Welcome to The New Resident, I'm so excited to start posting this story! Huge (HUGE) thanks to Angie B, who's contribution to the plot and character development is phenomenal!

This story will take a change of pace from The Stray Passenger. As they're home in Alexandria, there'll be less action and more character/people development. But, that's not to say there won't be action…oh boy, there will be action, I promise. I also advise that you grab some aloe vera or burn ointment, because the slow burn between Rick and Carrie is not over. There is light at the end of the tunnel, but the slow burn is not over!

If you're interested in little sneak peaks, I suggest you head to the Walking Dead Fan Fiction . com website, where you'll find this story under the same username. You'll be able to see character pictures and profiles that give little hints as to what is in their future.

That's all for now. Enjoy chapter 1, and please leave a review at the end.

Standing in the threshold of Deanna Monroe's townhouse, Carrie took a moment to brace herself before going in, knowing that the first impression she made would have great impact on her future. Rick had just left, and despite Deanna's warm nature, Carrie couldn't help but feel rather alone. She wished that Rick had come in with her, that Michonne hadn't believed her when she said she'd be okay on her own. Standing in the hallway, Carrie listened to the sound of a kettle boiling, and it took all her courage to clear her throat and speak.

"Deanna?"

She waited nervously as she heard footsteps, and taking advantage of her last few moments alone, she forcefully told herself to snap out of it. Years ago she had learnt how to hide the physical manifestations of her nerves, her colleagues and mentors teaching her how to carry herself with confidence and poise. Two years ago the thought of being interviewed for a position wouldn't have perturbed her in the slightest. Lacking confidence and showing how nervous she felt was something new to her these days.

"Carrie," Deanna greeted her warmly, appearing in the hallway. "Welcome. Come on in."

Deanna seemed to have the distinct ability to put someone at ease, her nature and intensity of her smile making Carrie feel as though she had the woman's entire attention. Her nerves beginning to ease, she came forward at Deanna's encouragement and followed her through the living and dining room. Walking slowly, she looked around in curiosity, amazed that everything seemed so…homely. The townhouse was nicely decorated and comfortably furnished, and it was clearly someone's home, not a space they simply occupied. That was a strange concept for Carrie to consider…she hadn't had a true home for a long time. She didn't count her Upper West Side apartment as her home, despite remembering it as though she'd been there that morning. It was practically a show home, perfectly neat and organised because she was hardly ever there.

Looking around, she felt like there was something odd about this townhouse, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Slowly beginning to put the pieces together, she kicked herself when she realised that what was throwing her off was the electricity…she'd known about the solar panels in advance of her arrival, and yet it was disconcerting to see that the lights in the kitchen were on, that the LCD screen on a stereo player above the fireplace was illuminated. It was all very disconcerting to see, and it made her feel like she was in another realm, that neither she nor her surroundings really belonged here. Looking around some more, her heart skipped a beat when she noticed that a video camera had been set up on a tripod, pointing directly to a lone armchair in front of the windows.

"I'm going to start with a very important question," Deanna began, heading into the kitchen.

Feeling the pressure of the sudden start, Carrie followed her in and prepared herself.

"Have you eaten today?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, much to Deanna's amusement. That was not the question she had been expecting.

"It doesn't escape my attention that living out there, food can be difficult to come by."

She questioned whether Deanna really knew how difficult food was to come by. "I've eaten," she said softly, trying to find her voice. Their meagre breakfast had been hours ago, but she didn't think she had it in her to stomach eating anything right now. "Thank you."

"Well, can I get you something to drink?" Deanna offered next, sounding concerned. "I'm making myself tea, but I also have coffee or juice. There's soda too, or water of course."

The question felt more difficult to answer than it should. "Water would be nice, please," she said, latching onto the familiar.

"Cold, or tepid?"

Again, Carrie struggled to answer. There was an option…she had an option of which water she wanted. With startling clarity, she remembered the half bottle of murky brown water she had carried three weeks ago, that despite its filth it had tasted like liquid gold. She remembered licking trees and leaves to collect the morning dew, literally laying down in puddles to take as much moisture as she could get, barely keeping herself alive. And now she had the option of how she wanted her water served to her? It seemed ridiculous…excessive.

"Cold, please."

In astonishment, she watched as Deanna fetched a clean glass and then opened the refrigerator, allowing Carrie a glimpse at the food inside. Taking a jug out of the door, she poured the glass of water and then put it back and closed the door. Still amazed, she looked at the glass of crystal clear water when Deanna gave it to her, only just remembering to thank her for it. She was almost hesitant to pick it up, part of her still believing that it wasn't real, that this was all a joke, a well crafted illusion. But when she did pick it up, there was no mistaking that it was real, that it was indeed cold.

She gratefully sipped at the water and watched Deanna from the corner of her eye. Pouring herself a cup of tea and then leaving it to brew, she refilled the kittle and returned it to the cradle, and now Carrie's eyes were fixed on the kitchen tap. Water had just flowed from that tap…she'd seen it with her own eyes, and here Deanna was, acting as though it wasn't incredible. Getting herself together, she knew that to Deanna, it was completely normal. She'd been in Alexandria from the very start. Rick was right…she had known her all of three minutes, and she already could tell that Deanna had little knowledge of the world outside. This understanding made Carrie want to shout and scream at her, to take her by the shoulders and shake the knowledge into her.

Given that Deanna had only welcomed her into her home, offered her food and given her water, this reaction was a little extreme.

"This must feel very strange for you?" Deanna commented perceptively.

Carrie just nodded, not knowing what to say.

"It's strange for every newcomer," she said kindly, throwing her teabag in a small compost bin before adding a little cold water. There was a short pause, and she looked at Carrie with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. "Shall we get started?"

Taking her glass of water with her, Carrie followed Deanna into the living room, her eyes drawn out the front windows to where she could see the walls. Pausing where she stood, she observed the walls and the lush green trees in front of it, catching a glimpse of what looked like a church steeple beyond it. Mentally shaking her head she tried to make it all stop appearing so surreal, and for a second time she wished she had asked Michonne to come with her.

"Is it okay if I record our session today?" Deanna enquired.

Carrie breathed a mental sigh of relief. This was a question she could answer. "Yes. Rick said you would."

Nodding, Deanna adjusted the video camera and then gestured to the chair opposite. Carrie put her glass on the coffee table, but hesitated when she looked at the chair. It's fabric was light blue and cream in colour, and she self-consciously looked down at herself…she was covered in mud from where she had slipped over that morning, not the mention the blood stains all over her jacket.

