- Cass's POV -

The incoming air pushes back against my hand as it hangs out of the open passenger window. The beginnings of fall are evident in the yellowing treeline I look out on as the car flies down the road, scattering countless dead leaves behind us.

The car is quiet as Rick drives, Michonne and Carl sitting in the back together. The autumn air whooshes aggressively as I put the window up with a sigh, getting a little too cold at this point.

I don't need to look in the mirror to know my cheeks and nose are probably flushed, bright pink to compensate for the temperature. I spare a glance at our driver as he wordlessly maneuvers us down the empty country roads. He didn't tell us where we are going, only that we should be able to find some guns and ammo to prepare. Prepare to fight back against Phillip.

Pushing back the suddenly overwhelming negative thoughts surrounding everything Phillip, I focus on Rick's side profile. I can't stop myself from appreciating how good he looks right now as he stares out at the expanding road. The way his bone structure is lit by the morning sun, his intense eyes focused on his task at hand. Over the past couple of weeks, I've noticed that his beard is starting to get a sprinkling of grey amongst the brown. That and his wavy hair the way it's falling, one strand curling out on his forehead, is doing something to me.

When I start to wonder what his stubble would feel like against my face, I look away, my heart hammering. Okay. That's enough Cass.

It's a comfort though, to think about him instead of Phillip. That man brings only dread and hate into my heart, the opposite happening when I see Rick. When I'm with him.

It's become my guilty pleasure. Focusing on him. The safety I feel around him. His capability, his strength, and the way he cares so deeply about his people. It's just - comforting. Maybe that makes me a bad person. At this point, I've decided to stop caring.

Something catches my eye from where I was zoning out the front windshield, daydreaming about the one man I will probably be getting over for the rest of my life. What catches my attention now is a man with a bright orange backpack, walking down the side of the road. At the sound of our SUV, he turns, jumping up and down and waving his hands at us. I heartlessly watch as we drive right past him, leaves flying up behind us, feeling absolutely nothing leaving him behind.

A year ago, we would have stopped. Like we did for that Randall kid. But now, it's not worth the risk. Nothing is worth putting our lives in danger anymore. I hate to say it, especially how much our new thought process reminds me of Shane. Maybe he was right, just ahead of his time.

I glance back at Rick, who is equally emotionless as he continues to drive, not a flicker of guilt going through those captivating features. I wonder what the people we were back then would think of us now. Probably that we're barbarians who start wars with other communities instead of trying to coexist. The kind of people that leave a stranger on the side of the road, probably ensuring his death. I sigh as I look down at my clasped hands in my lap, my skin contrasting against the dark blue of my jeans. I suppose it doesn't matter now.

It's about thirty minutes later when Rick finally pulls off at the entrance of a small town, nestled between a forest and a few scattered farms. We pull up on the side of the road in a downtown area, with brick buildings lining the street accompanied by faded signs indicating what each building used to be. Carl perks up in his seat, his head whipping to Rick. "Are we-" He starts and Rick nods, a slight smile on his, frankly distracting, lips.

"Yeah. We're home." Rick confirms, stopping the car and getting out.

Home?

I step out on my side, shutting the door behind me and looking around. I'm glad I wore my sherpa-lined denim jacket today, it's absolutely freezing. Pulling it closer to my body for warmth, I inspect the small rundown store beside me and the sign that reads 'King's County Thrift Center' Huh.

"King's County?" I question out loud, tilting my head to the side.

"This is where we used to live," Carl informs me as he comes up beside me, adjusting his father's hat on his head. I slowly turn in a circle as my eyes skim the new environment, taking it all in. It's a cute little town, that's for sure. Except for the ominous neon orange writing spray-painted on the wall across the street, warning us to not go further.

Weird.

"Can we go see the house?" Carl asks Rick, actual excitement laced in his voice. My ears perk up. I haven't heard that from Carl in a while. I watch as Rick nods after a moment, turning to lead the way. It's not why we're here, but Rick knows it as much as I do. Carl deserves this.

After a short walk through the abandoned and leaf-covered streets, the four of us come to a stop in front of a quaint one-story house with a large brick porch in front, shaded under a large oak tree. It's a simple little house but I imagine it was much better before the turn, probably brighter. Warmer. Less wear and tear that it exhibits now, the yellowing paint peeling off, a front window shattered, and the lawn in front browned and dead.

Carl stares at the house, his eyebrows furrowed. "I remembered it being bigger," He says thoughtfully, before setting down the brick path to the house. Rick follows, his gun drawn, glancing around warily. Sparing a look at Michonne, I do the same. I can't lie, I am curious.

