Stumbling upon Alexandria, Reese recounts the events up until now. Meeting Rick's group at the prison, scavenging, sickness, and attacks while creating an attachment to the stoic Bowman.
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“Oh, my god, Rick!” she exclaims, answering the door to the bloody man.
“It’s not my blood.” He claims.
“You can’t go one day without looking like Carrie after prom.” She sighs, making Rick snicker a bit. “Clean up. “You’re dripping blood all over your clean floor.” She gives him a playful shove as he heads upstairs.
“Would you like something to drink or eat, Mr....?” she trails off.
“Morgan, no, Mr.,” he responds. “Water would be fine,” he answers with a soft smile.
“I could heat up something. It’s no trouble,” she offers.
“I couldn’t. Especially someone in your situation,” he says, motioning to her belly.
“Well, baby wants to eat, we might as well cook for everyone.” She reasons.
“Hope you like Thai food!” she calls over her shoulder into the kitchen as she gets to work. Reaching up for the bowls in the cabinets.
“Need any help?” Rick offers.
“I got it.” She exhales as she gets to her tiptoes for the pile of bowls. She beams with pride as she ladles food for them.
“Thank you so much.” Morgan thanks.
“Thank you, Reese,” Rick adds. Her eyes lingered on Daryl, who merely spooned a heaping mountain of rice into his mouth. Exhaling a sigh, she turns to make herself a bowl. Reaching up for the last one. Coaxing it to the edge, only for it to topple out of her grasp onto the floor. An annoyed groan leaves her throat as she stares up at the ceiling, closing her eyes in frustration. Everything that fell out of the eyeline might as well have never existed. The process of retrieving said item without assistance would take a massive amount of time and energy that she just did not have.
Before she could thank of substituting her bowl with a plate or eating from the pot itself, The scratch of a chair against wood as the archer circles the counter with ease, scooping up the bowl. Pulling out a chair and looking from her to the seat. Following his silent demand, she heard the sink turn on and then off behind her. The clank of the metal ladle against the pot.
She takes the steaming bowl as it appears from her side, brushing her finger along his from the exchange.
“I don’t take chances anymore.” was all Reese heard letting the men talk.
~.~
Walking up the porches, sifting through her ring of keys.
“Who did Rick kill?” Reese found the courage to ask. “It’s not in my blood,” she thought.
“Pete,” the archer responds flatly.”Right after Pete killed Reg,” he adds.
Reese bites her lips, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll give Deanne my condolences in the morning,” she sniffled. “Maybe Carol and I will make her a casserole,” she says, looking the archer in the eye. He returned her gaze, and she entered their home with a click of the lock and the jingling of keys. Dropping the keys into a dish by the door.
“You knew.”
Reese stops.
“About Pete,” he says, her back facing him. “ ‘splains why everyone had to pull tooth and nail for you to get checked out,” he realizes. The silence blanketed them for a few moments. Both are deciding whether to stay or leave, whether to continue or change the subject. Reese slowly turns. Hand resting on her bump, which became a habit. “Why didn’t you say anythin’?” the archer almost pleads.
“ ‘cause I’ve been wrong before.” She wipes her face, blinking the remaining tears away. “Not with you guys,” she clarifies. “After Tomas, I tried to move on. Arguments, yelling, screaming—the memories flood back, and I’d call the cops thinking every guy was another Tomas,” she says as she adjusts the hem of her sweater. “I was labeled paranoid, and every time I get a gut feeling, I second-guess myself.”.
An awkward silence settled between them once more.
“Goodnight,” she says, turning to climb the staircase.
“Meredith.” He grumbles.
“Hmm?” she sounds believing she was hearing things.
“Meredith Dixon.” He repeats, preparing his bed, which was the couch. He quickly glances over his shoulder to see her heavily sobbing into her hands. His brow furrowed, but he maintained his distance.
“It’s beautiful.” She sniffles.
“Then why are you cryin’?” he asks.
“You haven’t so much as said two words to me in five months.” She laughed through her tears.
“It was childish.” He comments, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. She covers his hand with her own to keep it there.
“No. I fucked up.” She corrects. “I let my fears get the better of me.” She states. “It was wrong to keep...” she sniffles, her hand resting on her bump. “...I don’t care how long, but I’ll do whatever it takes to show you how sorry I am. Even if you never forgive me.” She offers. Looking up at him with her big brown eyes.
“I forgive ya. Now no more cryin’.” He tells her. Lifting her chin and wiping away a tear that had run down her chin
“That’s all I do.” She laughs, wiping her face.
“Call it a night. I’ll be up in a bit.” He says.
“OK,” was all she could say. Trying and failing to subdue the ear-to-ear grin.