"Don't worry about that," Deanna assured her, seeing her dilemma. "Filthier than you have sat in that chair, I assure you."

"Thank you," she replied softly, wishing she could properly find her voice.

It was warm in the townhouse, uncomfortably so with her jacket on, and so still trying to keep the chair clean, Carrie opened the zip and shrugged it off. Her bare arms were marginally cleaner than the sleeves of the jacket, which she hastily folded and set down on the floor. Taking her seat and getting comfortable, she took another sip of her water and then crossed her legs, still trying to keep the dried mud off the chair.

"So, Carrie," Deanna began, her voice warm and kind. She spoke with purpose, her tone carefully considered to put Carrie at ease. "I'm Deanna Monroe. I was a congresswoman in Ohio, the fifteenth district. My husband and I, Reg, we live here with our two sons. Spencer is our youngest, and you've already met Aidan."

Oh, I've met him alright, Carrie thought darkly.

"When the outbreak began, the army directed us to Alexandria, and we've been here ever since. Reg was a Professor of Architecture. He drew the plans for the walls you see today."

"They're quite…" Carrie began, scrambling for the right adjective. "Imposing."

Deanna smiled at this. "We're part way through a two stage expansion. At the rate we're bringing in people, we're going to need more houses."

Carrie nodded in agreement, trying not to wring her hands together. She wished she had something to do with them, a pen or a piece of paper to fold…she wished she hadn't put her jacket on the floor.

"Do you know how our recruiting process normally works?"

"Yes," she answered. "Aaron told me about it. He watches people and makes his judgement…then he shows them pictures, and brings them back."

"And then they sit here, in the very chair you occupy now…and we talk."

"Have you ever turned away people Aaron brought in?"

"Not at first. There have been three people who had not worked out, and we had to send them away."

"How many people have worked out?"

"Not including Rick's group? Twelve all together…although we've lost some since then. We hope to bring in greater numbers soon. I trust Aaron's judgement, but I've restricted how often he can go out there…it's difficult to change to social construct of this community too quickly. Rick's group had trouble settling in at first, but they got there. Now that he's back, I feel I'll also be looking to him these days, to seek his judgement."

"Over people? Why's that?"

"He understands what's at stake. Of course, everyone knows what at stake here, but being a father means that Rick understands even more. He has more to lose…I expect his judgement will be a little more conservative."

Carrie had to agree with this, knowing of his reluctance to stop for her. "Is Aaron too liberal?"

"No," Deanna mused. "Like me, he's filled with hope. Hope for people, hope for the future…sometimes hope can bite the hands that feeds it. I expect that Rick and Aaron's judgements will balance one another out nicely. So I'll let Aaron do his recruiting, and then I'll let Rick do his judging…and then I'll decide."

Taking another sip of water, Carrie's hand shook a little as she put it back down on the coffee table beside her.

"I'd like for you to stay here, Carrie," Deanna told her, not wasting any time. "I'd like you to be a part of this community."

Though she was relieved, Carrie couldn't help but frown. "You don't even know me."

"Aaron and Rick do. Make no mistake that you would not have been brought this far if they did not approve. If Rick didn't approve, he wouldn't let you join his supply run. He wouldn't give you a weapon, he wouldn't let you ride in a car with his son. On this occasion, with Rick being the one who brought you in, I don't think there's a lot for me to worry about."

"Thank you," she said gratefully. Though she had been reassured for weeks now that Deanna would not throw her out, she had still sometimes worried that she wouldn't be allowed to stay.

"Now that we've got that out of the way," Deanna smiled pleasantly, sitting back on the couch and getting comfortable. "I'd like to hear all about you. I want to know your story, please."

Fully prepared for this recount, Carrie took a breath before launching into her explanation. "When it all started, I wasn't paying much attention. I hadn't been wat-"

"Not about the outbreak," Deanna interrupted apologetically. "Tell me about you. Who you are, where you grew up, what you did for a living…everything."

A little taken aback, it took Carrie a moment to regather her thoughts. "Does any of that really matter?"

"Yes," Deanna implored, leaning forward a little. "Who you were before, matters. Who you were determines who you have become."

"I'm not like who I used to be," Carrie shook her head, feeling completely disconnected to her old life.

"You are," Deanna insisted. "You've changed of course, you've grown. You've seen things, and done things too…but the person you were before is still there. She still matters."

Looking into her lap, Carrie wondered where to begin, trying to remember her own history. While she knew it, having had months in which to dwell on what used to be, it didn't feel like it belonged to her. Her past was only a distant memory of better times.

"My name is Carlene Georgia Hartmann," she started, seeking something easy. "My maiden name was Godridge. I kept my husband's name after we divorced."

"That's a good start," Deanna encouraged when she trailed off. "Keep going. Who are your parents?"

"Stanley and Yvonne Godridge. I was born November twentieth, nineteen eighty, in San Francisco. Both my parents came from old money. My dad had investments in all sorts of companies…I never really knew what he did."

"And your mom?"

She was everything I didn't want to be, Carrie thought unkindly. "She did fundraising work for some charities. She was…a typical rich wife I guess. She socialised a lot…shopped a lot too."

"And you, Carrie? Were you a typical rich kid?" Deanna enquired, not unkindly.

"If that means, did I not appreciate the opportunities I had? Yes," she admitted. "I was kind of a brat."

"And then?"

"Then, I…" she slowly began, trying to find the right words. "I knew I was facing the same life as my mother, and I wanted more. I worked my ass off to get into a good college, and then I ran away to the other side of the country. I started a business degree at Dartmouth

Deanna smiled, amused by her story. "Did you have a major?"

"Advertising."

"Why advertising?" she asked now, pressing her for more. "What made you chose that?"

Carrie gave a short laugh, beginning to feel the same type of excitement she had the first time she took her advertising classes. "Economics was dull, management was easy…advertising was fun."

"Fun?"

"Yes. It was all billboards, tricks and persuasion. I used to be able to talk my way into or out of anything…I was well suited to it."

"And you made that your career?"

"Yes…when I got married, it uhh," she began, remembering the conversation clearly. "It was on the agreement that we move to New York. So we did."

"Were you good at it?"

"Very," she smiled. "When the outbreak began, I had another agency trying to headhunt me."

