˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Mira sat at a small, rickety table under the shade of a large tree, flipping through the pages of a well-worn magazine. Around her, the sounds of laughter, music, and lively conversation filled the air as the residents of Woodbury enjoyed the festivities. The party was in full swing, with everyone seeming to have a good time. But for Mira, it felt like she was in her own little world, isolated from the merriment around her.

With Neil being sick and not having any other friends, she was left to entertain herself. A glass of ice-cold lemonade sat on the table, occasionally sipped by Mira as she she read her magazine.

Her father was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. He was likely mingling with the townspeople, maintaining his image while neglecting the one person who needed him most. Mira sighed and turned another page of the magazine, though her eyes barely registered the glossy pictures and articles.

So absorbed was she in her reading that she didn't notice Michonne approaching. The woman moved with a quiet grace, almost ghost-like. Without a word, Michonne pulled out a chair and sat across from Mira.

Mira blinked in surprise, momentarily unsure of how to react. She wasn't used to anyone showing interest in her, especially not someone as intimidating as Michonne. Slowly, she closed her magazine, her fingers lingering on the edge of the cover.

"Hi," Mira said hesitantly, unsure of what else to say. Michonne didn't respond immediately, her eyes scanning Mira's face as if trying to read her thoughts.

After a long pause, Michonne finally spoke, her voice calm and measured. "You don't look like you're having much fun."

Mira shrugged, looking down at the closed magazine in front of her. "I'm not really into parties," she admitted. "And Neil's sick, so... it's just me."

Michonne leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving Mira. "Parties aren't for everyone," she said softly. There was a pause before she continued, her tone gentle but probing. "Your father must be pretty busy with everything going on here."

Mira nodded, her gaze dropping to her lemonade. "Yeah, he is. He's always busy."

She looked up, meeting Michonne's eyes briefly before glancing away. There was something intense and sincere in Michonne's gaze that made her feel both seen and scrutinized. She took another sip of her lemonade, trying to mask her discomfort.

Michonne nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "Woodbury seems like a nice place," she remarked casually, though there was a hint of skepticism in her tone.

Mira shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. The last thing she wanted was to be overheard discussing her father. "It's... fine, I guess. My father takes care of everyone."

"Does he take care of you?" Michonne's question was pointed, and it hit Mira like a sharp prod. She bit her lip, unsure how to answer. It wasn't like she could complain openly about her father, not without risking backlash from the loyal townsfolk.

"He's busy," Mira finally said, choosing her words carefully. "He has a lot of responsibilities."

Michonne leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She could sense Mira's unease, her guarded responses only fueling Michonne's suspicions about Woodbury and its mysterious leader, the Governor.

"There's something I've been curious about," Michonne began carefully, choosing her words with precision. "I've noticed a locked door in your apartment. Do you know what's behind it?"

Mira's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of alarm crossing her face. She glanced around nervously. "That's... my father's office," she explained hesitantly. "I'm not allowed in there."

"Why not?" Michonne asked gently, her tone betraying genuine curiosity. She watched Mira closely, waiting for her response.

"Family business," Mira retorted, her voice tinged with defensiveness. She shifted in her seat, her gaze flickering nervously towards the bustling party around them. Michonne noticed the subtle glance and the way Mira seemed to be on edge.

"Sorry if I'm prying," Michonne said calmly, her tone softening. "I just like to understand things, especially when they seem out of place."

Mira hesitated, her fingers tracing circles on the surface of the table. She couldn't deny that Michonne's questions had struck a nerve. She had always been curious about what went on behind her father's closed doors. But expressing that curiosity now, to Michonne of all people, felt risky.

"It's private," Mira added, her voice lowering slightly. "I'm not supposed to go in there."

Michonne leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. She could see the wariness in Mira's eyes, the tension that underscored every word she spoke. There was more to the story, Michonne was sure of it, and she intended to uncover the truth.

"Private, huh?" Michonne mused aloud, more to herself than to Mira. "Your father seems to have a lot of secrets."

Mira bristled at the insinuation, her jaw tightening. "He's just... he's busy with the town," she insisted, her voice tinged with defensiveness.

