Deanna crossed her arms, her voice firm but even. "Before you go on a tour, I'm gonna need you to leave your weapons here."
All eyes turned to Joe.
He studied her for a moment, then gave a single nod. "You heard her."
One by one, they stepped forward and laid their weapons on the cart. Joe was last, setting down his Glock 17 with a quiet clink.
He kept the katana strapped across his back, and Michonne did the same. Deanna noticed but chose not to press it.
She read the unease on their faces.
"These guns are still yours. Whenever you head outside the walls, they're yours to use as you see fit. But inside, we keep them stored... for everyone's safety."
Joe nodded again. "That's fair."
A round-faced woman with kind eyes, Olivia, stood nearby. She offered a shy smile as she greeted each of them.
Carol slipped into her practiced act, soft-spoken and harmless, chatting gently with her.
The others caught on to the performance and nearly laughed, but kept straight faces.
Aaron stepped up beside Deanna. "Alright, everyone... follow me. I'll take you to your houses."
The group fell in behind him. They passed tidy yards, children playing tag until they noticed the strangers.
The laughter dipped for a beat, then rose again.
Aaron stopped in front of three houses lined neatly on the street.
"These are for you. We thought about spreading you out, giving you more space, but… I figured you'd want to stay close together."
Joe gave a small nod of approval.
"Deanna's told everyone to give you room. When you're ready, walk around, meet people. If you need anything, I'm just up the street. Blue house."
Joe clapped him on the shoulder. Then he and his women led the way into the first house, the others trailing close behind.
Inside, they paused. Hardwood floors gleamed. Lamps glowed with steady light.
Beth's eyes widened. "This place is like a mansion."
Maggie ran her hand along the wall, shaking her head in wonder. "So much space."
They drifted upstairs, opening doors, until they found a room already set up with baby cribs.
For a moment, the hard edge of survival slipped away.
Almost in unison, they breathed out the words, "This is perfect."
...
Carl wandered into the kitchen and twisted the faucet.
Whoosh.
Clear water spilled from the tap. For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the spell broke.
Everyone scattered, half rushing upstairs, half downstairs, eager to feel it for themselves.
Amy carried baby Julian into the bathroom, letting him slap at the stream with tiny hands. He squealed, water droplets clinging to his curls as Amy gently washed him.
Joe waited until the rest were done. His women, now clean and radiant, teased him on their way out.
"We're gonna look around," Andrea said, brushing damp hair from her face.
Joe cautioned, "Be careful. We don't know these people yet."
Andrea smirked. "I think we can handle them."
"I know you can," he said, smiling faintly. "Still... watch yourselves."
Amy kissed him on the cheek. "Go shower. You smell like hell."
Emma grinned. "And shave that beard. We want that handsome face back."
Joe chuckled. "Got it, Toaster."
Emma flushed. "You're never letting that go!" The others laughed at her embarrassment as they slipped out the door.
...
Joe stepped into the bathroom.
He turned the knob and let the warm water crash over him, washing away layers of sweat, blood, and dirt.
Cuts stung, but he welcomed it. At the drain, the water swirled dark, almost black.
He scrubbed shampoo through his thick, matted hair until it finally ran clean.
When he stepped out, khakis clung to his damp legs. In the mirror, a scarred chest stared back at him.
His fingers brushed the long gash across his chest. The Governor. The memory tightened his jaw.
With a sigh, he spread shaving cream across his face.
The cutthroat razor scraped away the beard, stroke by stroke, until his reflection revealed a young man, scarred, but still striking.
The last stroke cleared just as a knock echoed from the front door. Joe grabbed a towel, slung it around his neck, and went to answer.
A young redhead, stood there with a basket in her arms. Her eyes dropped to his bare chest, widening at the scars before she caught herself.
"Hi," she said softly. "I'm Jessie. I work in the pantry. Deanna asked me to bring these over."
Joe took the basket with a nod. "Thanks. I was just cleaning up."
Jessie smiled faintly. "I can see that. You… still have a little shaving cream." She gestured to his chin.