Deanna smiled, and she had a way of making her feel as though she was intensely interested. At her encouragement, Carrie elaborated a little more about her job, discussing her campaigns and the department she managed.

"Sounds to me like you're a people person," Deanna suggested.

"I was then," she smiled, though it faded now. "I'm so sure about these days though."

"But at heart, you were people focused," Deanna said, imploring her. "Isn't that a key component of advertising? Of marketing? Knowing people…knowing everything about them?"

"Yes."

"You said you had your own team, that you were second in charge for your department. It sounds to me like you worked very well with people."

"I guess so," she agreed, struggling to remember that side of herself. "These days I guess I'm used to working against people."

"You said you were married? Would you tell me about him?"

"His name was Logan Hartmann. We met in college during our sophomore year."

"How did you meet?"

"I was visiting a friend in the residential halls, and he…" Carrie began, smiling despite the bad memories of her marriage. "He was in a full on panic because he had a job interview, and he didn't know how to iron his suit."

Deanna chuckled, her face crinkling with mirth. "Ah, young men and life skills. You ironed it for him?"

"Well he was cute, and flustered, so yeah, I helped him out."

"What attracted you to him?"

Carrie paused, thinking back. "I knew him a little, I knew he came from money like me. I liked that despite that, he was still trying to get a job during college. So I ironed his suit, badly, and slipped my number into his pocket."

"Did he get the job?"

Again, Carrie paused, bracing herself for the feelings of humiliation she knew all too well. "No…turns out he was actually going on a date. That should have been my first indication."

"Indication of what?"

"That he took issue with the concept of honesty. Monogamy too."

"Ouch," Deanna cringed sympathetically.

Carrie just shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I should have seen it coming."

"Why's that?"

"I knew from the beginning that he wasn't the most truthful. He was more than suited to his career on Wall Street."

"Still," Deanna commiserated. "I bet that hurt like a bitch."

Surprised by this comment, Carrie actually gave a short laugh and smiled. "Yeah, it did."

Moving on, Deanna posed her next question. "Do you have children?"

"No."

"Did you have children?"

"No," she said again.

"One day, maybe?"

Carrie gave another short laugh, but this was one of derision. "No," she repeated for a third time.

"You sound certain of that."

"I am," she nodded. "I wanted children before…but not anymore. Not like this."

"You might find the world behind these walls is different," Deanna pressed her.

Shaking her head, Carrie disagreed. "It's not going to be like this forever."

"I disagree," Deanna smiled. "Alexandria has a future. You know of Judith, Rick's daughter?"

"I've heard of her."

"She's going to grow up here…this will be her home. Yours too."

Though she knew what she wanted to say, to argue that the world outside was not going to stay out there forever, that nothing was permanent, Carrie held her tongue. Perhaps now was not the best time to be making this argument, not when Deanna was being so kind and welcoming to her.

"Tell me about what happened to you during the outbreak," Deanna requested. "When it all began."

"I was in New York," she began to recount. "I was busy with work, so I didn't really pay much to attention to how bad things were getting…it was surprisingly calm in New York."

"New York held out for quite some time," Deanna told her.

Carrie nodded in agreement. "I think that's why I didn't realise how bad it was. When I did, I managed to get to the airport," she added, remembering the ache in her feet. "I think I got one of the last flights."

"Where did you go?"

"I was going to fly to Orlando, and then drive to Miami. My parents were down there for the summer…I thought it would just be a matter of getting them to answer my calls. I didn't make it there though. We flew for hours, and then diverted to Atlanta."

"What happened then?" Deanna pressed, Carrie having trailed off.

"It was…pretty bad," she said, not wanting to elaborate. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the camera and then looked away, wondering what to say next. "Two days later, a guy from the Red Cross found me hiding in a dumpster. We found some more people, and then we managed to get out of the city. That night, we could hear the city being bombed…we could see the the flashes of light from miles away. We ended up camping in the mountains for a while."

"And were you safe there?"

"I guess…Walkers tend not to go uphill unless they're following something. We spent the winter in those areas, we didn't stray too far from the Atlanta region. But the Walkers just chipped away at us one by one. At one stage, we had over twenty people at our camp…when there were only five of us left, we hit the road. And then there was only me."

"You lived in the thick of it?"

She nodded. It felt strange to acknowledge that, particularly to someone who had not. "I had a second group for a while too. I guess by default I became the leader."

"Not by default," Deanna corrected her. "There was a reason."

Not arguing, she just continued. "Things were good for a while. By complete accident we came across a house that belonged to a coupon addict…we weren't even going to check it, but at the last minute we decided we would. That was a good few weeks."

"You only stayed a few weeks?"

"Yes. Another group arrived, and…" she trailed off heavily, her shoulders slumping against her will. Glancing at the video camera she wrung her hands together, not knowing how much she wanted to say, especially when she was being filmed.

"Something bad happened?" Deanna softly enquired when Carrie didn't continue.

"Yes."

"You don't have to tell me everything that happened," she said kindly.

She gave a small smile at this. "That's what Rick told me."

Deanna echoed this smile. "He's seems protective of you."

Carrie just shrugged. "Anyway, we," she began again, clearing her throat. "We left on foot in July last year…I've been on foot ever since," she concluded. Now that she knew what really happened at Terminus, she didn't want that name to ever pass her lips again, and so she didn't bring it up.

"Aaron told me that you were alone for quite some time?"

"Yes."

"How did that happen?"

"The usual way," she said bluntly, feeling her throat tighten as she thought of what happened to Sue, to Shannon. "If we weren't killed by Walkers, we were killed by people."

"I understand," Deanna nodded sympathetically.

This remark, while kind in nature, immediately got on Carrie's nerves. Barely holding her tongue, she forced herself to not glare at Deanna, to not make her true thoughts known. Deanna had no possible way of understanding…to say that she did was insulting.

"How long were you on your own for?"

Clearing her throat again, Carrie took a drink of water before answering. "Since November third," she stated, clearly remembering that day. Sue had been the one who kept track of the dates, not her.

"Four months?" Deanna said in awe, tilting her head a little. "How did you survive that?"

"I just did. It wasn't really a conscious decision," she mused, remembering the way that after a few weeks, she completely spaced out. "I just kept walking."

"What did you do?"

"I walked," she repeated. "One day I just started walking, and then didn't stop. Sometimes I found houses or towns to stay for a while, to find food or supplies. Other times I found cars that worked and gas…I covered a fair bit of ground. I think Rick found me not far from the South Carolina border."

