*** Hey guys... so this is awkward, it's been a really long time... I've been a very busy, very exhausted, very occupied mommy to the little piglets, writing is not something I have tons of time for! I've been listening to the bing-bong-bing-bong on my iPad: alerts from emails coming in, reviews, favs, follows... I've been such a shit about responding, so this is me saying : THANK YOU EVERYONE! Your continued interest in this beast blows my mind, and I love you all for it. I promise this story (and my other ones) are NOT abandoned... they're just on maternity leave I guess! Anyhow, I had some time this weekend, since the piglets were at Grandma's house, and I believe I've used it wisely doing some writing! Enjoy! ***

Nothing in her entire life had ever felt as good as that shower did. Literally nothing. The master bedroom's shower had a wonderful shower head, as big as a dinner plate, that hung from the ceiling above and let the water come down like a rainfall. There was also a hand held nozzle on the wall, and when she had them both turned on, it was nothing short of heaven.

The water was warm, and plentiful, and the steamy air felt wonderful as she let it in and out of her lungs. The shampoo, soap, and conditioner were nothing special, names she didn't recognize, but they smelled like paradise, clean and floral. She used much more conditioner than she normally would, but realized, after Molly's hair, that her own head of hair was going to be a nightmare to brush out if she didn't offer it some aid.

She didn't want to stop showering, she never wanted to leave, but she thought of all the people needing showers, and forced herself to turn the water off. Stepping out of the huge walk-in shower, Linney felt delightful. The big mirror along the bathroom wall was fogged up and she smiled at the sight. Wrapping her hair and body in towels, Linney stepped to the vanity and brushed her teeth, using mouthwash and floss, too, relishing the feeling of her smooth, clean teeth afterwards; she ran her tongue over them again and again for the sheer pleasure of it.

She dug around in the drawers and found nail clippers and went at her fingernails, clipping them short, cleaning under them, and filing them smooth. She looked down at what she could see of her toes and grimaced; it was unlikely she'd be taking care of her toenails anytime soon, at least not on her own. Linney tugged the towel from her hair, hanging it on a hook on the wall, before attacking her head with the stiff-bristled brush that had been on the vanity's countertop.

Silently thanking herself for using so much conditioner, Linney ripped and tore at her head, frequently changing arms as the muscles ached from the exertion. Her hair was longer than it had been at the prison, and by the time she had it all brushed out, it hung dark, thick, and shiny, down to the middle of her back. She enjoyed the way the cool, slick tendrils of her still wet hair felt as they brushed against her bare back, moving her head back and forth a few extra times to revel in the sensation.

Out in the bedroom, Linney felt slightly less delighted. She felt vulnerable in just the towel wrapped around her body, her belly bulging against the front of it. What the fuck am I going to wear? She thought in concern. A glance at the nasty heap of dirty fabric on the floor told her that she had no desire to wear her old clothing. Her gaze fell on the box that Carol had left on the bed. Right. She figured Aaron had brought over women's clothes for someone her size.

Pulling the flap on the box open, Linney felt a happy smile pulling at her lips when she saw the contents. Maternity clothes. Lots of them. All kinds. She pulled out underthings, bottoms, tops, dresses – everything. Shucking the towel, Linney pulled on the clean underwear and the comfortable nursing bra and smiled in delight, pleased beyond measure to have something that fit.

She found a pair of jeans with an odd, stretchy panel across the front, and when she pulled them on she almost clapped her hands together in glee. They fit wonderfully. The stretchy panel gave her all the space she needed for her belly, plus a little support, and it allowed the jeans to fit properly elsewhere. Linney walked across the bedroom to the mirror that hung on the back of one of the closet doors and stared in surprise at herself. Her arms were probably a little too skinny, as were her legs, but her belly was large and smooth, and her boobs were just gigantic in the bra. It was her skin that really transfixed her though.