The boys make their way through the home knowingly, while Michonne and I slowly walk around the rooms. It's a nice house, despite the obvious wear the apocalypse has done to it. Our footsteps are noisy on the hardwood floors, echoing on the empty walls. You can see the faded squares on the off-white paint where photos used to hang. My heart aches. Lori must have gotten them all before they evacuated. It's a shame they got lost in the run.

Crossing my arms across my chest as I meander through the rooms, I suddenly get the feeling that I'm interrupting. Walking in an intimate memory, one that definitely doesn't include me. When I look around the cozy dining room, I can picture the Grimes family gathered together, laughing as they eat a delicious meal. Something they will never do again, all together.

I gulp, that all too familiar ache in my chest. An ache of grief for Lori, an ache of jealousy, an ache of sadness for them. As I turn, I freeze when I'm met by Michonne's calculated gaze. I blink at her, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

I don't say anything and neither does she. She just stares at me like she's trying to figure me out. Damn her and her intuition.

We both jump as Carl practically sprints into the room with us, panting. "Look what I found!" He enthuses, holding up a worn-out slingshot. A grin flickers across my face. "Wow, cool!" Michonne says, her eyebrows raised as she inspects it, leaning forward.

"Yeah, I was hoping for something else, but this is still cool," Carl grins as he turns the wooden weapon in his hands, a precious expression on his face. It reminds me that he is in fact still a kid. It's hard to remember sometimes, he does such a good job of pretending he's not. It's heartbreaking really.

As Carl shows off his weapon to an interested Michonne, I continue to stroll around the room slowly, curiously studying everything in front of me. The simple yet tasteful furniture is covered with a healthy dose of dust for obvious reasons. One of the few things still hung up on the wall catches my eye.

A framed diploma. Huh.

I brush off the layer of dust on the glass to read it properly. It's issued from the University of Georgia, a bachelor's degree in Criminology awarded to Richard D. Grimes. I can't fight the slight smirk that pulls across my face. I don't know why I didn't expect his full name to be Richard. What a dork.

"You guys ready?" The man himself asks from the hallway. I turn to him, my heart spasming when I see him as he watches us all expectantly. God, why does he look so good? That hair, still framing his face perfectly, his dark button down which is tight in just the right places, those hands, placed casually on his hips in just the right way to show off the distracting veins. Gulping, I look away, suddenly feeling really warm.

"Yeah Richard, let's go," I quip, trying to sound casual, fighting and failing to hide my mischievous smile. Carl snorts while Rick just stares down at me from across the room, trying to look unimpressed, but I see the amusement behind those eyes.

"Your full name is Richard?" Michonne asks, doing a much better job of hiding her amusement as she looks at him.

Rick clicks his tongue, shaking his head and looking away. "You guys are being immature," Rick informs us seriously, but I see the shadow of a grin on that handsome face. I hold up my hands in mock surrender, before turning and leading the way out, grinning all the while.

We emerge back on the front porch. Carl basically sprints down the stairs, Mishonne following at a normal pace. I begin my descent on the steps as I look around, wondering why there are almost no walkers around. It seems weirdly quiet.

My heart drops in my chest as my foot missteps on the stairs, my body quickly hurtling towards the brick that will most likely hurt like a bitch. I tense up, scrunching up my eyes in preparation for the collision with the harsh stone.

But I don't.

Instead of slamming down on the rough brick, I'm caught by a pair of firm arms, Rick's smell suddenly overwhelming me. My heart leaps into a lightning pace at the sensation of his warm hands on my waist, holding me to him securely. My back is pressed up against his solid chest, my brain malfunctioning at the close contact with him.

"Careful there, Cassandra." Rick breathes lowly in my ear, his warm breath fanning across my neck and part of my cheek, making my face explode in a hot blush.

Shit. If it isn't the consequence of my own actions.

Rick helps pull me up on my feet and I brush myself off sheepishly. Brushing myself off as if I could brush off the feeling he just gave me, make it go away. Make this frustrating unrequited crush on Rick just disappear so I don't have to think about it anymore. So I don't have to torture myself anymore.

"Uh, thank you," I mutter, forcing the blush off my face as Rick just looks at me with a frustratingly amused expression. His eyes are crinkled at the edges as he watches me, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Of course. Do you need help down the rest of the stairs?" He asks with feigned concern, his eyebrows raised mockingly.

Scrunching up my face with frustration, I quickly turn and storm away from him, his laughter trailing behind me. I can't fight the smile on my face as I walk away. It is nice to hear his laugh again.

