SEVENTY. six feet under

         FOUR DAYS HAD PASSED.

The room was dark. And Adeline found herself to be cold. The air was motionless and silent, curtains drawn shut to obscure the rising sun. This had been her reality since their arrival in Alexandria: confined to a bed in order to get better. The events of the last month, a blur of a chaos and grief, was something she still didn't know how to take in, and she struggled to register everything that had happened. The death of Tyresse, and how in his absence she only now realized how much she'd grown to care for him. How deeply she missed him, and Beth. Hershel.

Now, she was locked in a place with unfamiliar faces. She had her family, but it felt like at any second she could lose them, too. Adeline clung to hopes that seemed to recede with each passing day, elusive and taunting. But five hours had gone by since she was given the go-ahead to leave the infirmary, where she spent three solid days of being poked and prodded by Pete Anderson, the community's doctor.

Today would finally be the day she had her interview with Deanna Monroe, who was the appointed leader. Everyone else passed with flying colors the day they arrived, but Adeline ended up being a special case with a heavy loss of infirmary supplies. She pushed the thought aside, forcing herself out of bed, fighting against the dizziness and nausea that assailed her with the sudden movement.

She shrugged off the thick comforter with a grunt of effort, grateful for the soft mattress that had eased the aches of the road. Standing to her feet, she reached for the lamps pull string by the bed, and a dim light flooded into the room. Shadows were cast against the beige painted walls, which stood decorated by numerous paintings.

The floorboards groaned under her weight, and Adeline glanced down at the digital clock that, to her disbelief, worked. The time read 9:32, which gave her a good fifteen minutes to get ready before she was to be at the interview, which was nothing but an ailen concept to her. But if she remembered correctly, Glenn would be waiting outside to show her the way so she wouldn't get lost.

Dressing was a battle, particularly the stubborn buttons of her jeans, but nevertheless, she prevailed. She slipped a black jacket over her shoulders, and abandoned the idea of zipping it up after two failed attempts. Feet incased in socks were quickly stuffed into pre-tied Converse, and a glance was thrown over her shoulder in search of her weapons.

Only to realize they were nowhere to be seen. They were locked away, in the armory along with all the others. They wouldn't even let her keep her throwing knives, which nearly bummed her out as much as her machete. It left her feeling exposed, stripped of a part of her identity. Then she remembered she wouldn't even be of help in her state, so Adeline attempted to calm her nerves as she left the quiet bedroom.

The house lay in a hush, mirroring the stillness of the hallway she stepped into. Upon entering the kitchen, Adeline's gaze fell upon Abraham Ford, who had fallen victim to sleeps warm embrace on the counter. She spotted the steaming cup of coffee resting dangerously close to his arms, and decided she wouldn't wake him. Instead, she gently repositioned the mug and offered a silent, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder.

They were all still sharing the same house, a rule universally agreed upon until they had the lay of the land. They were strangers in a strange place, giving them even more reasons to stay close together.

Silently closing the front door behind her, Adeline stepped out onto the porch and was met with a wave of fresh morning air. Goosebumps cascaded down her arm and up her back, making her shiver, inching the jacket she wore closer to her body. It was still summer, but her list of reasons for feeling sick were too long to begin naming.

Glenn and Wesley were only a stone's throw away, the latter indulging in a cigarette. "You smoke?" She inquired, her voice cutting through the silence. Glenn was only an inch or two taller than her, while Wesley towered, prompting her to crane her neck to meet his curious gaze.

He stomped the cigarette out at the sight of her, hastily swatting away the cloud of smoke that formed in her face.

But that didn't bother her. To be fair, she'd come face to face with two burning bodies before.

"No." Wesley spoke, then amended, "Well, only sometimes." He pocketed the pack of cigarettes, eyes briefly scanning her before hastily returning to her face. "How are you holding up?"

Before discomfort could take root, Glenn intervened, steering Wesley aside with a friendly clasp of the shoulder and a chuckle that masked the awkwardness that dared form. "Alright, we will see you later, Wes."

Turning to Adeline, he asked,, "You ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be." She affirmed, falling into step beside him. "You know I could've answered that question." Adeline murmured, voice tinged with the resilience that Glenn had come to admire, even as he concealed his growing concern for his best-friend.

"You shouldn't even be walking right now." He chided, hands buried in his pockets.

"I have two legs that work perfectly, Glenn."

He only rolled his eyes. "That's not funny, Adeline."