Being clean made her look different. It had been so long. Parts of her were tan from the sun, other parts much more pale, with a pink glow from the heat in the shower. Her scars stood out in stark contrast to her skin. Linney took a couple of steps closer to the mirror, to really look at her face. Her eyes were still huge. Her face was a little thinner than it should be, from the lean existence they'd been eking out lately. Food will take care of that, she thought confidently. Her hair looked good, still her best feature as far as she was concerned. She met her own eyes in the mirror. The young woman looking back seemed cautiously pleased, and Linney turned away quickly. Rein that shit in, she warned herself, refusing to give in to optimism.

She found herself a t-shirt in the box, a dark blue one, fitted to just below the breast, where it then flowed out comfortably, allowing room for her belly, hanging to below her hips, long enough to be comfortable, and to hide the panel on the jeans. A glance in the mirror again showed a normal looking pregnant woman, and Linney marvelled at the sight.

A loud banging on the door nearly made her shriek and she lunged for her pile of dirty clothing on the floor, frantically using the wall to lower herself down just enough to hurriedly pull out one of her larger knives. She turned back to the door, knife gripped in her hand, just as the door opened. It was Merle. She drooped, relieved and exasperated, and dropped the knife to the ground.

Merle's eyes followed her movement and then looked back at her. His face was unusually still as he stared at her. She felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Why the fuck did you barge in here like that?" She snapped, waving an angry hand at the door, "I could've been changing!" Her tone snapped him out of it and he made a face at her.

"Oh calm down, sweetheart," he mocked her, "You ain't got nothin' goin' on that's worth seein'."

"Fuck you. Do you need the shower?" She asked him, "Because you could have knocked politely and asked, like a fucking normal person would've." Merle raised his prosthetic arm, in which he clutched a towel and a heap of clothing.

"What do ya think?" He responded. Linney grumbled as she moved back to her dirty clothing, and braced herself against the wall to help lower herself to the ground. She'd dropped all her knives down with her clothes earlier, not thinking, and now it was extra difficult to get them back. The floor was not her friend. It was just so far away now.

Merle grumbled behind her and came over, snatching up her arm and pulling her to her feet and out of the way. He picked up her knives and their sheaths in a few short movements, before depositing them on the bed and then, grumbling under his breath, went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Linney stuck her tongue out at the door, but turned to her knives easily enough, taking care to strap them all on. The two she normally kept in her boots, she stuck in their sheaths and then clutched them in her hands. She was barefoot, and needed to find socks, and then find someone to help her put on said socks, and then maybe find different shoes. The dresser in the bedroom yielded the socks easily enough. The closet had lots of women's shoes in it, but they were at least 2 sizes too big for her. Great.

She eyed up her dirty boots, where they sat next to her clothing, and decided to leave them there; it was too much hassle to pick them up and lacing them up was a frigging nightmare now, with her huge belly in the way. Socks in hand, boot-knives left on the bed, Linney made her way back out to the hallway.

Judith was snoring peacefully in the crib in her little room. A peek in the teenage boy's room showed Molly, napping on one of the beds, which made Linney smile. Someone was in the shower in the hallway bathroom, and she thought it had to be Michonne, judging by the delighted laughter that filtered out into the hallway; the woman was much more pleased and at peace with Alexandria than most of them.

Linney opted to head downstairs, her bare feet enjoying the coolness of the hardwood floor beneath them. Carol was nowhere in sight, but Linney figured she was using the downstairs shower. She heard voices then, coming from the kitchen, and paused, flattening herself against the wall. She heard Rick's voice, and a woman's voice she didn't know. Peering around the corner, she saw a blonde woman giving Rick a haircut, of all things. Linney's brow crinkled a little at the odd sight.

Not wanting to intrude, Linney turned back to the front door and opened it, stepping outside. Daryl still sat at attention on the stairs and when he looked over at her, his expression went through a gratifying array of emotion. Surprise, shock, pleasure, and finally something hungrier. She smiled at him.