"That's an admirable feat," Deanna complimented.

"Thanks."

"Aaron told me that the day Rick picked you up, you were covered in guts…in the dead."

"Yes. It kept me safe…I would cover myself, and I didn't have to worry about Walkers. I think I once walked right next to one for an hour, just to see where it was going. It was warm, too. During the winter when I was by myself, I," she started, laughing in embarrassment. "I would actually lie down and pull a dead Walker on top of me…it was warmer if I could get two of them."

Deanna seemed neither disgusted, nor surprised by this admission. "You're smart. Resourceful."

Carrie didn't know what to say to this, so she took another drink of water.

"We need people like you," Deanna continued. "People like Rick."

"Yes," she agreed without hesitation.

There was a long pause now, and it was clear that Deanna was considering her next line of thought, her next questions. Letting her think, Carrie looked out the door to her right, seeing that it led out onto a side terrace. It felt peculiar to be sitting in doors, and once again she found her eyes drawn to the stereo player above the fireplace, looking at the illuminated LCD screen.

"Have you killed people?"

Surprised by the blunt question, Carrie frowned as she looked around at Deanna. "Have you?" she countered without thinking.

"I've exiled three men. That's as good as killing them."

Taking note of her naivety, Carrie rebuked her. "Not necessarily." She looked out onto the terrace again, longing for the taste of fresh air. "Yes, I've killed people."

"For what reasons?"

"Some by mercy…one by accident. Others I killed to protect myself, to protect my group."

"Would you please tell me about the people you've killed."

Turning back, Carrie looked her in the eye. "No," she refused, remembering what Rick had told her.

To her surprise, Deanna accepted this refusal without hesitation. "The things you've had to do…has doing them made you a bad person?"

"Is that what you think?"

"I'm asking what you think."

Seeing that she wouldn't be able to avoid answering, she gave this question consideration. "It makes me…" she began, thinking about Granger and his group. "It makes me someone who will do what's necessary. I don't know if that makes me bad or good."

There was a brief lull in conversation, the in-depth nature of it calling for a pause. Her fingers wrapped around the half glass of water, she looked at the smears she had left as a result of the condensation on her dirty hands…and to think she had considered them to be rather clean. Taking another sip, she put the glass aside again, her eyes still trained on the brown smears she had left as Deanna resumed the conversation.

"What death has hit you the hardest?" she asked, leaning back into the couch. "Whose loss has hurt you the most?"

"All of them," Carrie answered automatically.

"No," she shook her head. "There's always one…there's always one death that hurts the most."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know," she stated.

Sensing that there was a story behind Deanna's certainty, Carrie felt obligated to answer. But that was easier said than done, particularly as she thought about her answer, as Shannon's face came to mind. Feeling her throat tighten, Carrie looked out onto the terrace yet again…she tried so hard not to think about Shannon. Thinking about her was more painful than thinking about Granger.

"Her name was Shannon," she began, her voice weaker than she would have liked. "She was fourteen."

"You loved her?"

"Of course."

"You provided for her…you cared for her."

"Yes."

"You protect her."

"No."

"No?"

Carrie shook her head. "I only tried to protect her," she confessed, thinking about how Victor had nearly assaulted her, about how she had eventually died.

There was silence now, and perhaps Deanna regretted pressing Carrie for this information. "How did she die?" she asked anyway.

"The usual way," she started. Though she knew she didn't have to answer, she felt the need to verbalise it, to acknowledge what happened. After it had happened, the group hadn't spoken in days, and so her death had never really been acknowledged. "We were on the road, and I normally slept with my arm around her. One night I just rolled over in my sleep. Someone fell asleep on watch, and a Walker came. It just happened to go for her, not me…just chance."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Deanna said kindly, her tone making Carrie feel as though she really was.

Trying to move past the tight feeling in her throat, she clenched her jaw and wiped her palms on the front of her jeans, restlessly scratching at some dried mud.

"What do you think your role will be here in Alexandria?"

"I don't know," she answered, glad for the change of topic. "Rick says you'll give me one."

"Well, it's not a dictatorship. You have a choice of course."

"Rick says that I'll be a low priority."

Deanna sighed, and nodded her head. "It's rather crass to class ourselves in such ways, isn't it?" When Carrie didn't answer, she continued. "Do you have invaluable skills?"

Carrie shook her head. "No. But, err…Rick says-"

"Rick says, Rick says, Rick says," Deanna teased, smiling at her.

Carrie laughed now, uncomfortable with Deanna's astute perception.

"Are you two close?"

Remembering her agreement with Rick, Carrie carefully gave her answer. "In a sense, I suppose. There's not a lot to do when you're driving all day except make small talk."

Deanna gave her a lingering smile, but continued nonetheless. "I interrupted you, I'm sorry. What is it that Rick says?"

Wringing her hands together, she thought back to their previous line of conversation. "Rick says that you have a doctor here, that he's teaching Rosita."

"We have two doctors here," Deanna confirmed. "Pete and Denise, although Pete is our primary physician."

"I'd like to learn from him, if he's willing to teach me. But, I figure I'd be a supply runner."

"Are you good at that type of thing?"

"Yes. Plus, Rick's been…" she trailed off for a moment, realising she had brought him up again. "He's been teaching me how to shoot properly. The whole group has."

Deanna nodded slowly, and it appeared she was carefully scrutinising her. "I don't see you as being just a supply runner."

"No?"

"No," Deanna confirmed, still scrutinising her. "I don't think I can contain you to just one role…I don't think you're the type of woman who wears only one hat."

"What type of woman am I?"

"Well, you're a protector, a guardian. I can see you taking watch on occasion."

"Okay."

"You're a provider…I can see you doing supply runs. You're a carer…I can see you maybe teaching our children, helping out our elderly. You're organised and efficient too…ruthlessly, I'd bet," Deanna smiled. "So I can see you helping Olivia in the pantry. Most of all…you're a planner. I can see you helping Maggie and I with our work."

"What work is that?"

"Planning for the future. Planning for industry, agriculture, development…real life."

Once again, Carrie turned and looked out the window.

"Rick thinks that's a pie in the sky," Deanna continued. "I know it probably feels that way to you too."

"Yes," she admitted.

"I felt that way at first. I promise you, it won't feel that way forever." Leaning forward again, Deanna smiled at her. "Tell me, Carrie. What were you like to work with?"