"I'm sure he is," Michonne acknowledged calmly. "But sometimes, people in power hide things. They think it's for the greater good, but it can end up hurting the ones they care about."

"Can you stop?" Mira hissed, leaning forward over the table.

Michonne held Mira's gaze steadily. She seemed unfazed by Mira's defensive tone, her eyes searching for clues in Mira's guarded responses. "I'm not trying to upset you, Mira," she said gently. "But sometimes we have to question things to understand them better."

"Just leave it alone," Mira muttered, her voice strained. "You don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Okay," Michonne said calmly, nodding.

Mira narrowed her eyes and glanced over her shoulder, scanning the party for any sign of her father. Satisfied that he wasn't nearby, she turned back to Michonne—only to find the chair across from her empty.

"What the hell?" she muttered, twisting and turning on her chair to try and catch a glimpse of the woman. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Then, she saw it—a faint movement caught her eye, the door to her house slowly swinging shut. Dread washed over her as she realized what had happened. Michonne had gone in.

Mira shot up from her chair, almost knocking it back, and dashed across the grass to her front yard. Once she reached the front door, she yanked it open, the hinges creaking in protest as she hurried inside.

•

Lunette burst through the heavy doors of the prison, the cries of the baby echoing down the corridor driving her forward. She hurried through the dimly lit halls with Daryl right behind her, past the cells, until she reached the common area where everyone had gathered.

Without pausing, she hurried to a nearby table and dumped the contents of her bag onto it. Bottles, diapers, wipes—everything scattered haphazardly as she searched for what she needed. Beth was quick to join her.

Beth's eyes slightly widened as she saw the contents of Lunette's bag strewn all over the table. "What in the world..."

Lunette shrugged sheepishly. "I grabbed everything I could find that looked baby-related. Now, let's figure out how to make formula."

Beth nodded decisively, placing her hands firmly on the table. "Right, formula. How hard can it be?"

"We can't mess up baby formula," Lunette said, scoffing as she grabbed a packet of formula. She hesitated then, slowly looking over at Beth. "Right?"

Beth grinned. "Right. We'll just... wing it."

Together, they fumbled through the instructions on the formula canister, mixing powder with water in a bottle that Beth found among Lunette's things. They exchanged uncertain glances, hoping they were doing it right.

"Does it say how much water?" Lunette asked anxiously, holding up a bottle and peering at the packet.

Beth squinted at the instructions. "Uh... it's... not very clear," she admitted, her brow furrowing in concentration. "But I think we just mix this powder with water?"

Daryl, meanwhile, continued to sway gently with the baby, murmuring soft reassurances. "Shh," he cooed, his voice surprisingly gentle as he tried to calm the increasingly agitated baby.

Beth handed Maggie a bottle. "Could you fill this with water while I mix in the powder?"

Maggie nodded, taking the bottle and filling it with a bit of water. "Got it."

Beth attempted to tear open the packet of formula powder. It proved to be more challenging than anticipated, with Beth muttering under her breath as she struggled.

"Here, let me," Lunette offered, taking the packet and attempting to tear it open, but it didn't budge. "Jesus, this thing—"

"No cursing," Beth quickly scolded. "Baby present."

"Right, okay." Lunette held up her hands in mock before using her teeth to finally tear open the packet. They poured the powder into the bottle while Maggie held it, eyeballing the amount as best they could.

"Is this too much?" Lunette asked, uncertain.

"Good enough," Maggie agreed, screwing on the lid. She gave it a good shake, then handed it over to Daryl, who eyed it warily.

"Hope this works," he muttered, carefully offering the bottle to the baby. To everyone's surprise, the crying stopped abruptly as the hungry infant eagerly latched onto the bottle.

"Best freaking formula makers in the world," Lunette said proudly.

"Baby present," Beth reminded her with a stern look.

Lunette grinned sheepishly. "Right, right. Sorry."

Daryl looked up with a slight chuckle as the baby drank from the bottle. His smile slowly grew as he looked back at the baby in his arms and gently rocked her back and forth, lifting her head.