Joe wiped it with the back of his hand.
"I'm Jessie," she repeated, almost nervously.
"Joe," he said simply.
She hesitated, then said, "I used to be a stylist. Among other things. If you want, I could… give you a proper cut."
Joe studied her. "You don't even know me."
Jessie smirked, though her voice was steadier than her eyes. "I think I can handle myself. But I don't think I'll need to."
Joe let out a low chuckle. He stepped aside, motioning her in.
...
Joe sat down in the chair, Jessie standing behind him with the scissors. She twisted a lock of his hair between her fingers, testing its weight.
"What should I do?" she asked.
"Just cut off a bit. Enough to keep it out of my eyes."
Jessie sighed, amused. "That's not much to go on."
Joe shrugged. "Then do what you think's best."
She nodded, though a flicker of nerves crossed her face before she started cutting.
The long strands fell away in steady sections, hitting the floor.
She worked carefully, and after a minute she asked, quieter this time...
"You have any kids?"
"Three. Julian, Grace, and Esther."
Jessie stopped. The scissors hovered midair. "Three?" she echoed, almost disbelieving. "Where are they? Here?"
Joe smiled faintly, a rare softness in his expression. "Yeah. Out with their mothers right now."
Jessie tilted her head. "Mothers?"
Joe gave a short chuckle. "Amy, Andrea, and Emma."
The scissors clicked once more, sharper this time. Jessie blinked, surprised. "Three different women?"
Joe didn't flinch. "Yeah."
Jessie didn't say anything after that. She went back to cutting, her silence louder than words.
Joe caught her expression in the mirror...half curiosity, half judgment. But he didn't comment.
Instead, he said, "Didn't think we'd see running water again. Or working lights. Feels like another world."
Jessie nodded, trimming the sides. "I can imagine. Living out there with the dead that long… I don't think I'd last."
Joe's eyes hardened. "It's not the dead you worry about. It's people."
She hesitated, then let the subject drop.
The scissors whispered through his hair. After a while she said softly, "I'd like to meet them. Your family."
Joe looked at her reflection, studying her face. "I was just about to go find them. You can tag along."
Jessie smiled, a little too quickly. "Alright. Sounds like a plan."
She clipped the last few stray ends, then stepped back and handed him a mirror. "Well? What do you think?"
Joe turned his head slightly. His hair was shorter now, medium length, brushed back and clean.
He looked like a different man. A sharper man.
"…Looks good," he said simply.
Jessie waited for something more. A smile, maybe a compliment, but nothing came. She pressed her lips together, covering her disappointment.
Joe stood, dusting himself off. He crossed the room, pulled a white shirt over his scarred chest.
Jessie's eyes followed him without meaning to.
When the fabric covered him, she exhaled softly, as if the view had been taken away, then shook herself back to focus.
Joe tugged on his boots and opened the door, holding it for her. They stepped outside together.
Joe boots hit the street, he started looking around for his people. He didn't spot any of them anywhere.
Joe's body changed. He was scanning, his shoulders tight, eyes darting from yard to yard.
His stride lengthened into a jog. Jessie hurried after him but fell behind.
"Where are they?" Joe muttered under his breath, spinning as if he expected them to appear from thin air.
Jessie finally caught up, grabbing his arm to slow him. "Wait, Joe... breathe. I think I know where they are."
His sharp gaze turned on her. "Where?"
"Follow me."
She led him down the street toward a house by the pond. "There," she said, pointing.
Joe's eyes found them instantly. His wives, relaxed, chatting with an older couple. The knot in his chest began to loosen.
Jessie kept her voice low. "That's Natalie and Bob Miller. They had five kids, twelve grandkids. Haven't seen a baby in a long time. Those little ones of yours? They might have to watch out for pinched cheeks."
Joe let out a slow breath. "…Thanks. I was losing my mind."
Jessie gave a tiny nod.
They walked over to the house slowly, the distance between them shortening.