"Sorry?"

"What were you like to work with?"

She hesitated before answering. "I was thirty one, and I had the power to make or break someone's career."

"Did you use that to your advantage?"

"Only to get the best out of people. I earned myself quite a few nicknames, some of them nicer than others."

"What was the worst?"

"I can't say it on camera."

Deanna chuckled. "The nicest?"

"Parrot."

"Where did that come from?"

"I would always give credit where it was due. But no matter how good someone's work was, I would always tell them 'now do better'. They hated me for it…but they always came back with better."

"You wanted the best out of people," Deanna nodded, echoing her earlier statement. "Sounds like you always got it."

"Yes…I had a fantastic career, I loved it. But it didn't always make me a lot of friends."

"I commiserate."

"Right," Carrie laughed. "Politician."

Deanna chuckled, and for a moment it was as though the two of them were old friends, sitting back and enjoying a laugh about the good old days. As though that really were the case, the tone of their conversation changed, and she started to feel a little more relaxed, at ease.

"I believe we're going to be good friends, Carrie," Deanna said candidly, looking at her intensely. "I hope you feel the same way."

Breathing out a long sigh, she considered this. Despite her initial reservations, Carrie nodded in agreement.

"Will you do it?" Deanna asked, beginning to sound a little excited. "Will you be a part of our community? Will you help provide for it, and care for it, and plan for it's future?"

As the weight of this request hit her, Carrie was filled with an insurmountable sense of hope, one she hadn't felt so strongly since the day Rick had picked her up. Looking Deanna in the eye, and firmly believing in her answer, Carrie nodded. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"No," Deanna smiled. "Thank you, Carrie."

Amused by this, Carrie chuckled under her breath, surprised that given the situation, Deanna was thanking her.

"Do you have any questions, Carrie?"

Thinking on this, she slowly shook her head. "No."

Their interview concluded, Deanna got to her feet and walked around to the video camera. "If you do, you know which door which door is mine. In the mean time though, I hope you don't mind," she continued, switching off the video camera. "But I'm going to need a short while to make arrangements for you. Part of the reason for our expansion is that we're short on accommodations."

"Of course," she said, understanding.

Smiling at her again, Deanna leant on the arm of the couch. "In the mean time though, I suspect you're highly deserving of a long, hot shower."

Unable to help herself, Carrie gave another short laugh. Covering her mouth, she looked at Deanna gratefully, and nodded. "Yes, please."

"Carl, come on," Rick began, fearing he would have to drag his son away from his friends. "Pete's waiting for us."

"Now?" Carl protested, balancing on his crutches and swinging his legs beneath himself. Ron and Mikey watched on in amusement, Carl's return with a major injury of great interest to them.

"Yes, now. And don't do that," he scolded, his heart leaping into his throat every time he fooled around on the crutches, fearing that he'd lose his balance and go crashing down onto the gunshot wound.

Reluctantly, Carl farewelled his friends and promised he'd be around to see them later, joining Rick as they headed for the infirmary. Nevertheless, it was a struggle to get very far, with many people gasping in sympathy when they saw Carl on crutches, everyone crowding in to get a better look, to ask him what had happened. Despite the fact that his group had brought everyone back safely, and despite the fact that they'd brought back far more supplies than initially thought, Rick could see the judgement in their eyes. He'd seen it the moment word got out that Carl, a mere child to them, was being allowed to go on the supply run. He'd seen it the first time he and Carl had gone to Olivia to get their weapons, the two of them taking a walk together outside the walls during their first week. While he knew these people didn't understand, and that they didn't know Carl, today, Rick couldn't blame them for their judgement. Allowing Carl to come with him was something he had agonised over, particularly so given that he'd nearly been killed by both a car accident and a gun shot.

Finally getting away, father and son slowly made their way up the street towards the infirmary, taking their time to look around and revel in the fact that they were home. The supply run had started off well enough, and despite the car accident that saw Carl injured, the journey down to the prison had been largely trouble free. It was the journey home that had taken forever, that had been marred by mechanical trouble, bad roads and even worse people. With shit coming at them almost every day, the idea that they would eventually be home felt like a lost hope, like something that would never really be attained. And now, here they were, safe and sound. Glancing back at the five vehicles and great crowd down by the gate, Rick couldn't believe that everyone who had left Alexandria had returned safely…he truly hadn't expected that.

Turning to Carl to share his happiness to be home, Rick frowned when he saw the look on his face, seeing he looked surprisingly unhappy. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," he denied, shrugging.

Despite this, Rick watched him carefully, observing the way his eyes darted to the infirmary, and then away again. "Do you not want to see Pete?"

"I didn't say that," Carl shook his head.

"Then what's the problem?" he asked, coming to a stop and making Carl do the same.

There was an awkward pause now, Carl bracing himself before he spoke. "I just don't like him very much," he said apologetically. "That's all. I never said I didn't want to see him."

"Why don't you like him?"

"I just don't. I don't have to like everyone," he said defensively.

Figuring Carl didn't want to talk about it, Rick trusted him enough to let it go for now. But no sooner than they had set off towards the infirmary again, Carl sighed and began to elaborate.

"It's just…I heard him call Jessie a stupid bitch once, so I don't really like him," he said quietly, looking up to see his father's reaction. "You'd never say that to Mom."

"No, I wouldn't," he agreed, surprised by what Carl had told him. He hadn't figured Pete to be verbally abusive…then again, he barely knew the man. Dwelling on this, he figured perhaps he ought to know Pete a little better if Carl was constantly over at his house. "Let's just get your leg looked at."

Encountering only a few more Alexandrian's who wanted to gasp in astonishment at Carl's injury, they quickly made their way to the infirmary, heading straight inside when they found the door open. As Pete greeted them and pointed towards the main bed, Rick couldn't help but marvel at being inside a house that didn't stunk of dust and rotting corpses, somewhere with electricity and running water. Their first arrival in Alexandria had brought about the same reaction, but he supposed as he had grown used to simple luxuries again, he had forgotten to appreciate it.

"So take your jeans off, and lay down on your right side for me," Pete instructed before pulling the screen across. "There's a blanket there if you want. I'll be right back."

Carl kicked off his boots and jeans and then let Rick help him gingerly get up onto the high bed, turning onto his side as instructed. Though they had taken good care of the wounds, this was the first time Rick had taken a good look at Carl's injury recently, their group having been so busy and pressed for time since they left Franklin. The side of his thigh was still a little swollen and tender to touch, but from the outside both dressings looked clean.

