Unbreakable threads

Chapter One Hundred: The welcome party.

As Rick and Alyssa returned from their patrol, the house buzzed with quiet activity. Carl was in the living room, holding baby Judith, who was dressed in a tiny, pastel-colored dress that made her look almost too cute for words. Michonne was seated on the couch, a soft smile on her face as she laced up her boots, having swapped her usual outfit for a flowing, patterned top and fitted black pants. Even Carl had cleaned up, wearing a button-down blue shirt that made him look older, more grown-up.

Rick, in a crisp white shirt, was adjusting his sleeves as he turned to Alyssa, who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. She'd been quiet ever since they finished their patrol, the weight of the day evident in her posture.

"You should get ready," Rick said, nodding toward the stairs.

Alyssa frowned slightly, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, sure. Just... don't expect anything fancy," she muttered.

Carl smirked. "What, you don't wanna wear a dress like Judith?"

Alyssa shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "Shut it, Carl."

Michonne chuckled softly, standing and giving Alyssa a once-over. "Wear whatever you're comfortable in," she said reassuringly. "No one's expecting a ballgown."

Rick glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just a party. Deanna wants us to show up, make an impression. That's all."

Alyssa sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. She wasn't used to this—to being looked at, noticed. Out on the road, she'd been a fighter, a survivor. Now, people in Alexandria were looking to her for help, support, even leadership. It felt unnatural.

"I'll figure something out," she mumbled, heading upstairs.

Once in her room, Alyssa dug through the clothes Aaron had dropped off for them when they arrived. Most of it wasn't her style—too clean, too polished—but she managed to pull together something she could tolerate. Black jeans, of course. A dark tank top, layered with a fitted plaid button-up she left open. It was her, just a little more presentable.

As she towel-dried her hair in the mirror, she caught her reflection and frowned slightly. She looked... different. Clean, sure, but also more like Rick than she wanted to admit. The resemblance was undeniable.

When she finally came back downstairs, Carl gave her an exaggerated once-over. "Wow, Alyssa, you clean up so nice," he teased.

She rolled her eyes, swatting at his arm as she walked past. "Don't push your luck."

Rick glanced at her, his expression softening. "You look fine," he said simply, though there was an edge of approval in his tone.

Alyssa shrugged, grabbing a leather jacket from the back of a chair. "Let's just get this over with," she said, trying to hide her discomfort.

Michonne chuckled. "You're gonna be fine," she said, patting Alyssa's shoulder as they headed out the door. "Besides, you've got your dad, your brother, and me to back you up."

The Grimes group and Michonne entered Deanna's house, a mismatched family if there ever was one. Rick led the way, Michonne by his side, with Carl pushing Judith in her stroller. Alyssa trailed behind, her leather jacket slung over her shoulder, her expression guarded as she glanced around at the bustling room. The house was warm and lively, residents chatting in clusters with plates of food in hand.

Maggie and Glenn were standing by the window, quietly talking but occasionally smiling at someone who passed by. Rosita and Abraham were near the drinks table, Abraham already making some kind of crude joke that had Rosita rolling her eyes. Carol was mingling effortlessly with a group of women, handing out cookies with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. When Alyssa spotted her, she smirked. Carol, the suburban homemaker—what a performance.