"She got a name yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," Carl said with a slight frown. "But I was thinking maybe Sophia. Then there's Carol, too. And... Andrea, Amy, Jacqui, Patricia. Or... Lori—I don't know."

Lunette twisted her lips to the side, wiping some remnants of baby powers off of her hands by wiping them on her jeans before moving a bit closer to Carl. Assuming those were all names of people they had lost, considering Carol was part of the baby name list, she lightly nudged his shoulder to get his attention.

"No pressure," she said, smiling kindly at him. "You've got time to figure it out."

"Yeah," Carl said with a nod, pursing his lips to hide his frown.

Daryl tore his gaze away from Carl to look back at the baby, continuing to rock her back and forth. "Yeah, you like that?" he cooed. "Little ass-kicker."

"There's that," Lunette said with a chuckle, raising her brow at Carl, trying to get him to see the humor, like Daryl was trying to do.

"Right?" Daryl added, looking around at everyone with a grin on his face. "That's a good name, right? Little ass-kicker. You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?"

After the baby settled into feeding, Lunette quietly excused herself from the group, her hands still dusted with remnants of baby formula powder. She made her way through the prison corridors, searching for a sink to wash up. Finding one tucked away in a corner, she sighed with relief and began scrubbing her hands under the cool water.

Just as she was drying her hands on a nearby towel, she heard footsteps approaching. Expecting it to be one of the others, she turned—only to find Daryl standing there, his expression unreadable as ever.

Lunette jumped slightly, not having expected him to join her. "Oh, hi," she said, managing a small smile despite the slight awkwardness of the moment.

Daryl nodded towards the sink. "Washin' up?"

"Yeah," Lunette confirmed, gesturing to her still-damp hands. "Got baby powder all over me."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgment, leaning against the nearby wall with his arms crossed. There was a brief pause, a silence that felt filled with unspoken thoughts lingering between them.

They stood in silence for a moment. Lunette was keenly aware of how emotional she had been earlier, letting her guard down in front of Daryl of all people. She cleared her throat, searching for something to say.

"So, 'Little Ass-Kicker', huh? You sure you're not just projecting?" she teased lightly, breaking the silence with a playful grin.

Daryl's lips twitched into a small smirk, a rare expression that softened his rugged features. "Maybe a bit," he admitted gruffly, his eyes flickering with amusement.

"Cover's blown, Dixon," Lunette said. "I know all your secrets."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Sura ya do."

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments, the sound of distant voices echoing through the corridors of the prison. Lunette leaned against the sink, feeling a sense of ease settling between them despite the awkward start.

"So," she began, breaking the silence again, her tone light. "Ever thought about what you'd name a baby, if... you know, you had to?"

"What?" he huffed out.

"Just trying to keep the conversation going," Lunette added with a shrug, looking at Daryl expectantly.

Daryl looked at her with a raised eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. "Haven't really thought 'bout it much," he admitted gruffly. "Ain't exactly been top of my list of concerns."

Lunette nodded understandingly, a playful glint in her eyes. "Fair enough. But if you had to?"

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, a gesture of discomfort that betrayed his tough exterior. "I dunno... somethin' simple, I guess. Strong."

"Like Little Ass-Kicker?" Lunette teased, unable to resist.

Daryl slightly narrowed his eyes, and shook his head, perhaps to hide his smile. "Nah, that's a unique case."

Lunette chuckled softly at Daryl's response. "True, 'Little Ass-Kicker' is in a league of her own."

Daryl's smirk lingered as he glanced down briefly, his fingers idly tapping against his crossed arms. "Sure is."

Lunette leaned back against the sink, her expression turning more thoughtful. "But seriously, naming a kid... it's a big deal, you know? Like planting a flag in the ground, saying 'this is who you are' before they even know who they are."

Daryl nodded slowly, considering Lunette's words as he met her gaze again. His brow furrowed slightly as he contemplated her perspective.

"Yeah," he finally responded, his voice quiet but thoughtful. "Guess it's somethin' you gotta get right."

