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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"If you are willing to reflect on the courage and moderation of other people, you will find them strange..." Reese reads softly to herself. "They all consider death a great evil...and the brave among them face death, when they do, for fear of greater evils..." she continued.
Daryl watches her in the mirror that was at a perfect angle for her reflection at the dining room table. Covered with paper books and cups of tea. It was their usual morning routine. Reese woke up at the break of dawn along with the archer. Reading to their unruly child to put them to sleep so she could eat her breakfast without disruption.
"Therefore, it is fear and terror that makes all men brave, except for philosophers. Yet it is illogical to be brave through fear and cowardice..." she continued. "What of the moderate among them? Is their experience not similar? They master certain pleasures because they are mastered by others...I fear this is not the right exchange to attain virtue, to exchange pleasures for pleasures, pains for pains, and fears for fears, the greater for the less like coins, but that they only valid currency for which all these things should be exchanged is wisdom." She exhales a breath.
"What's that from?" he asked, genuinely interested in the literature.
"Phaedo by Plato," she says, holding up a stack of papers. The Alexandrian Library made copies of the originals. The past had to be preserved.
"Play-doh," he replies.
"That joke was funny once," she admits, laughing nonetheless.
"It apparently still is," he counters smugly. "Here's an extra walkie, just in case," he says, kneeling in front of her and showing her the walkie. "Channel 1, Rick, Michonne, and Morgan," he explains as she nods. "Channel 2: me, Sash, and Abe," he informs, turning the knob to different settings. "Anything happens..."
"Daryl," she interrupts. Pushing the hair from his eyes behind his ears. "Everything will be fine," she convinces him, but the apprehension in his eyes told her otherwise. "If it makes you feel better," she says, "I'll stay with Deanna and Maggie until you get back."
"I ain't ever done this before." He stands, shaking the nerves from his hands and placing them on his hips.
"I know. I've been through this before and know the signs," she states. "I hate to say this, but I don't think little Dixon is making an appearance anytime soon." She groans, folding her hands on top of her bump.
"Better not," he teases.
"Got everything?" she cues.
"Yep."
"Be safe," she says to begin their mantra.
"Always," he finishes.
"Settle down," he says, looking at her belly. "Don't give your ma trouble," he scolds.
"To be determined," she answers, speaking for their unborn child.
She kisses him as he descends the steps on his way to go over the plan for dealing with the herd for tomorrow.
~.~
It was a beautiful day deciding to sit in Deanna's gazebo. Munching on an apple as she flipped through an old book of baby names.
"We're goin' to the garden, is that alright?" Maggie asks.
"I'm pregnant, not an invalid," she returns.
"If anything happens, I don't need Daryl to come after me," she shakes her head.
"I'll be fine," she assures, holding up her walkie.
"See you in a bit," Maggie calls over her shoulder, with a solemn Deanna following. Reese's heart broke for the woman who lost everything in one night. Maybe it was good that Rick took charge for a bit until Deanna got her bearings again.
"Matthew..."
"...Mateo..."
"...Maverick..."
"...Miles...."
"...Maddox."
"Any of those sound nice?" she asks, receiving nothing in response. "Silence treatment, huh?" she chuckles to herself. "Yeah, I'm not feelin' them, little guy," she coos.
Her blood suddenly runs cold as distant screams ride the air. The sting of smoke in the back of her throat Ducking down behind the railing, she saw men sprinting down the street, gutting Sandra. She had lent her the book of baby names.
Keeping her head down, she retreated inside Dianna's home, pulling a rifle from the wall of the room she assumed to be Spencer's. Pulling a cloth sack holding a grappling hook and rope.
He watches way too many movies.
Making sure it was fully loaded, she propped it up on the window seal. Through the scope of men scaling the wall. She took the shot while watching the man fall to the ground. Shifting her attention to another man who is now sprinting, she catches him in the thigh, sending him tumbling to the ground and wailing in pain.
Reaching for her walkie-talkie and selecting the appropriate channel.
"Daryl?" she calls. Only receiving static. "Daryl?" she tries again. "They're slaughtering us." She pants. "I don't know how many there are," she sighs.
"We're on our way."
Her body trembles as she sees one of them loot one of the bodies and pull out a gun, aiming it directly at her. The rifle drops from her hands and is thrown to the floor by an immense force.
The scream of static meets her ears.
The throbbing burn that accompanied each beat of her heart gradually became apparent. Warm blood seeped through her fingers as she gripped her wound.
The static goes on. A meek cry for help breaks through, only to be drowned out by the waves of white noise.