That laughter doesn't last, especially when we reach the police station around fifteen minutes later. Rick curses when we find the armory is completely cleared out. The four of us stand in the empty room excluding the two stray bullets strewn on the floor and the empty boxes of ammo.

"Do we have a backup plan?" Michonne asks Rick, looking around the bare room, unimpressed. He rubs a hand on his jaw, thinking deeply. Crouching down in an effort to preoccupy myself instead of watching his distracting body language, I pick up the stray bullets, rolling the cold metal in between my fingers.

"There are other places with guns in town- maybe not as many that were in here-" Rick starts, looking around in slight defeat.

"We need the number of guns that were in here, maybe even more," I point out as I stand up, pocketing the bullets, my hands on my hips. If we want to spare a chance against Phillip and his men, we need a lot of fucking guns. A lot. 

Rick sighs, running a hand down his face before he stops, placing a determined hand on his belt.

"You're right. But they aren't here. Our best bet would be a few shops on Main Street- a bar, liquor store, places that most people didn't know had a gun or two under the counter. I know. I was the one who signed the permits." Rick informs us, his eyes meeting mine in the dark room. His usually undoubtedly blue eyes look nearly black in the dim lighting, making my heartbeat become more noticeable. I simply nod, looking down, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the eye contact.

Those guns will be something, but not enough.

As we walk back out through the police station to head to Main Street, my eyes catch on a framed photo. I pause, glancing at it. It's a group photo of a few police officers, with both a younger Shane and Rick standing with grins on their faces. They look so young. And happy. I'm suddenly reminded of how that friendship ended. My stomach flips, and I look away quickly, jogging to catch up with the rest of them.

The four of us stroll down the street, the endless spray-painted warnings scattered around starting to make me feel nervous. Those nerves are proven true as we turn the corner and stop in our tracks. The entire road is scattered with strange traps, spray-painted warnings, and barricades covered in barbed wire. In a second, all of our weapons are drawn as we glance at each other with apprehension.

"What the hell..." I trail off, looking closer at one of the spiked traps to see a cage in the middle with a live rat in it and sharpened poles pointing outward, where several walkers are impaled, their hands still grasping at the trapped rat. Explains where all the walkers are.

We slowly make our way through and around the traps down the street, looking around at the hand-painted signs. 'TURN AROUND AND LIVE' on one, 'JUST LISTEN' on another. A chill goes down my spine when I see it's all the same handwriting. Did one person do all of this?

"It looks like someone already claimed this place as theirs" Michonne grumbles from behind me as we slowly dodge traps to get through.

"Doesn't mean they haven't got what we're looking for," Rick responds as he leads the way, tilting his head momentarily.

"Just up ahead, that bar. Two shotguns and one handgun." Rick says, nodding to a run-down pub a few doors down, the windows boarded up and the old sign hanging on just one hinge.

Carl nudges his father, pointing to the walker following us. Michonne goes to grab her sword. "Wait," I stop her, nodding to the waist-high barbed wire that we just had to duck under to get through. "It'll get caught."

The walker walks into the barbed wire, stumbling backward slightly. I watch it for a moment as it struggles, it's greying hands reaching out for us. All of a sudden, its head explodes red, a bullet flying through its forehead. I whip my head around, only to see both Rick and Carl just as confused.

Rick's eyes widen when he looks past me, far up. I follow his gaze, my heartbeat jumping when I see a man standing on a building's roof, holding a rifle. Hes dressed in all black, wearing a motorcycle helmet that hides his face from us. I'm guessing, the designer of this elaborate labyrinth.

"Hands up!" The man on the roof demands loudly, his gun trained on us. I throw my hands up as do my friends, staring up at the man in fear. "Drop your weapons and you don't die!" The man screams. I glance between my friends, my heartbeat deafening in my ears. The man begins to start counting down from ten, making my blood run cold. Fuck. 

"Carl, run to the car when I say," Rick orders lowly under his breath. Carl nods, his eyes wide.

"We need that rifle, I think I can get up there," Michonne whispers, nudging her head to the man and the assault rifle in his hands. Rick nods, glancing at me.

"Stay close and don't get shot," He orders and I nod once, my chest heaving.

As the man screams "ONE!", we jump into action. Carl sprints off towards the car, Michone running towards the building to get to the roof. Rick and I shoot at the man before ducking for shelter.

Rick curses when he checks his pistol, seeing he doesn't have any bullets left. I hand him the two bullets I found on the floor of the police armory, to which he nods in thanks. I push away the sparks fluttering through my fingertips at our brief touch

The rapid gunfire that was previously bombarding us pauses. He must be reloading too. Rick takes a deep breath before standing up and aiming his gun right where the man was. Rick and I look at each other with wide eyes at the worrying absence of our attacker.

