, huh?” Sasha whispered, taking Maggie’s hand in her lap.
Maggie shivered; Sasha’s temple rested atop the crown of her head, and their sides pressed together. “It’s dumb,” she muttered.
“I doubt that,” Sasha said, squeezing Maggie’s hand.
“Do you ever miss touch?” Maggie asked. Her voice wavered. “I think about my dad, and Beth, and Glenn, and I just—” She sucked in a breath. “I just realize how alone I am without them.”
“You aren’t alone,” Sasha said. “Not with Daryl here, or Jesus.” She smiled. “Or Hershel.”
“Or you,” Maggie added.
“Or me,” Sasha confirmed. “It’s different. It won’t ever be the same. And nothing will make up for the loss. But...there’s always room for more.”
Hershel crawled onto Maggie’s lap and Sasha released her hand to comb his hair. Seeing her dark fingers against his cream skin relaxed Maggie, and she breathed properly again.
“After Tyreese died, I never thought I’d be doing something like this,” Sasha said. Her movements slowed as Hershel’s eyes drooped. “But there was room for Hershel. Nothing could keep me from loving him.” She nudged Maggie’s head with her shoulder, and Maggie turned to her. “Or you, either.”
Light slanted in through the window, illuminating Sasha’s face, and with the warm weight of her son on her lap Maggie’s throat knotted with emotion.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Any time,” Sasha returned. She looked down at Hershel. “Somebody’s ready for a nap.”
“Not just him,” Maggie yawned.
Sasha laughed and stood. “Relax. I’ll wake you up in time for dinner, if you’re still asleep.”
Maggie hummed and laid down with her son wrapped in her arms. “Okay.”
Sasha pulled a blanket over them both and passed her hand through Maggie’s hair, then left them to sleep.
Besides waking up a couple times to feed or entertain Hershel, Maggie slept through the entire afternoon, and woke up groggy and hot. She ran the bath and took Hershel with her into the en suite, holding or resting him against her knees as she washed, then bathed him in turn.
She toweled off and returned to her room naked. Though residents never bothered her if the door was closed, her friends had a tendency to barge in anyway. She honestly should have known better, but was too focused on maintaining her uplifted mood to worry about dressing quickly.
Sasha opened the door and shrieked; totally naked, Maggie ducked behind the side of her bed.
“Sasha?” she asked.
“Oh my god,” Sasha said. “I’m so sorry.”
Maggie laughed. “It’s okay.” She popped her head over the bed. “Dinner’s ready?”
Sasha laughed, too. “Yeah,” she said after quieting. “Carson said Jesus was free to go home, so Daryl’s making food and invited us.”
Maggie’s eyebrow rose. “Wow.”
“I know, he’s being domesticated.” Sasha coughed, blushing. “I’ll, uh, wait out here.”
Maggie smirked. “Okay.”
She stepped into the hall after changing, Hershel held against her hip, and saw Sasha awaiting her.
As they walked out onto the porch, Sasha said, “I think Jesus has been hiding some booze. He might break it out tonight.”
“Aw.” Maggie glanced down at Hershel. “That’s okay.”
Seated on one of the wicker chairs with a stack of Carl’s comic books, Enid glanced up at her words. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to Jesus and Daryl’s for dinner,” Sasha said.
Enid grinned. “Want me to watch Hershel?”
“Uh,” Maggie said.
Sasha elbowed her. “It’d be nice. And you know you’d rather have Enid watch him over anybody else.”
“I guess,” Maggie said.
“Yes!” Enid tucked the comics under her arm and strode toward them. “I promise I’ll take care of him,” she said, holding out her hands.
Maggie kissed Hershel’s head and passed him over. “Be good for Aunt Enid, okay?” she ordered.
He didn’t listen, already enraptured with Enid’s long hair.
The young girl giggled, eyes alight. Maggie was startled to realize how long it had been since she saw Enid truly carefree and happy. She wondered if Enid, too, saw vestiges of Glenn in Hershel—or maybe that was discrediting to her son. He was more than that.
“Ready to go?” Sasha asked.
Maggie tore away from her musing. “Yep.”
After bidding Enid goodbye, they walked through cool spring air to Jesus and Daryl’s where light emitted pleasantly from the trailer.
Daryl answered the door, hair mussed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Hey,” he said, then immediately turned back to Jesus’s kitchenette.
“He’s making it real fancy,” Jesus said from the couch, his bandaged leg propped up by a pillow.
“I heard you’ve been hiding beer,” Maggie said.
“Whiskey,” Jesus corrected, shaking the glass in his hand. “I’d get you some, but I’m on couch arrest.”
Daryl wordlessly brought two glasses and the bottle of whiskey to the little table in the center of the trailer. Maggie took note of the towel thrown over his shoulder, how he tucked his hair behind both ears, and the way he continually stirred something in a crock pot. It was as if a hunting magazine had been combined with Good Housekeeping.
“Smells good,” she said, taking a seat at the table.
Daryl glanced at her. “It’s deer roast.”
“I never knew you could cook,” Sasha said, sitting across from Maggie.
“That’s what he wants you to believe,” Jesus said. He knocked the rest of his glass back then awkwardly hobbled to the table under Daryl’s watchful gaze. Once he dropped into the chair next to Maggie, Daryl turned back to the food and Jesus continued speaking. “When you think about it, though, if someone can make squirrel taste okay, they’d have to be good.”
“It’s nothin,” Daryl dismissed, the back of his neck suspiciously red.
“How humble,” Jesus sighed.
Maggie smiled at their banter. Sasha caught her eye, smiling too.
The evening had cooled by the time Maggie and Sasha left, but the whiskey and food kept them warm on the walk to Barrington House. After checking on Hershel in Enid’s room—both sound asleep—the two women stood before Maggie’s bedroom door.
“Night,” Sasha said, and took the first step back toward the staircase.
Urgency stormed Maggie’s chest. “Wait,” she called.
Sasha paused, her hand sliding off the banister.
Maggie folded her arms. “It’s cold,” she said. “Maybe you should stay.”
Sasha appraised her silently.
“Just for tonight. Hershel’s gone—I’m not used to sleeping alone.”
“Okay,” Sasha agreed.
Maggie blinked. “Okay?”
Sasha nodded. “Yeah.” She walked forward and touched Maggie’s elbow before entering the bedroom.
Maggie followed quickly and opened one of her drawers. “Here,” she said, passing a bundle of pajamas to Sasha.
As Sasha went to the en suite, Maggie stood at the open drawer. The room was blue without the light from her bedside oil lamp, which she liked to turn on while reading. She’d neglected to use the lamp tonight, but the light’s absence was somehow soothing. The darkness blotted her heartbeat and the sounds of Sasha rustling beyond the other side of the door; Maggie couldn’t see much around her and felt safer for it.
She changed into an oversized shirt with nothing else beside her underwear. Sasha stepped out soon afterward, and they laid beside each other on top of the blanket: shoulders touching, window breeze grazing their legs.
“How do you make room?” Maggie asked.
Sasha exhaled slow. “It makes itself, I think. You’ll know.”
Maggie felt for Sasha’s hand and laced their fingers together.
"What if it's happening right now?"
"Do you want it not to?"
Maggie's lip trembled. "I don't know."
"He'll always be there, Maggie," Sasha whispered. "You said we don't need anything else to remember him besides us. As long as there's us, he's still here."
Maggie turned onto her side and curled into Sasha's chest.
"You alright?" Sasha asked.
"It's cold," Maggie said.
"Yeah, it is." Sasha smiled and wrapped her arms around Maggie. "A little bit."