Appearing around the screen, Pete turned on the large over head light and shone it on Carl's leg. "Do you know what type of bullet it was?"

"We figured it was a standard nine millimetre."

"It went through," Pete commented, snapping on a pair of gloves. "That's good. No chance to recover the bullet?"

"No."

"And you were in a car when it happened?" he asked, turning to Rick when Carl nodded. "Do you know when his last tetanus shot was?"

Trying to remember, Rick knew that Lori would have answered this question in an instant. "I think had a booster shot when he was ten or eleven," he managed to remember. "He stepped on some garden shears."

"Perfect. Carl, you tell me if I'm hurting you, alright," Pete began softly. Taking his time, he gently pulled back both of the dressings and looked at the wounds underneath. "They've scabbed over well…no puss, not too much redness. That's all good. Can you take me through the first aid?"

Recounting the memories he didn't want, Rick went through the blood transfusion they had given Carl, and the turn for the worse he had taken a few hours later. Despite everything that had happened with Carrie in Franklin, Rick remembered what Aidan had done for Carl, how he had known exactly what to do when he started going downhill. Looking at Carl now, Rick knew he should be a little more grateful for Aidan.

"What about antibiotics?" Pete enquired, gently pressing his fingers along either side of the bullet's path. He frowned, lowering his head and peering at it from another angle.

"These ones," Rick answered, taking the orange bottle from his pocket and showing Pete the label.

"Twice a day," Carl assured him. "I didn't miss any. Should I keep taking them?"

"Oh yeah," Pete chuckled. "You gobble these up like they're candy. Tell me about the pain right now."

"It's fine at the moment…except when you press on it."

"Sorry," he apologised, taking his hands away. "What about when you stand? Can you bear any weight on it?"

"Standing is fine, but it hurts when I try to walk on it."

"Out of ten, how much is the pain?"

"Ahhhh," Carl frowned, unsure. "Like, just…average?"

"Good, that's about what I expected," Pete nodded, peering at the wounds again. Being thorough, he picked up Carl's lower leg and started testing his range of movement very slowly, gauging the response he made with different motions. "You've probably got some lateral muscle damage along the path of the bullet. Until the swelling and pain settle down some more, I'm not going to know what further treatment you'll need."

"What treatment might he need?" Rick asked.

"His motion looks good, but if the muscle damage is affecting his ability to walk, he might need minor surgery." He turned to Carl now, explaining to him. "I'd give you some medication to make you go to sleep, and then I'd open you up and see if I need to manually repair the muscle damage."

"How much would that hurt?"

"A fair bit, although I suspect you've bought me some good supplies I can use for you. Besides, the sympathy your dad would give makes it all worth it."

Laughing, Carl looked at Rick in amusement.

"Also, there could be bullet fragments left inside the path of the injury. Without an X-Ray I won't be able to tell until the swelling goes down. The wound is fairly shallow though, so I'd like to see you again in another week so that I can take another look, maybe try to feel around for something. You've been using the crutches all the time?"

"Almost all the time," Carl said sheepishly, knowing he had caused his father much frustration by his impatience with them.

"Well I want you using them constantly. For this week at least, keep the weight off your leg as much as possible, we want the rest of the swelling to go down. If you get much pain, take some Tylenol and apply an ice pack. If that doesn't help, come and see me straight away."

"Okay."

"You'll need to take it easy," Pete warned him. "No work. I'm writing you a prescription for video games and TV."

Carl laughed again, looking rather cheerful at this. "Sounds great to me."

"Is there anything else you need me to take a look at?" Pete asked, applying new dressings to each wound. "You didn't bump your head or anything in the car accident?"

"No, but Dad did," Carl told him. Rick immediately grit his teeth, trying not to glare at Carl for this. But in true fashion, Carl was not done. "He got knocked out from it too. He was unconscious for a few minutes."

"Were you now?" Pete enquired, looking up at Rick.

"Yes," he admitted.

"He got knocked out a couple of months ago too…he was unconscious for over a day."

"Woah," Pete frowned, taken aback by this. But perhaps sensing Rick's reluctance to talk about it, he didn't press him too much. "I keep telling you to come in for that check up. You should bring in Judith too, she's due for a one year old check up. It's her birthday soon, right?"

"Three days," Carl smiled as he pulled his jeans on again, oblivious to Rick's annoyance.

"You should bring her in," Pete said again, pulling off his gloves and throwing them in the trash. "I saw her teeth the other day, the fourth one's finally broken through. They look good."

"I noticed." Rick forced himself to smile, not wanting to appear ungrateful for his assessment of Carl. "Thanks Pete…I'll make sure Carl has plenty of video games."

"Yeah, thanks Pete," Carl said gratefully, picking up his crutches.

"No problem. Come back on Sunday, and I'll put another dressing on for you."

Glad to be done with it, Rick and Carl left the infirmary with polite thanks, but as soon as the door closed behind them Rick noticed Carl's expression sour a little.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Carl."

Carl sighed, carefully manoeuvring down the steps. "I don't want to sit around watching TV."

"I know," he sympathised, knowing Carl was itching to help unpack the supplies, to be actively doing something that contributed.

Wondering how Carrie was going with her interview, Rick and Carl started heading back to the main house, noting that everyone seemed to be heading back to their respective houses now that the fuss had died down. Walking past the lake, he returned Jessie's wave when he saw her there supervising the younger kids by the water. Glancing back at the infirmary, he thought about Pete's repeated request that he bring Judith to see him, and he wondered whether or not it was a good idea. Aside from the fact that he didn't want Pete enquiring about her potential blood type…he just didn't want Pete seeing her at all, despite how irrational this was.

"What is it?" Carl asked now, repeating Rick's earlier question.

Rick laughed in spite of himself, both pleased and annoyed by how perceptive Carl was. Looking at him, he gave him a reassuring smile. "You're not the only one who doesn't like Pete."

They returned home without further fuss, successfully managing to avoid being drawn into conversation with the few Alexandrian's who were still lingering down by the trucks. The majority of people had gone back to their homes now, Abraham having promised death for those who dared touch the supplies before he did. As they passed the intersection Rick looked down that way, reminding himself that he wanted to get the greenhouses back off the military truck. The plants and cuttings he had taken from the garden would need to be cared for before they could be transplanted here, although Rick wasn't entirely sure where he would be establishing the new gardens.

