"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."

Richard Bach

…

"Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy - and that is life."

Jean Anouilh

…

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"More den I c'n count. Prob'ly somewhere roundabouts yer kill count, Sheriff."

"How many people have you killed?"

"Bout th'same. Some b'fore dis craziness rained down, some after."

"Why'd you kill 'em?"

"Well, Sheriff, dere's folks out in t'world just can't be allowed to keep on wit' deir evil ways. Seems t'me it's worth takin' on a little extra guilt an' weight on m'conscience if it means a few more of t'people I care about get t'stay safe fer a while longer."

…

Everyone is gone.

The people of Alexandria finally wake to the dangers in the world around them, and it's already too damn late.

And it's the people Maggie love who pay the price for it.

She is almost glad that Beth and her father were gone before they came to this place. A safe haven, Aaron had told them. A home, a community.

All gone.

Too many Alexandrians killed by the herd to count. Not that they can tell who's dead and who's just missing. Only the faces of those they find after, the ones still recognizable after the walkers were done gorging, are the ones they could truly count as dead.

Maggie spends the following days in a panicked, frantic search that is interrupted only by the painful jarring that comes with the recognition of familiar faces among the shambling corpses.

Aaron and Eric.

Tara.

Glenn.

Oh, God, Glenn. She can still see him, every time she closes her goddamn eyes she can still see him running toward her, through the sea of walkers, turning back because of that girl, what was her name...Enid. Enid falling, Glenn reaching for her, then…

That's when the fog comes; a blinding, debilitating, agonizing fog that chokes off Maggie's breathing and crowds everything else out.

…

"Why're ya willin' t'help us out? What's in it fer y'all?"

"Well, Mr. Dixon, ye seem t'be fair capable of handlin' yerself, an' we c'n always use more of yer type around. Sheriff over dere seems like he might be practiced in keepin' folks safe, an' I'll never turn away someone like him. And then there's...eh. Ferget it. First two t'ings are reason enough."

"What were you gonna say?"

"Don't take dis t'wrong way, but ye r'mind me awful strong of somebody I lost a ways back. Me brudder. Know it's a stupid reason, but I miss him even after all dis time, an' it ain't gotten any easier t'deal wit'."

"...Ain't stupid t'miss someone like that. No law sayin' ya gotta get over shit like that."

"Amen, brudder."

…

Rosita dies saving Eugene, but he somehow manages to slip through again.

Rick pulls through, like Rick always does, though Carl will never be the same again. He wakes up after a day or two, but he isn't the almost-grown boy Maggie has come to know. Silent, his mind wandering worse than Maggie's does now, Carl face a long, painful road to recovery.

Michonne, by Rick's side the whole time, makes it through the night with more blood on her sword but nothing physically wrong with her.

Carol survives the herd but won't talk to anyone about what happened to Morgan.

As for Jessie and her kids, Maggie never does quite manage to pay attention long enough to hear what happened. She is understandably distracted; she loses the baby later that week.

She knows she's forgotten other people in the weeks since. There were so many more people in Alexandria, people she was going to work to keep safe and make a life with. But not now.

Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham come back later. She's still not really sure when. Someone might have said a couple of days, but she can't remember. She remembers other people panicking (though she doesn't understand what's left to panic about), people telling her she has to hurry, they have to leave, other people are coming.

Maggie remembers shrugging. Other people are always coming.

So they run. That should seem strange, they don't run anymore, but with so much destroyed by the herd, they just don't have the firepower or manpower they used to, and apparently whoever is coming is worse than the walkers, so…

They run.

…

"Is it much ferder t'yer camp, Sheriff? Don't wanna rush, but I'd like t'get ye all inside some walls b'fore nightfall, even if it's just th'empty gas station a couple of miles back. Call me whatcha like, I'm not much fer bein' out at night dese days."

"Just over the next ridge. We've got a patrol, we might run into 'em in the next little while. Carol or someone."

"Right smart of yer people t'keep a patrol goin'. Heard tales about some nasty folks some ways north of here. Dat's why we keep so far down here and way back up in th'woods. Not many folks encounter us, so not many folks spread t'spread th'news we're here. Less people know, fewer folks we got tryin' t'break ours doors down."

"Sounds pretty smart of your people."

"We try."

"And just so ya know, they ain't tales. They're the real deal. Some bad shit goin' on up north. S'what we ran from."

"Just as well we ain't plannin' on migratin' any time soon then, eh, Sheriff?"

…

As the weeks pass, Maggie begins remembers how to breathe again. Sometimes it's only for a few minutes, sometimes she can make it coherently through most of a day. Slowly but surely Maggie claws her way back out of her mind and into the hell that is the real world.

There are days when she misses the fog.

People don't know what to say to Maggie. To be fair, there's not a huge amount of talking amongst the group. They survive, they're together, but this last blow was...heavy. They walk, they scavenge, they forage, they find shelter, they post a guard, and the rest of them sleep. That seems to be the maximum people can handle these days.

Maggie doesn't sleep, though. Not much, anyway. When everyone around her is finally still, finally silent, all the distractions of the real world melt away, and she can finally just sit still and breathe.

That's when she listens for everyone she's lost.

Beth sings her name sometimes; Glenn calls it so softly that Maggie can hear his smile. Daddy says it sternly sometimes, on days when she lets the fog reach in too far, but other times his voice is sad and wistful, like how he used to sound when he talked about her mother. Other voices, voices she hasn't thought about or heard in years, float through her mind, little eddies in the fog.

Pastor Bill calling her out for inattention during Sunday school class.

Maggie.

A farm hand calling her over to check on a newborn calf.