Lunette raised an eyebrow playfully. "Right. Can't have 'em growin' up with a name they gotta explain every time they meet someone new."

Daryl chuckled softly, a rare sound that seemed to surprise even himself. "Yeah, that'd be... interestin'."

"Imagine Little Ass-Kicker in school," Lunette continued, her tone teasing. "Teacher's roll call: Sarah, Emily, John, Little Ass-Kicker..."

"Think she'd be the only one."

"Definitely," Lunette agreed with a grin. "Her and maybe... I dunno, Captain Courage or something."

Daryl scoffed. "Captain Courage. Yeah, that'd be a sight."

Lunette nodded, her grin widening. "Or maybe Professor Smarty Pants. You know, for the brainiacs."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, a smirk quirking his lips. "Think we're getting carried away now."

"Maybe just a bit," Lunette conceded with a laugh.

As he picked at a dried spot of dirt on his sleeve, Lunette watched him, the playful expression on her face gradually softening.

"You know," she began, her tone gentler now, "if you ever do have a kid, I think you'd surprise yourself. You'd be a good dad."

Daryl's gaze snapped to hers, surprise flickering briefly before he looked away. "Don't know 'bout that," he muttered gruffly.

Lunette held his gaze, her expression earnest despite her usual sarcasm. "I mean it, Daryl. You've got this... quiet strength about you. Kids pick up on that kind of thing."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his eyes returning to meet hers. "Ain't exactly had the best role models," he admitted.

Lunette nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Yeah, I get that. But you're not your past. You've carved out your own path here."

He didn't respond immediately, his jaw tensing as he absorbed her words. He grunted in acknowledgment, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "Yeah, I s'pose."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Lunette said, her tone reassuring. "Maybe one day you'll surprise yourself."

Daryl seemed to consider her words, his gaze steady on hers for a moment longer than usual. He didn't reply immediately, instead letting the silence settle between them once more. In the distance, the faint sounds of life in the prison continued—voices, footsteps, the occasional clang of metal echoing down the corridors.

"Just don't name it Ass-Kicker," Lunette added after a moment, an attempt to lighten the sudden serious mood. "unless you're aiming for a unique childhood."

Daryl chuckled again, a genuine smile touching his lips briefly. "Got it. No Ass-Kickers."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Daryl pushed himself away from the wall, ready to return to his duties. Lunette watched him go, feeling a newfound respect for the man who had slammed her against the wall just a few days earlier.

•

Mira stormed into the house, the door slamming against the wall as she burst inside. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she made her way down the hallway, the anger boiling inside her with each step. She rounded the corner to her father's office and, indeed, she saw Michonne crouched by the door. The woman had a dagger in her hand, trying to jimmy the lock open with a look of intense concentration on her face.

Mira quickly walked over to her, her eyes landing on a book laid open on the desk. What immediately caught her eye was the long list of names. At the bottom, the name 'Penny' was written in messy handwriting, underlined numerous times as if done hastily.

With a low growl, she slammed the book shut, her eyes snapping toward Michonne. "What the hell do you think you're doin'? I told you to leave it alone!"

"What's in the office?" Michonne asked, completely ignoring Mira's question.

"Answer my question first."

Michonne's gaze remained steady, the dagger still poised in her hand. She rose to her feet, her expression serious. "What's in the office?"

Mira threw her hands up in frustration. "Man, I don't know! I'm not even allowed in there."

"Why?" Michonne pressed, a hard edge to her voice. "What's he got to hide?"

Before Mira could respond, a series of thumping sounds came from inside the office. Both women froze, their eyes locked on the door. The noise stopped as abruptly as it had started, leaving an uneasy silence.

"Do you have a key?" Michonne asked, urgency creeping into her voice.

Mira scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, of course not. Why would I have a key to a room I'm not supposed to enter?"

Michonne's patience was clearly wearing thin. She turned back to the lock, her movements more determined. "Stand back," she muttered.

"What are you doing?"

"Opening this damn door," Michonne hissed, sticking the dagger in between the door and the doorframe to pick the lock.