Then, he comes barreling around the corner from an alley between the buildings, making Rick throw his arm out, pushing me back down to take cover. The man shoots at us, adrenaline pumping through my veins more with every bullet that hits the area around us.

Rick jumps to his feet, aiming while the man reloads. Before Rick can fire, a bullet takes the man down, revealing Carl behind him, holding up his gun.

I let out a breath of relief seeing the man down, getting up and joining them around the unconscious man. "Are you alright?" Rick asks Carl, concern written over his face. Carl just nods nonchalantly, that formerly excited kid is gone now, replaced by the stoic kid he's become. "I told you to go to the car," Rick says, his eyebrows raised with parental dissatisfaction.

"I did what I had to do," Carl mumbles, making me look away. He shouldn't have had to do that.

Rick crouches down, pulling the helmet off the man. Shock flashes through his face and he drops the helmet. "What is it?" I question him, glancing up as Michonne jogs up to us from the building.

"I know him."

When we walk into Morgan's apartment, after dodging the numerous booby traps, a chill runs down my spine. It's like walking into an armory of a military base. There are maybe fifty guns lining the walls, massive bins presumably filled with more scattered around every empty space. Dotted around the room are huge bins full of grenades, smoke bombs, and ammo. There isn't any furniture except for a small cot in the corner that Rick drops Morgan onto.

The most chilling part is the cryptic writing on the walls. It's like a stream of consciousness, phrases and words that don't make any sense. Dread courses through me looking at the list of names of people that passed. I glance back at Morgan, Rick beside him, struggling to examine his gunshot.

"Here," I sigh, walking over to help. I have Rick hold him up as I examine the clean bullet wound, right beside his shoulder, steadily oozing blood. "Well, looks like the bullet exited and I don't see any signs of organ puncture," I say, squinting in the spotty light. "We just need to clean it and keep pressure on, and he should recover," I tell Rick, who nods, his eyes full of concern.

After we do so, Morgan is lying on the cot, still unconscious, with a fresh bandage on. I glance at Rick's expression as he looks down at Morgan. He was the first person to find Rick after he woke up, and told him about the new world. Fed him, helped him get on his feet, then put him on his way to find his family.

He seems like he's had it rough since, presumably why he's in this state. Paranoid. Anxious. Creating elaborate traps and signs, warning no one to be stupid enough to get too close.

I'm brought out of my thoughts at the sound of loud crunching behind me. Rick slowly turns to glare at Michonne, whos munching on a granola bar. "What?" She asks, muffled by the food in her mouth.

"We're not going to steal his food. Or his guns. Nothing. Until he wakes up. He's a friend." Rick snaps, but Michonne shrugs, continuing to eat the bar.

"The mat said welcome," She mumbles nonchalantly. I shake my head, amusement flashing through me at Michonne. She really hasn't changed.

"I can't just sit around, waiting for him to wake up. I saw that baby store mom's friend used to run not too far back, I'll go grab a crib." Carl suddenly says, turning to leave.

"Woah. Wait. You're not going alone." Rick stops him, his brows furrowed.

Carl sighs dramatically in annoyance. "I'll go with you," I offer, to which Carl rolls his eyes.

"I don't need a babysitter," Carl sighs, crossing his arms. Funny, because he absolutely does. He's literally twelve.

"How do you expect to carry the crib box alone?" Michonne questions him, making him avert his gaze, knowing she's right. I tilt my head at Carl, my eyebrows raised.

"You two, just go with him. I'll be here, waiting for Morgan to wake up. We need to talk. If you get into trouble, just holler. I'll hear from here" Rick says, glancing back at his old friend.

"Sounds good to me," Michonne says, slinging her sword over her shoulder.

"Fine," Carl grumbles, walking out, Michonne following closely behind. I glance back at Rick.

"Are you sure you two are going to be okay alone?" I question him. Rick looks at me for a moment before nodding.

"We have a lot to talk about. And Carl needs you two with him," Rick says with a definitive nod.

"Alright. See you in a bit," I say with a slight smile, before turning to leave.

"Cass," Rick calls, making me pause, looking over my shoulder. "Thank you," Rick tells me. I just smile warmly at him before leaving, having to jog to catch up with the other two.

The three of us stroll down the empty street. "You guys didn't need to come," Carl sighs as he briskly leads the way. I shake my head as Michonne and I catch up to him.