"It's my way of coping." She countered, her eyes sweeping over the clean neighborhood of Alexandria. "Have they formed a secret cult to kick us out yet?" The widow joked, noting the watchful eyes of early risers on their porches.

"I actually think they respect us." Glenn informed, "At least some of them do." He look down at the somewhat fresh cuts that scabbed over his knuckles.

Addy shook her head in disappointment, "I'm still upset I missed out on you knocking that guy on his ass. What's his name, Aiden?"

He chuckled. A soft one, one that barely reached his eyes. "That's the one. But he deserved it." Glenn assured, feeling gratitude for being able to take his best-friend's mind off the dark and morbid thoughts that normally clouded her.

"A good thing I wasn't there. I probably would've killed him."

Ah. There was the Adeline Grimes he knows and loves.

"You're awful, you know that right?" Glenn's laughter was genuine this time, "Besides, Daryl nearly did. Lucky Rick was there, it's like the Grimes hold the key to calming him down or something." Addy only nodded in a knowing manner, "Yeah. We're pretty cool like that."

Their steps slowed to a stop, along with their conversation, when they reached one of the nicer looking houses on the block. Each home was grand in their own right, but this one— this one had something special about it. The porch reminded her of her own, way back in King County.

Which made her hope that Morgan was still out there.

"This is the one?" She questioned, looking at the windows, the curtains inside closed shut. "It's fancy."

Glenn glanced at her, "They're all fancy." he spoke, noticing the anxious tapping of her shoes against the sidewalk. "Are you nervous?" He questioned, "You, Addy the Strong?"

"What if I get us kicked out?" She met his eyes with a concerned look, "Or worse..."

"Expelled?"

"Okay, that's my cue." Addys lips curled into a reluctant smile, bolstered by Glenn's reassuring pat and whispered well-wishes. And as he left, she began to approach the looming door, her nerves returning just as strong, if not stronger.

After a few seconds of contemplating just running off into the woods, she placed her balled up fist against the entrance and knocked. It took only a short minute to hear the shuffle of footsteps within the home, then the door opened to reveal Milo, the very man she met the first day the group arrived.

His friendly smile faltered slightly at the sight of her, "You're up? And here already," Milo cleared his throat, stepping aside. "Deanna wasn't expecting you so soon- she thought you'd need more-"

"I've spent the last month sleeping on blacktop and my jacket balled up as a pillow, I can handle the lack of rest." Adeline assured, crossing the threshold. "Can she interview me now?" She questioned, tucking her hand into the front pocket of her jeans.

"How about we find out?" Milo responded, closing the door behind them and leading her to the distant living room. It was empty, and as Milo vanished into the kitchen, Addy's gaze wandered.

It was clean. There were framed pictures of the Monroe family scattered around, all taken in the same black and white grain as the ones Aaron had showed them. Shelves stood tall, cluttered with numerous books, one with a flute placed against the surface.

One book in particular caught her attention. To Kill a Mockingbird. Long ago, she borrowed the story from Beth, and like many things it was left in the prison. The teenager had annotated the whole thing, leaving notes scattered around the pages. Adeline found herself grabbing the book, flipping to a certain page she had remembered.

This copy was clean and unmarked. But she found the quote she searched for━━

"First of all," he said, "if you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view-"

"Sir?"

"— until you climb into his skin and walk around in it."

"You can have that, if you want it."

The voice caused Adeline to close the book where she had opened it against the shelf, stuffing it back into its place. She turned, and faced the shorter woman who stood behind the couch, an aged smile wrapped around her lips.

"That's generous of you." Adeline spoke, rooted to her spot. "I start to question someone after three good deeds." She quipped, "and that makes two. Of course letting us in would be the first."

Deanna only chuckled. "It's no act of kindness. I have two other copies upstairs, Harper Lee's talent deserves such redundancy." She assured, motioning towards the lone chair in front of Adeline. "You're looking better already."

"How are you healing?"

Adeline's weight shifted uneasily, her gaze fitting to the drawn curtains before she reluctantly settled into the chair. The unnoticed camera, which sat behind the couch, was already recording, and it threw her off guard. She instinctively leaned forward, elbows seeking the familiar perch of her knees, only to met with the heavy reminder of her loss.

She couldn't do that. Not anymore, not the way she wanted.

"The arm was dead weight, it seems." Adeline remarked dryly, her eyes falling to the empty space where her left arm once was. Amputation was named necessary when the infection proved to be nothing but relentless. It had run too deep.