"Ya look nice," he muttered, his eyes moving over her, catching on her face and hair several times, not to mention the square-cut neckline of the shirt that her ridiculous chest was pushing at.

"Thanks," she replied quietly, walking towards him. They stood staring at each other, and she realized how bad he smelled. "You need to shower," she told him, "I know you're concerned about this place, but take advantage of it – even Merle and Rick are." He shook his head and looked away.

"Daryl," her voice warned him, "You smell nasty, go clean up." He looked back at her and glared. "I said no," he responded curtly, "Back off." Linney took in a deep breath and lowered herself onto the bench that took up space on the front porch, determined not to push too hard, or let his personal reactions bother her (even though they definitely did).

"Help me with my socks," she ordered, instead of starting in on the shower again. The tension in his shoulders eased at the little request, and he took the socks from her, kneeling on the ground in front of her. "Would you clip my toenails for me later?" She asked him then, further surprising him. He looked up at her, an incredulous look on his face. She felt her cheeks heating and looked away.

"Sorry, they just need it, and I can't reach," she told him haltingly, feeling stupid all of a sudden. He grunted and started to put her socks on for her. "Course I will," he muttered. She smiled and watched him easing the socks over her very clean feet. When he was done he gripped her feet gently in his hands and looked up at her.

"Where are your boots?" He asked her. Linney smiled at him and shook her head. "Another victim of the biggest gut in the universe," she tried to joke, her hands resting on her stomach for a moment, "They're on the ground upstairs, I couldn't reach them. It's all good for now though, not like I have anywhere to go." Daryl pushed to his feet immediately, moving to go inside.

"Daryl wait," she called him, and he turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Ya need shoes on your damn feet," he informed her. She nodded.

"I need simpler shoes," Linney explained, "I can't lace those stupid boots up anymore. I need shoes that slip on and off easily, but none of the shoes here are my size, so I'm going to have to ask Aaron what I can do."

He stared at her, frustrated. "What am I supposed to do with that information?" He snapped at her, "What about right now? What do you expect me to do? Let ya run around fucking barefoot? Is that what ya expect?" Linney blinked, a little hurt by his tone. He was the one being unreasonable, not going to get cleaned up, so she couldn't figure out why he was acting like her feet were the problem.

"I don't expect anything!" She found herself yelling back, "I was just saying! It's just shoes!" He turned away from her and stomped off the porch.

"Where are you going?" She yelled at him, "Daryl! Daryl!" He ignored her and strode away, turning the corner on the house and disappearing.

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Merle watched his dumb shit brother leave Linney on the porch and shook his head. Damn fool, he thought to himself. Merle was clean, wearing a dead man's clean clothing, right down to his drawers, and he felt fucking fantastic. He'd used the razor in the bathroom, brushed his teeth, all of it. He felt good, and damn if he didn't look good, too.

Daryl was not having any of this, and for the life of him, Merle was just as baffled by it as Linney appeared to be. He glanced out the window of the master bedroom again, saw her sitting dejectedly on the bench on the porch, and wondered if he ought to go out and say something. However, Linney got up then, clearly still in an extreme snit about Daryl's abrupt departure, and she grabbed a small ceramic figurine that had been sitting on the railing of the porch as decoration, and she heaved it angrily out into the street, smiling when it smashed.

Merle rolled his eyes and looked away. She's fine, he thought to himself, feisty as fuck, just like her momma. Merle grunted and looked away from the window at the thought of Marly. He'd been struck dumb when he saw Linney just a little before, clean and pink-skinned, all round and pregnant. She'd looked so much like her momma in that moment that he felt like he'd fucking time travelled for a moment.

Merle left the master bedroom, still feeling a little out of sorts being in a house like this one. Not a house a Dixon ever expected to be inside of, he thought ruefully, at least not legally. The bathroom door in the hallway opened in front of him just then, and Michonne walked out, wrapped in towels, clean and smiling. She raised an eyebrow at him and nodded, before curtly crossing the hall into one of the bedrooms, moving as stately as a queen. Damn fine lookin' woman, he thought to himself, shaking his head as she shut the door of the bedroom behind herself.