"I didn't spend all that time saving your life in surgery just for you to die because you decided to go on a run alone," I respond quickly, making Carl huff. Michonne glances at me with a smirk.

The sound of a walker nearing us makes us stop in our tracks. "'Should probably take care of that," Carl says, nudging his head towards it.

Michonne nods without hesitation, stalking towards it with her sword at the ready. I watch as she swiftly beheads the walker. "Nice," I grin, making her smile as she turns around. That smile drops, her eyes widening as she looks past my shoulder.

"Hey!" She shouts, starting off in a sprint, making me whip my head around to see Carl darting around a street corner. Shit.

We catch up to him quickly, and I grab his shoulder, stopping him and making him look at me. "What the hell was that?' I question him, my eyes wide. What was he thinking?

"I want to do this alone," Carl snaps roughly, ripping his shoulder away, turning, and starting off down the road. I widen my eyes, glancing at Michonne and noticing the baby store behind her.

"You missed the place!" I call out, pointing at the store. He turns back to us with a sigh of exasperation.

"I'm getting Judith something else first. Okay?" He shouts, before continuing his walk. Michonne and I glance at each other, then follow.

___

Carl stares at the incredibly dusty cafe in front of us. When he reaches for the doorknob, Michonne quickly stops him. Carl huffs, storming away. I sigh, looking down. What is up with him today?

Michonne and I jog to catch up with him.

"You really thought we would let you go in there? it's full of walkers," Michonne says as we follow him down another street. Carl stops, whirling on her, anger written across his face.

"Wanna know what I think? It's just none of your business. You don't know me. You don't know my dad-"

"-Hey! Carl, that's no way to speak to Michonne. She's just here to help. You and I both know you couldn't have just barged in there, expecting to get out scot-free. That's not how it works!" I lecture Carl, making him roll his eyes.

"What is it about this place? What are you so desperate to find?" I question him, crossing my arms across my chest. Carl just looks down at the ground, breathing heavily.

"If it's cups or food that you want, I'm sure there are better places-"  Michonne starts but is cut off by Carl.

"-It's for Judith!" he cries out. "There's a picture of me, my mom, and dad. I want her to know what mom looked like. She never got to meet her." Carl says his voice cracking at the end, staring down at the faded asphalt beneath our shoes. My heart sinks. I glance at Michonne, whose expression has suddenly softened.

When we meet up with Rick again, Michonne and I are carrying the large crib box and a bag of other supplies I picked up. Carl leads the way back, carrying that family photo proudly in his arms. The one Michonne retrieved for him with no hesitation.

The three of us walk up the maze of a street, finding Rick and Morgan already outside. Rick, holding one of the huge bins of guns, turns to see us, a smile breaking out on his face. "Everything go okay?" He asks, his eyes darting between us.

"Yep. Got everything we needed. Seems like you did too?" I ask, pointedly looking at the guns. Rick nods, something behind his eyes. Morgan turns to us, seeming much more calm and collected now.

"I'm sorry about before. I already told Rick. You guys take what you need." Morgan says with a nod as he addresses us. I smile, grateful that he seems much better now.

"Thank you," I tell him genuinely, very grateful that after talking to Rick, he changed his mind.

"I already got it all packed into the car," Rick tells us.

"Great. We need to get this crib in there because this thing is heavy," Michonne says, shifting her grip on the box. I nod with wide eyes.

"Yes, let's do that," I agree quickly, and Rick nods with a smile.

The four of us start back towards where the car is parked. Carl pauses, turning to Morgan. "I'm sorry, about shooting you earlier," Carl says, making pride surge through me. He's a good kid.

Morgan squats down, getting eye-to-eye with Carl. "Don't ever apologize for shooting. If it's for your safety, never hesitate." Morgan orders seriously, and Carl nods, his eyes slightly wide.

"You can come with us, you know that, right? We have a safe place. Food. People." Rick offers, studying Morgan. Morgan just shakes his head.

"I don't belong there. I need to keep clearing." Morgan says simply, turning and going back to loading up the dead walkers he trapped onto a wheelbarrow.

Clearing?

Rick just nods, disappointment on his face. We return to the car, loading it as full as we can, and then drive off, leaving Kings County behind.

The group is grateful when we get back, relieved that we did in fact find an incredibly helpful amount of guns. We don't waste time building Judith's new crib, finally giving her a real and safe bed. 

The mood was high at the end of the night, the group reunited and chatting as we ate, until Daryl came in, a note in hand. He found it taped to one of the fences.

Not just a note, but an invitation.

For Rick to meet with Phillip tomorrow. To discuss "peace terms".