Maggie…

Annette, pleased and surprised to see her home on an unexpected weekend off from school.

Maggie…

And then, that one voice, the one that always said her name the way it was meant to be said, the perfect, lilting, roughened voice that right now, for the first time in so long, she wants to hear above all others.

Maggie…

…

"So ya've met Carol an' Michonne. Abraham an' Sasha are on patrol. My boy is sleepin' off one of his headaches, but you'll meet him when we get everyone t'gether. He...got hurt real bad a few weeks back, but he's makin' it. Better than he was doin' fer a while, we're all shocked at how good he's recoverin'. Few folks packin' stuff up, you can talk to 'em if ya like. An' Maggie's around here somewhere."

"Maggie, eh? Knew a Maggie a ways back when I spent some time in Georgia. Funny how names ye know pop up sometimes, aye?"

"Well, Maggie is from Georgia, now that ya mention it. A lot of us are. Maggie? Where ya hangin' out?"

…

Someone nudges her shoulder, one of the Alexandrians whose name continually escapes Maggie, no matter how many times she's told. Probably something she should be ashamed about, but she'll most likely forget it again, so there's no real point in feeling guilty.

She glances up from the knife she's sharpening, shaking off the fog of her thoughts. She could almost hear the voices calling her name again, that's not good. She knows better than to let the fog take hold in the daytime like this. She's almost shaken it entirely, but she isn't quite willing to let go of everyone she's lost yet.

So the voices stay, and Maggie sometimes enjoys their company.

…

"T'ousands of Maggie's in Georgia, can't be t'same one."

"Either way, I'd like ya to meet 'er, and then we can get everyone together and head out once the patrol gets back in. I know she's around...there she is. Maggie, got someone I want ya to meet."

"Is...Maggie?"

...

She finally turns towards the sound of her name, wondering why in the world that voice is coming from outside her head.

"Maggie!"

Blue eyes, calmer than she's ever seen them. Disbelief and barely contained joy warring with a suspicious glint that most survivors carry in their eyes these days.

Maggie shakes her head, looking away. It's got to be in her head. Something just finally snapped; that's all. She'll be okay, but if she's going to have hallucinations this powerful, she probably needs to tell someone to take her gun. What if she sees someone she'd shoot on sight, like the Governor or-

"Maggie!" Warm, calloused, achingly familiar hands cradle her face firmly, turning her eyes until they meet his.

"I'm really here," Connor murmurs, his eyes searching hers as they slowly focus on him. "Are ye still dere girl?"

"You're...real?" Maggie asks. The crowd around them is silent, some staring openly while others try to look anywhere but the two of them. "Everybody else can see ya, too?"

"Yeah, he's there. Walked with 'im from his town a few miles back. They're gonna help us get back on our feet," Rick says, watching Connor as he checks Maggie over.

"Then...yeah, I guess I am here," Maggie says slowly. Her eyes lock on Connor's; she can focus suddenly, so much more than she's been able to the last few weeks, and reality rushes in with sharp, painful clarity.

"Dat's a good t'ing, 'cause I seem t'remember there's a few choice words I've been savin' fer t'next time I saw ye."

No.

No, he can't…

Panic sets in. Everyone she loves dies, and he can't...they can't...she can't handle that.

"I'm not the person ya made that promise to, Connor," Maggie manages, her chest constricting with the certainty of losing him again. "I've...everyone is gone. Ya can't say those things...everyone is...I lost...I'm not her, Connor."

"'M sorry, girl. Yer whole family?"

No words left, she nods, selfishly reveling in the marvel of his skin resting on hers.

"Ye've got yer group, though. They're here wit' ye, an' I know it's wort' about t'same as t'last time I saw ye, but ye've got me. If ye want me, I ain't goin' nowhere dis time. World's tried t'kill me too many times already, and dat was b'fore everyt'in' went t'hell. Ain't gonna get th'better of me now I've found ye again."

"I…"

"Just tell me, Maggie. Ye know I'm here, ye know I'm real, aye?"

She nods.

"Den let t'rest work itself out. An' when yer ready, a day from now, a month, a year, I'll say it den. Ye still trust me?"

Rick coughs, shuffling from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the word "trust", but Maggie ignores him, ignores the rest of the world that snuck back in when she wasn't paying attention.

"I do trust you, Connor, I just...everyone who loved me…"

"Are waitin' wit' Murphy, an' we'll have one hell of a family reunion someday. Fer now, though, while we're still here, will ye settle fer jus' me?"

Those blue eyes, clear now with only the vaguest hint of a storm. Calm now, collected and sane and…something. So different from Glenn's brown ones, always sparkling with some sort of goofy idea when she first met him, so grave and loving those last few weeks every time he put his hand on her stomach and smiled at her.

She can't help but think of that look Glenn would give her, like her father when he came home after a long, hard day at work, and Annette came up to give him a kiss. The way Sasha looked at Bob as he was dying. The way Rick would look at Carl when the boy wasn't paying attention. That look that said they were exactly where they were supposed to be because they were together.

The way Connor is looking at her even now, even after all the time and distance and horror that separated them.

"Ain't settlin' Connor. Gimme some time, but I want ye t'say it when I can hear it. I...need...just promise me this is real? Promise I'm really here with you?"

His sudden grin comes with a movement of clouds overhead that spreads some rare autumn sun through the clearing, warming Maggie's back as Connor straightens and holds his hand out to her.

"I'm here, an' I've got somewhere I'd like to show ye around."

She gazes up at him for a long moment, allowing herself the pure joy of just taking in his presence. Then she takes a deep breath that comes unimpeded for the first time in weeks, reaches for his hand, and pulls herself up.

"Alright, Prison Man. Take me home."