She was tough though, and unlikely to tolerate his shit, and he knew that, so he told himself that Ole Mutie wasn't his type. Moving further down the hall, he paused at the doorway of the room he knew Molly was napping in. He leaned through the doorway to catch a glimpse of the little mite, to make sure she was alright. She was slumped on her side, hands tucked under her chin as she slept, little face slack with exhaustion.

It sickened him how much he cared about the badly-scarred little girl. You went n' got yourself a second chance, you feel-good fucktard. He shook his head against the asshole with his father's voice who lived in his head, coming out every so often to say shitty things. He watched Molly breathing, dressed in regular kid's clothes, clean stuff, and he felt good about it. Glad she was here. Glad she was technically his now, that no one had realized was a righteous fuck-up he actually was and taken her from him.

Girl needs a momma, he thought, knowing that he could only parent so much, and even that wasn't going to amount to half of what a little girl needed. Need to find a good woman, good enough to be yours and mine. Involuntarily, his mind flashed to the plump woman who had collected their guns. He smiled a little to himself. Said 'er name was Olivia, he reminded himself, thinking of her shy smile and glossy hair. At the time, she'd seemed a little terrified of them all, especially when he'd grinned at her as he handed her his weapons.

Prettiest fucking skin I ever saw, he thought to himself as he walked downstairs, pink and white like a china doll. She looked soft and sweet, and he found himself wanting to walk out the front door and find her again, introduce himself properly. Probably she'd look at ya like ya wanted to kill her. She'd turn him down, of that he was nearly certain. The thought made him a little unhappy, and he paused on the landing. It was a weird feeling. It was almost too normal of a feeling, worrying about how a pretty woman might take his advances.

The contagion of this place was its normalcy, and it was catching a lot faster than he'd thought it would. Even for a grizzled old shithead like himself, he could feel the waves of normal lapping at him, urging him to lower his guard, push back his defenses, and settle in.

No. He was resolute; no Dixon was ever caught off guard, and he wasn't going to start that shit now. He'd use this place up and spit it out, if he had to. Use it for what he, and they, needed, and leave it behind when they were done. Merle made it down to the kitchen, where Carol and Rick were quietly talking in the kitchen, and he strode over to them, features serious, resolve straightened, and joined in on their conversation, their plans.

In the back of his mind, he never stopped thinking about what it might be like to talk to Olivia – just a normal man, talking to a normal woman.

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Linney stared down at the smashed figurine on the pavement of the street. It had felt good to throw it, to watch it smash. She was feeling silly now though. She knew the neighbours were likely still watching, and that her actions were childish and stupid. She wanted to clean it up, but felt like she probably shouldn't bother with such complicated effort right now.

"Everything alright?" A voice called to her and Linney spun around quickly, her hair whipping around her neck and shoulders as she did. She found a strange young man standing several feet away from her, looking at her with mild concern. Linney's hand dropped to the large knife at her hip by reflex, and his eyes caught the movement. He brought both of his hands up in the air in front of himself.

"Whoa," he said, mild alarm in his voice, "Whoa, whoa, sorry." She paused, her fingertips lightly dancing over the top of the knife's handle. His eyes moved from her face, to the knife, to her belly, and then back to her face.

"I'm sorry - Jesus, that was a stupid thing to do," he continued, lowering his hands slightly, "Look, sorry, I came over to introduce myself, I didn't even think that you might –" His voice trailed off, and the look of regret on his face was genuine.

Linney moved her hand away from the knife and nodded slowly at him. Her eyes cut over him quickly, assessing all potential threats. He was taller than her, a lot taller, taller even than Abraham was, though not as beefy as the redhead – He's got the size advantage on you and he's probably faster than you based on leg-length alone. He had no weapons that she could see, none at all – it didn't even look like he had a knife anywhere, which struck her as supremely odd – but you got the weapons advantage.

