Joe stirred, his senses slowly awakening to the warmth enveloping him.
He felt the soft weight of Emma's breasts pressed against his face, her dark skin a stark contrast to his own.
Her breathing was steady, deep, and rhythmic, a soothing melody that lulled him back into a state of drowsiness.
But as he shifted, the sensation of being smothered became too much, and he wriggled gently, trying to find a more comfortable position.
His movements were careful, mindful of the bodies around him. To his left, Maggie's pale skin glowed in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.
Her wavy brown hair spilled across the pillow, and her arm was draped loosely over his waist, her fingers brushing against his side.
On his right, Emma's curly black hair cascaded over her shoulders, her hazel eyes still closed in peaceful slumber.
For a moment, Joe simply lay there, savoring the warmth and closeness of the two women.
The air was thick with the scent of their combined intimacy... a mix of sweat, soap, and the faint floral notes of Maggie's shampoo.
His mind wandered to the events of the previous night. His body reacting.
But before Joe could dwell further, the tranquility was shattered.
The door to Maggie's room creaked open, and a voice pierced the silence. "Maggie, Daddy wants you to..."
Beth's words froze in her throat as her eyes landed on the scene before her. Her face flushed crimson.
Her gaze darted from Maggie to Emma, then to Joe, her expression a mix of shock and embarrassment.
Beth's heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated with surprise.
She stood there for what felt like an eternity, her mouth slightly agape, before she turned on her heel and rushed out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.
The sound jolted Maggie and Emma awake.
Maggie blinked, her green eyes adjusting to the light as she propped herself up on her elbow. "What?" she began, her voice groggy with sleep, before her gaze fell on the open door.
Her cheeks flushed, and she pulled the sheet tighter around her chest. "Beth?"
Emma stirred beside Joe, her hazel eyes flicking open as she registered the tension in the room.
She followed Maggie's gaze to the door, her brow furrowing. "What happened?" she asked, her voice low and husky with sleep.
Joe sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Beth walked in, she saw us."
Maggie's eyes widened further, and she glanced between Joe and Emma, her expression a mix of mortification and panic.
"Oh God," she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. "What do we do?"
Joe said calmly, "This was bound to happen eventually."
Emma nodded, though her stomach churned with anxiety.
Maggie buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "I can't believe this," she muttered. "She's going to tell Daddy, and then..."
"Maggie, calm down" Joe interrupted, his tone gentle but firm.
Emma reached out, placing a hand on Maggie's arm. "It's okay. Let's go talk to her."
Joe chuckled, "Amd worse case she tells him. Not like Hershel will shoot me."
Maggie nodded, "Right. I'm a grown woman. I can make my own decisions."
Emma nodded, "That's right."
...
Joe slid out of bed, pulling on the clothes Emma had laid out for him. A short-sleeved blue button-up and black jeans.
The air in the farmhouse felt still as he crept down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone.
The kitchen was the first sign of life. Patricia at the stove, Beth moving between counters, the smell of breakfast curling through the room.
He wandered in and snatched a still-warm roll from a tray.
"Hey... don't spoil your appetite," Patricia scolded.
Beth glanced up, noticed how close he'd come, and flushed a deep red.
Joe grinned. "Have a nice day, ladies. Shooting lesson later... stop by if you're interested."
Both women nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in their eyes. They still remembered last night.
Joe stepped out of the kitchen just as Maggie and Emma appeared on the stairs.
He gave them a casual wave and slipped out the front door into the cool morning air, heading toward Rick.
They had a lesson to set up.
---
Maggie and Emma entered the kitchen.
Beth froze mid-motion before forcing a small smile.
Patricia greeted the newcomers, and Beth echoed her without much life in her voice.
Maggie caught her sister's hand, tugging her toward the hall without a word.
Upstairs, behind a shut door, Maggie said quietly, "You can't tell..."
"I won't," Beth cut in quickly.
Maggie's shoulders loosened. "Thanks. Sorry about earlier."
Beth's blush returned. "How did that even fit..."
Maggie's face went crimson. "It just did."
Beth nodded, lips pressed together.
Their conversation drifted to Hershel and why he needed her. She found out there was a heifer giving birth.