Three days ago, the minute she stepped into that infirmary, it all finally caught up to her. Like her body was waiting for the group to be safe to give out. Her eyes closed, and they didn't open for twenty hours straight. When she woke, Rick was sitting by her side, with that look of sympathy that she knew all too well. The absence of sensation where her hand should've been told her all she needed.

"You've taken it better than most." Deanna observed, settling onto the couch with a composed cross of her legs. "At least better than I'd expect someone like you to take it."

Adeline furrowed her brows, "Someone like me?"

"A doctor." The woman reiterated, "Your hands are your livelihood, are they not?"

"I feel like that statement goes for everyone these days." Adeline responded, "But I've seen more..." she thought on a word to explain Merle Dixon, "troubled people deal with this kind of thing. If they can handle it, so can I."

Deanna's nod carried a weight of respect, devoid of pity, which the widow silently appreciated. "Your daughter told me quite a bit about you." She began to change the subject, "As did your brother. And nephew. Most of your people spoke of you, in fact."

"All good things, I hope." Adeline murmured, fingers absentmindedly adjusting the slack sleeve of her jacket.

"They're all very grateful for the things you've sacrificed. How you practically allowed your arm to fall off in order to ensure their survival." Deanna continued, "I see you as a very selfless person, and I've only known you for four days. You've been unconscious for most."

Selfless. Addy thought long and hard about that word. She could never take a compliment, they were always deflected or dismissed. Yet, as she sat there, the word haunted her, threatening to unravel the facade she'd meticulously built. She didn't want to spend too much time rumbling around her mind, it had a way of haunting her, turning her into someone she never wanted to be. Selfless. Is that what you'd call someone who has murdered as many as she?

But her gaze never wavered. "I only want to keep them safe."

Deanna leaned forward, her eyes probing. "Yet without you, their safety is compromised. You're more than glue, Adeline. You're the foundation. That's what this community is. And foundations must be preserved. Can you agree with me on that?"

A flicker of defiance crossed the widows features. "A foundation that's expected to crumble at any given second. I'm no savior, Deanna."

The leaders smile was enigmatic. "Perhaps not. But you are a survivor, and that's invaluable here. You're very much like your brother. Already looking out for people you don't even know. It must run in the family. You don't want to lose this place, I can see that. I've seen it in all of you. You've found a home here."

Adeline's thoughts drifted to the countless homes they had left behind, each departure marred by fire and ash. "Were all the other interviews this in depth?" Adeline cleared her throat, shifting in her seat and looking around the room. Her voice was a clear mix of curiosity and defensiveness.

"And if they weren't?" Deanna retorted, "You've endured the unthinkable, Adeline. You all have. That resilience, that strength, it's what we need."

"To ensure your survival." Adeline echoed the leaders previous words, and they tasted bitter on her tongue. She couldn't trust anyone anymore. There was always a catch, always a price to be paid.

"You seem like a smart person. Why let people you don't even know into your home? We've been out there a long time. Seen a lot of things."

"To ensure your survival." Deanna repeated, leaning back into the cushions of her couch. "I admire that. And I'm sure I would admire any story you have to tell me. Tell me what kind of person you are, Adeline."

The widow raised a brow, "And what if you don't like what I have to say?" She questioned, absentmindedly tracing the lining of the chair she sat in.

"Hit me." Deanna challenged, getting comfortable in her spot as a low chuckle escaped the barrens of Addys throat.

She wanted the truth. So she'd give it to her.

"The kind of person who's sees her husband get killed and forgives the one who pulled the trigger." Adeline informed, keeping her stare trained on the leader. "Someone who would kill anyone for the ones important to her."

Even with those words, Deanna's expression remained unchanged. The camera light blinked behind her, its green light driving into Adeline's mind. "That's who you are. But who were you? Before the death. Before everything fell apart."

The widow felt her own mind falter at the question. Memories clawed at the edges of Adeline's consciousness, demanding recognition. She glanced at the void where her left hand once was, the ghost of her wedding ring still felt. Who was she? She couldn't remember that girl. She could not remember the way her mind would work before, free of tainted thoughts and relentless fear. Who was that woman with dreams unmarred by bloodshed?

It wasn't her. Not anymore.

"I was..." Addy started, but found her throat empty of words. "Someone else. Who I am now is what matters." She found them, her gaze hardening, the mask she had crafted from broken promises and betrayals molding to her features. "If you're trying to analyze and find a place for me here, you already know I was a doctor, so just stick me in the infirmary."

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