Although they had missed their family, Rick was glad to find that there was not a small reunion in progress when he and Carl got home. While Michonne showered and Carol fussed over Daryl, Rick gratefully picked up Judith and held her closely, entertaining her as he took another look at the new tooth that had broken through her top gum. Now that the fuss of the supply runners' return had died down, Judith quickly became rather grumpy from being prematurely awoken from her morning nap. Getting frustrated, she started to cry when she went to suck her thumb, only to bite herself. Comforting her, Rick simply curled up on the couch and let her go back to sleep for a short while, knowing it was what she needed. Her wailing turned into small sobs, which soon died down into the familiar soft breaths that he knew all too well. As if to tempt him to sleep even more, Judith sighed as she got comfortable, her fist clenching around the brown piece of fabric that had once been part of his tee-shirt. He hated that it had become her security blanket, that the item she took such comfort from was the shirt he had worn out on the road…he knew what it had been covered in. Thinking of the yellow blanket he got at Walmart on, he wondered how he was going to get her to swap to it instead.

With Judith warm and comfortable on his chest, Rick allowed himself to close his eyes for a short while. He was quite partial to kicking off his boots and taking a well deserved nap with his daughter, but he forced himself to push on a little while longer. Carrie was completing her interview with Deanna, and it had now been thirty minutes since he had left her company. Responsible for her, for more than her physical safety anyway, Rick wanted to make sure he was ready the moment Deanna came to him following the interview, knowing that's exactly what she would do. Having been the one who brought Carrie in, who had made the decision to save her in the first place, Deanna would want to consult with him over where she'd be accommodated.

Yawning, Rick struggled to keep his eyes open as he listened to Daryl, Carol and Michonne in the kitchen, the pulse of running water indicating that Carl was now taking a well deserved hot shower. Thinking on this, Rick was proud of his son, despite the regret he felt towards bringing him in the first place. Before leaving they had shaken hands on the agreement of their terms, and while he had occasionally toed the line, Carl's behaviour and work ethic on this supply run made him immensely proud. Chuckling to himself, he remembered that when they first left, they had assumed it would be Carl who needed baby sitting, not Aidan.

Just as he was slipping off to sleep, Carol's voice roused him. "Rick? Deanna's coming."

Only just remembering Judith was in his arms, Rick slowly sat up and hastily pretended he hadn't been asleep. His exhaustion was like a physical weight on his shoulders, something that wanted to pin him down to the couch and make him stay there. Forcing himself to his feet he joined the others in the kitchen and looked out the front windows, seeing Deanna almost at their porch.

"She just came from the other house," Carol told him, clearing her throat before putting on her most pleasant smile.

"Here goes," Daryl commented dryly, he and Michonne exchanging a glance.

Readjusting Judith in his arms, Rick opened the front door and met Deanna as she crossed the porch. Though he knew Carrie would have been welcomed with open arms, he couldn't help but feel nervous about Deanna's assessment of her, about where she would be living. So long as it wasn't in that shared house with Olivia, Carrie would be alright he thought. Though the shared townhouse was the logical accommodation, he didn't exactly imagine she'd have much in common with the people.

"Deanna," he greeted, stepping back and welcoming her in.

"Rick," she nodded, smiling as she looked at Judith in his arms. "We've got a Sleeping Beauty here…and another," she added, catching him trying to hide a yawn. "I heard you almost drove through the night. You must be exhausted, so I won't keep you long. Hello Daryl, Michonne. It's good to see you both again."

"I'm very glad to have them back," Carol smiled, pulling a large silver tray out of the freezer and placing it on the bench to defrost. "This house is too big with just Judy and I."

"I bet."

Having made enough small talk, Rick got straight to the point. "You've finished Carrie's interview?"

"Oh yes."

"And?"

Deanna gave a slow, but genuine smile. "She's remarkable," she told him proudly.

He was unsurprised by her astute observation, knowing Deanna would have formed her opinion of Carrie rather quickly. "Where is she now?"

"Taking what I suspect will be a long, hot shower in my guest bathroom. I've asked Maggie to go and wait for her while I'm here."

"Good," he said nonchalantly, pleased by this news. Before taking Carl to the infirmary, he'd made sure he had the chance to talk to Maggie, relieved to find that Glenn had already beaten him to it. Despite Maggie's clear disapproval for what they were asking her to do, she listened to his instructions carefully and then pocketed the tiny transmitter, promising only that she would try. Now would be the opportune time for her to plant the bug in Deanna's living room. It absolutely had to be planted before Aidan settled back into home and began telling his parents what had happened on the supply run, recounting his version of events.

"She's told me a great deal about herself. I like her…I think the feeling is mutual. At least I hope."

"That's good."

Deanna nodded in agreement, pausing before looking a little apologetic. "I hate to take you from your family again, but could I trouble you to talk privately?"

"Of course," he agreed, having hoped they would.

"And perhaps with you too, Carol."

"Me?" Carol asked in confusion.

"You run these two households. Nothing happens around here without you overseeing it."

Glancing at Carol, Rick wondered where Deanna was going with this. Curious, he thanked Daryl as he gently handed over Judith, who roused until Daryl gruffly started shushing her, patting her back until she settled again. Leaving her, Rick headed out onto the front porch, letting Carol fuss over offering pleasantries and refreshments.

"Thank you, Carol, but I really don't want to take much of your time," Deanna told her, the two of them following Rick out. "There's so much to do, and you all have so much to catch up on."

"What is it you need to talk about?" Rick asked, his arms folded as he leant against the porch railing. Remembering how much he towered over Deanna, he made himself take a seat when she and Carol did.

"Carrie's living arrangements," she replied, looking from Carol to him. "I couldn't help but notice she seems rather fond of you, Rick. You're name came up more than once."

He nodded as though this wasn't unexpected. "I saved her life, I would hope she's fond of me."

Deanna gave a low chuckle, her knowing smile making Rick wonder how much Carrie had told Deanna, how much she had given away without even knowing it. Deanna was annoyingly intuitive, and he wondered how much she had read into Carrie's apparent fondness of him.

Deanna got straight to the point. "I'd like for Carrie to come and live with you."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "With me?"

"With your family," Deanna clarified. "When I first saw Carrie, my initial thought was that she looked like a deer caught in the headlights."

Nodding in agreement, Rick remembered thinking that too.