"You can't!—"

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Mira's eyes widened in panic, her thoughts racing. "Shit," she hissed, grabbing Michonne's arm. "My dad can't see you here. He'll kill me!"

Without waiting for a response, Mira dragged Michonne away from the office door and into the adjacent living room. She pushed Michonne behind a wall seperating the Governor's bedroom from the living room, out of direct sight from the hallway. "Stay here," Mira whispered urgently. "And be quiet."

Mira turned quickly, trying to appear nonchalant as she walked over to a large fauteuil by the window. She picked up a book from the nearby coffee table and pretended to flip through it, her heart pounding in her chest as the door burst open.

The Governor, Milton, and Merle entered the room, the three of them pausing upon seeing Mira for a moment before continuing their conversation. Mira gave them a quick nod of acknowledgment before sinking further into the chair, hiding herself behind the book.

"What are you doin' holed up at home, girl?" Merle said with a chuckle, eyeing Mira. "There's a party goin' on!"

Mira glanced up from the book she wasn't really reading, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. "Just readin'," she replied flatly, hoping her father wouldn't sense her unease.

The Governor eyed her for a moment, his gaze probing. Mira forced herself to maintain eye contact, willing herself not to give anything away. Finally, he seemed to accept her answer and turned his attention to Milton and Merle.

"Help them out, Mira," he instructed curtly, his tone brooking no argument.

"Yup," she muttered, closing the book and standing up.

Milton cleared his throat. "Sir, I love a party as much as the next fella. Trust me, I love a party. But we're using a lot of resources."

Mira silently took a box from her father's hands, avoiding his gaze. He chuckled at Milton. "Yeah."

"For instance, the generators," Milton continued.

"Ah, I thought you love a party." The Governor shoved another box of what was probably filled to the brim with bottles of beer into Milton's arms.

Subtly, Mira glanced in the direction of her father's bedroom, noticing a slight movement of the curtains that quickly stopped. She swallowed nervously as she turned to face Merle, who was giving her a strange look.

"Somethin' on your mind, girl?" he asked gruffly, raising an eyebrow.

Mira shook her head, feigning nonchalance. "Just thinkin' about what to do with all this stuff," she replied quickly, hoping to deflect his attention. "What's it for?"

"You'll see," Merle winked with that unsettling grin of his that always sent a chill down Mira's spine. She nodded tersely, pressing her lips together. "You can bring that outside."

Mira nodded curtly in response to Merle's instruction. She gripped the box tightly and made her way out of the apartment, her footsteps quick and deliberate as she headed towards the front yard.

Placing it on the nearest surface, a picnic table further down the yard, Mira exhaled deeply and leaned against the table, watching as Milton, Merle, and her father joined her outside, Milton carrying three boxes on his own.

Mira frowned, and held her arms open. "Here, I'll put 'em down."

Milton gave her a quick nod, and Mira took the top box from him, huffing slightly at its weight. Merle let out a raspy laugh at her struggle, lightly nudging her shoulder.

Mira shot Merle a sideways glance, her annoyance evident. "Could you not?" she muttered, readjusting her grip on the box.

"Easy there, girl," Merle chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just tryin' to lighten the mood."

"Ha-ha," Mira replied under her breath, hoping her father wouldn't hear.

Mira and Milton quickly placed the remaining two boxes on the picnic table, arranging them neatly beside the others. The weight of the boxes made Mira's arms ache, but she ignored the discomfort. Merle's lingering chuckle grated on her nerves, but she kept her expression neutral as she straightened up.

As soon as the boxes were settled, Mira glanced around discreetly, ensuring no one was paying attention to her. She nodded to Milton in acknowledgment, then swiftly turned on her heel and headed back inside the apartment.

Her heart pounded as she stepped through the doorway, scanning the living room for any sign of Michonne. The room was empty, except for the faint sound of chatter drifting in from outside.

"Michonne? They're gone, you can come out." Mira called out, walking over to where Michonne had been hiding. But when she turned the corner, no one was there.

Her gaze flicked to the window behind her, groaning when she saw the shutters softly banging against the windowsill. Michonne was gone.