The sisters hugged before Maggie headed out toward the stables.
---
By eleven, the group gathered in the field.
Carl, Sophia, Beth, Maggie, Emma, Amy, and a few others.
Joe got the targets lined up on a nearby fence.
Rick handled the lecture on safety and mechanics while Joe adjusted equipment and checked suppressors.
The shooting began in pairs. Jimmy tried a sideways "gangster" grip and got a sharp correction from Rick.
Carl and Sophia went last, beaming as their shots found steel.
"How's everyone feeling?" Rick asked.
Excited voices answered him.
Joe clapped his hands. "One more round. Let's not waste ammo."
He stepped behind Amy, adjusting her stance and telling her to slow her breathing.
The muffled shot rang true.
Clang!
She smiled and kept going, hitting four out of twelve.
Maggie took her turn, then Emma.
Finally, Joe guided Beth again. She was less fidgety this time, shoulders relaxed, hands sure.
---
From the farmhouse porch, Hershel watched with Patricia at his side.
After what happened last night, he knew this was necessary. Still, he didn't like how close Joe had gotten to Maggie... or Beth.
Joe seemed like a decent man, but Hershel's gut stayed uneasy. Even though, he'd seen the way Joe took care of the women in his group, Andrea and Amy especially.
Patricia excused herself to start lunch.
Hershel stayed, the weight of a silver pocket watch in his palm, his sigh carrying farther than he meant.
---
When the lesson ended, everyone trailed back to the house.
Inside, the table was already being set by Patricia. Beth and Amy rushing over to help.
Hershel spoke a brief prayer before they began eating, the room filling with easy chatter.
Though Joe could feel undercurrents in the glances passed across the table. Hershel sending glances his way.
...
After lunch, the group trickled out of the house. Rick and Daryl headed off together, talking about setting up real defenses.
They'd all gotten too comfortable on the farm, forgetting how ruthless the world could be.
Joe started after them, but Hershel's voice stopped him.
"Take a walk with me." It wasn't a request.
Joe glanced over at Amy, Andrea, Maggie, and Emma to make sure they were settled, then fell in step beside the older man.
Hershel didn't speak as they crossed the field and climbed a low hill. At the top, he stopped, hands resting in his pockets, eyes scanning the wide, open plains.
Joe waited in silence, the stillness oddly calming.
Finally, Hershel said, "Where you from, Joe?"
"Texas. A small town."
Hershel chuckled. "Figured as much from your accent. My family came from Ireland."
"Greene," Joe said with a nod. "Kinda figured as much."
Hershel pulled something from his pocket, a silver pocket watch on a chain.
"My grandfather brought this over from the old country. He passed it to my father, my father passed it to me. I pawned it once, when I was at my lowest. Spent the money on a night of drinking I can't even remember."
Joe gave a slow nod. "Must mean a lot, buying it back."
Hershel's gaze stayed on the watch. "Wasn't me. My late wife. Josephine, Maggie's mother, she bought it back. Years later, when I'd sobered up, she handed it to me again. She was a good woman. Maggie's a lot like her."
He paused, voice tightening. "When you become a father, you understand that nothing's ever good enough for your children."
"You're right," Joe said quietly and Hershel turned at the sound.
He'd never seen Joe's face like this. Wounded in a way no bullet could touch.
"When I was overseas," Joe began, voice unsteady, "my wife, Claire… and my baby boy, John… they were in a car accident. I was injured on a mission, couldn't get home. I never went to the funeral. Never held my boy. Not even once."
The tears came, unstoppable. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Hershel stepped closer, laying a hand on his back. They stood like that for a while, the wind carrying the smell of dry grass.
When Joe's breathing finally steadied, Hershel spoke. "I know you and Maggie… I want you to have this."
He pressed the pocket watch into Joe's hand and started walking back down the hill.
Over his shoulder, he called, "Take care of her. If not… I might shoot you."
Joe let out a short, quiet laugh, the weight of the watch solid in his palm.
He checked the time, then turned toward the fields to find Rick and hear what plans they'd made.
...
Joe found Rick in the barn, sitting with Carl in the loft. From the sound of it, Rick had spotted Carl's gun and decided to ralk to him. He hadn't taken it away, he just told him to keep it close and protect himself.