"She can take care of herself, I have no doubt of that…but it would be unkind to have her live in the shared townhouse with people she doesn't know. Aaron and Eric would gladly put her up in their home, but let's face it, they're young and in love. They like their privacy. Unless you feel I should ask Tobin or Nicholas-"

"No," he said abruptly.

Deanna nodded, understanding. "Then that leaves your family as the people she knows. She trusts you."

Rick paused, letting Deanna's reasons sink in. The notion of accommodating Carrie in one of their two houses wasn't unwelcome, rather it was something he'd briefly considered, a thought briefly that crossed his mind on the journey home. Despite this, it hadn't been something he intended to suggest, not wanting to make Carrie feel as though she had to accept the offer. Glancing at Carol, he tried to gauge her opinion, annoyed to find that she was still wearing the pleasant smile that gave away nothing, even to him.

Seeing his frustration with her, Carol nodded plainly. "We can make room," she said.

"We're already packed to the rafters," he commented in return, not out of disagreement, but to see what Carol really thought.

Gauging their discussion, Deanna tactfully stood up. "Why don't I give you a moment to talk about this," she offered, heading inside. "I can catch up with Michonne."

As Deanna departed, Rick leant back in his chair and looked at Carol critically, surprised she had so quickly acquiesced to Deanna's request. Even when she was putting on her pleasant facade, it was unexpected for Carol to so quickly accept a person she didn't know to come and live in her home, to come and live with her family. He wondered what it was that she was thinking, a part of him having expected her to not warm to Carrie very quickly, to make her prove her worth and value.

"You're sleeping with her, aren't you."

He gave no perceptible reaction. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I can tell."

"Can you now," he muttered, shaking his head. "I'm not sleeping with her."

"Ah huh."

Glaring at her for a moment, he looked away in frustration, annoyed by her perceptiveness. Through the open window next door he could hear Abraham singing, a loud squeal indicating he and Rosita were showering together. The second house was already uncomfortably full with eight adults occupying four bedrooms, and while they were marginally more comfortable over here, accommodating Carrie would mean a slight reshuffle. He was willing to organise that for her, he wouldn't refuse her a roof over her head just because it was cramped, but he was surprised by Carol's eagerness to do the same, particularly given the astute observation that he was sleeping with her.

"It has no bearing on my opinion of her," Rick sighed, seeing that Carol was not going to let this go without getting his admission. "Alright?"

Carol snorted in derision. "So you formed your opinion before dropping your pants. Good to know."

"I didn't realise I needed your blessing," he said sharply, not liking her tone.

Though she didn't apologise, Carol eased up a little. "I take it Carl doesn't know."

"It's none of his business."

"Good." There was a short pause, the two of them looking at each other before Carol continued. "We can make room for her…unless you don't want her here."

Not wanting her to get the wrong impression, Rick quickly clarified. "If we can make room, then she should stay here. Deanna's right."

"It will be cramped for a little while," she commented. "But with the expansion we might be able to spread out a little in a few months."

As if on cue, someone came marching out onto the front porch, but rather than Deanna rejoining them, it was Daryl. His crossbow slung over his shoulder, he was lighting a cigarette as he walked past them. "I'm goin' hunting. Give Carrie my room."

Carol raised her eye brows at this. "And where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the attic," he said gruffly, leaving no room for argument. "I don't use the bedroom much anyway."

They watched him go in silence, Daryl never looking back as strolled up the street and turned the corner. There was another long pause, Rick starting to get an odd feeling about Daryl. He'd had the same feeling once or twice during the supply run, but he'd just put it down to stress and exhaustion.

"Is there something going on with Daryl?" he asked, suspecting that Carol would know if there was.

"No," Carol shook her head.

"He's not acting strange to you?"

"Not that I've noticed."

Still unable to shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rick got to his feet and headed inside, telling Deanna that they'd made their decision. She seemed pleased with this, and he got the sense that she hadn't expected anything other than his agreement. Like Carol, he wondered if Deanna had an inkling that he and Carrie had slept together, if perhaps she had told her during the interview. It seemed out of character for Carrie, who had agreed they would keep this relationship to themselves, despite half their group managing to find out. Thinking about how obvious they sometimes were, Rick knew he was going to have to be even more subtle about it now, particularly given Carl's reaction to the mere possibility that they'd slept together.

"Thank you, Rick," Deanna said gratefully. "I expect Carrie will be quite happy here."

"When will she come by?" Carol asked. "I'll need to make her room up for her."

"I'll stop by to see Aaron and Eric first, then I'll need to take Carrie to the pantry. We'll get her some toiletries and another set of clothing for now. I think maybe about an hour."

"We'll see her then," Carol smiled, thanking Deanna as she left.

Bemused by the unexpected turn of events, Rick and Carol stood side by side on the front porch as they watched Deanna leave. Feeling peaceful and happy to be back, Rick took enjoyment from the familiar sounds, still adjusting to the fact that he didn't need to be on constant alert right now. He instincts kept telling him that something was wrong, that he was being complacent, and he knew it was going to take a while for him to settle and relax a fraction.

"How was the prison?" Carol asked, sounding sad that she couldn't go too.

"Empty," he said shortly, not know how else to describe it. "Is that a lasagne you pulled out of the freezer?"

Carol nodded, managing a smile. "Yes. It was for your birthday."

"Thank you."

"Did Carl give you the card?"

"He did. It's in my duty belt," he said his hand drifting to the pouch that held the birthday card with his children's hand prints. "You were behind that, weren't you."

"Who else?"

Nodding, Rick smiled before remembering something he had noticed. "Someone cut Judith's hair," he accused.

To his amusement, Carol seemed apologetic. "I had to. It was getting in her eyes."

He sighed, feeling guilty to have missed nearly three weeks of her life. Not only had she had a hair cut, she'd broken her fourth tooth and was practically walking. It was a lot to take in…a lot he had missed.

"Oh come on…Tara wanted to soften the blow to you by piercing her ears."

Rick's face fell. "No."

Laughing for a moment, Carol gave a long sigh. "Coffee?"

"Please."

She patted him on the arm as she headed back inside. "It's good to have you all home."

Standing on the porch and looking out across Alexandria, he thought back to the prison, remembering the difficulty of leaving that behind. It had been their home for so long, and he was glad to have had closure on that chapter of their lives. Enjoying the familiarity of his new home, Rick agreed with Carol.

It was good to be home.