He took a careful step forward and she took an immediate step back, eyeing him warily. His face cringed again. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, sticking his hand out towards her, "My name's Spencer Monroe, you met my mother today?" Linney stared at his hand, and then up at him and nodded, not reaching her hand towards him. Slowly he dropped his hand, clearing his throat a little.

"Ok, so, yeah," he said, forcing a smile to his face, "My mom told everyone to back off and leave you all alone today, so you guys weren't overrun all at once; everyone is dying to meet you."

"I bet," she finally said in reply. He smiled at her response. "We must seem so ridiculous to you," he continued, clearly encouraged by her reply. Linney shrugged. "We're different," she informed him carefully, "We're not like you all are."

"You can tell already?" He asked her, a little arrogance in his voice. She nodded. "It's not hard to see," she answered him flatly, gesturing at him with one hand, "You don't even carry weapons." His eyebrows went up.

"Should we?" He replied incredulously. Linney felt an eyebrow go up and regarded him as if he were a fool. "I'll take that as a yes," he smiled while he answered, "Maybe you're all here to teach us, then." She smiled at that; she liked his easy manner, despite her paranoia. His eyes were fixed on her face and his smiled widened into a pleased grin when she smiled at him.

"What's your name?" He asked her, the smile on his face, his posture, both easy and relaxed.

"Linney," she answered him, her tone a little more friendly. He stuck his hand out to her again, a hopeful lift to his eyebrows. "It's nice to meet you, Linney," he told her truthfully. She took a breath and reached for his hand, shaking it briefly. His grip was gentle and warm, and he released her hand before it got weird.

"You too," she returned.

"I'll see you around," he told her, "Maybe tomorrow morning, since I'm helping get you all oriented to your new jobs." Jobs? She thought, No one said anything about a fucking job. She kept her smile pasted on her face and nodded, turning to head back to the house.

"See you tomorrow," she spoke over her shoulder.

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If she had attacked him, he'd have had no one but himself to blame. He should have listened to his mother. Of course he'd seen them all come trooping in the gates, seen and heard them congregating in the yard outside his house. He figured that, unlike most other residents, he had a little more leeway to meet them before anyone else did, being the leader's son.

The people in the two houses were staying pretty quiet though, not coming out much, except for the guy with the crossbow who kept prowling around the two homes. When Spencer saw the young woman standing in the street, he'd decided to go say hello. He was startled by how pregnant she was when she turned around. Also how pretty she was.

He was a little afraid of her too, he had to admit that deep down inside. He'd scared her, and her first instinct was to go for a huge knife at her waist, not to run, and not to cry out for help. Girl like that would eat you alive, he admitted to himself, watching her head back into her house, not to mention she clearly belongs to someone else.

Mr. Crossbow had been watching them the entire time too, a dangerous look on his face, which made Spencer all the more aware of what Linney had so bluntly pointed out; he had no didn't want to seem creepy, so he raised his hand in greeting to the guy, but received nothing but a deeper glare in return. Don't get on their bad side already, dude probably thinks you're hitting on the pregnant chick, he's gonna rat you the hell out.

He retreated a few houses away, and sat on Ms. Miller's stoop, watching as a big group of them left the second house, carrying food and bedding, even a mattress or two, over to the house the girl had disappeared into. Why the hell are they all staying together? These people were a mystery. He thought the women were pretty fine though, eyeing the 4 brunettes and the blonde girl who'd emerged from the other house appreciatively.

It had been a really, really long couple of years since they'd come here, and life was dull, the people were dull, and he'd figured that his life had stagnated at this point. This influx of people was exciting and intriguing. He thought back to Linney's wary eyes, her pretty, but suspicious face. Maybe your future is with them.

Spencer looked up and saw the guy with the crossbow, still standing on the porch of the house that everyone was inside of now, still glaring down the street directly at him. Ok, maybe only with some of them.