Joe waited until there was a pause. "Rick. You there?"
Rick peeked over the railing. "Yeah."
Joe climbed up and sat beside them. "So… defenses?"
Rick leaned back. "We'll have lookouts on the windmill and above the stables. Good view of the whole place. Shift rotation, like the quarry."
"Sounds fine," Joe said, "but we need barriers. Real ones."
Rick frowned. "There's already two fences."
Joe shook his head. "Those fences won't hold a herd. We need something solid."
Rick gave a slow nod, not quite convinced.
Joe left it at that and went looking for his women. Amy, Andrea, and Emma were chatting nearby; Maggie sat on the porch with Beth.
He kissed each of them in turn, Andrea holding him longer, her eyes daring him to pull away first. He settled in beside them, talking a little, then listening.
---
Night came fast. Joe was in the tent with Amy and Andrea, tangled in warmth when Amy patted his arm.
"Joe… I want some of those cherries. Like in a Shirley Temple," she said. Andrea's lips curved, she wanted them too.
Joe thought for a second. "The bar we found Hershel at should have some. I'll go..."
"No," Andrea cut in. "Not tonight."
"Too dangerous," Amy added quickly.
Joe chuckled. "What my baby mamas want, they get."
They blushed and swatted at him, but he was already pulling on his jacket and jeans.
...
At the moving truck, he slung an M4 over his shoulder, stuffed a couple Glock mags into a backpack, and rolled his Harley out.
The engine caught on the first try. He sped off into the dark, the tail light fading in the distance.
Maggie and Emma watching through the window window. Some others noticing his swift departure as well, unsure of the reason.
The country roads blurred by, his path lit by brief flashes of headlight between shadows of abandoned cars and wandering dead. He dodged both without slowing much.
The bar was empty. He vaulted the counter, rummaged through cabinets until he found two jars of maraschino cherries.
...
He was getting on his bike to leave when headlights swept the street.
Joe killed his light, laid the bike down, and ducked behind a burned-out truck.
The car rolled past slow, voices laughing inside. When it was well down the road, Joe smashed his own headlight.
No glow to give him away.
He followed at a distance, engine low.
The car stopped in front of a school. Four men got out, loud and careless. A guard opened the door and let them in.
Joe hid the Harley and slipped through the dark toward a nearby rooftop. From there, he counted at least fifteen people inside. Black leather everywhere. Not friendly.
He climbed down, circled the building's edge. Two guards, one out front and one in the back, nothing more.
At a classroom window, he eased the frame until the glass gave way, tumbling onto the grass without a sound. He slid inside.
A small classroom. Small desks, faded posters on the wall. 'Probably elementary school.'
He pushed the door open a crack and scanned both directions before moving down the hallway, every step silent.
Laughter echoed ahead.
Rounding a corner, Joe nearly collided with a skinny man. The man's mouth opened to alert the others.
Joe's knife was faster, sliding up under his jaw. He eased the body into a classroom and moved on.
Outside the first room with voices, a big man stood guard. White-wrapped katana at his side.
Joe recognized it... the weapon of the black woman who'd saved Sophia from Randall.
The man glanced away. Joe rushed, tackling him to the floor, driving the blade into his chest.
The guard's strength ebbed fast, unable to fight back or muster a shout.
Joe wrenched the sword free of his hand and stepped through the door.
Michonne was tied to a teacher's desk, completely exposed. Her athletic body on full display, her large black breasts giggling as she tried to free herself.
Bruises along her face, her lip spilt open. Her face was one of pure dread and also hate.
A fat man was above her fumbling with his belt.
Joe didn't let the man continue. He drove the katana through the man's back, the tip bursting from his chest.
The man dropped without a word.
Michonne's expression shifted from dread, then shock to guarded relief.
Joe cut her free. No clothes in sight, only scraps of torn fabric.
He pulled off his jacket and held it out. She slipped it on, pulling it tight around herself. The tension in her face eased.
He handed her the katana.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
Joe's voice was soft. "I owed you one."
Michonne gave a small relieved laugh before catching herself, the mask sliding back into place.