Andrea noticed first. "Well, well, well," she said in a playful sing-song. "Look who it is. Daddy's here."
The group turned. Joe's wives were all there... Amy, Andrea, Emma.
Beside them stood Maggie and Beth as well. Both visibly pregnant, their hands resting on their bellies as they spoke with Nat Miller.
Jessie froze for half a second.
Five women. She hadn't been prepared for that.
Her eyes flicked between them, then back to Joe cradling Grace as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Grace squirmed in his arms at first, ready to cry, but Joe whispered, "There's my little angel," and the baby melted into giggles.
She pawed at his hair, planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek. Joe laughed, kissing her back.
Jessie lingered off to the side, watching the scarred soldier turn into a gentle father.
But her gaze kept drifting to the circle of women around him. The easy affection, the way Maggie and Beth's swollen bellies signaled a future already growing inside these walls.
For a moment she was caught between fascination and something else.
Emma smirked at Joe. "You look good, Scarface."
"Thanks, Toaster," he said.
Emma swatted his arm, embarrassed. "Not in front of people." Joe kissed her briefly before turning to the Millers.
"Joseph Black," he said, offering a hand.
"Bob," the old man replied firmly. "And my wife, Nat."
Joe nodded politely. "Looking lovely today, ma'am."
Nat laughed, her face lighting. "Oh, he's a charmer."
Before he could say more, Andrea's eyes flicked toward Jessie. "And who's this?"
Joe glanced back. "This is Jess. She works in the pantry. She brought a basket by earlier."
Amy smiled warmly, stepping forward. "Hi. I'm Amy. Nice to meet you."
She hugged Jessie, who froze a moment before awkwardly patting her back.
"Y-yeah," Jessie stammered. "Great to meet you too."
Amy's smile didn't falter, but her eyes lingered a fraction longer before she drew Jessie toward the group.
Andrea and Emma exchanged a subtle look, reading Jessie's reaction, before Amy guided her toward the women.
Jessie did her best to blend in, but her earlier shock still hung in the air.
Meanwhile, Joe sat with the Millers, Grace still in his arms.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Since the first month," Nat said.
Bob added, "We had supplies. Stayed put. Deanna's boy, Spencer, found us. Brought us in."
Joe nodded. "Good thing he did. You've got experience. People could learn from it."
Bob shrugged. "If anyone would listen."
"They will," Joe said firmly. "I'll send my people over. They'd benefit from it."
Maggie, nearby, chimed in. "We won't be strangers."
That earned smiles from the Millers.
Bob studied Joe a moment. "You military?"
"Special Forces. Hawk Team One. Counterterrorism."
Bob's brows shot up. "Well, damn."
They spoke a little longer, but soon Grace began nodding off, followed by the others. Joe kissed her cheek, rising to his feet.
"It's been great meeting you. But I should get them to bed."
"Of course," Bob said warmly. "Come by any time."
Joe shook his hand, then turned back to his family. The wives gathered close as he started down the steps.
Joe putting out his hand to help Beth down. Then Maggie.
Jess lingered with the group, offering a small wave before slipping away toward another house.
Amy's eyes followed her until she disappeared from view.
Only then did she turn back to Joe, a question in her expression she didn't voice.
...
Joe and the others returned to the house, the rest of the group spread across the living room and kitchen.
Voices murmured low, a mix of fatigue and guarded curiosity.
Joe and his wives slipped quietly into the kids' room, laying the babies down into the cribs.
Grace and Esther curled against each other, already half-asleep.
When they came back out, Glenn handed them plates. "Dinner," he said, offering a tired smile.
The possum Daryl had killed earlier was roasted, paired with fresh carrots and green beans from the community, canned fruit on the side.
Joe and his women thanked him. The group shifted around to make space, and they all sat together, the smell of food filling the air.
Conversations overlapped. They spoke about Alexandria, about the people they'd met, about the jobs Deanna had assigned.
Joe tilted his head at that but didn't press, his silence noted by a few but not questioned.
He was just about to take his first bite when a knock thudded against the door.
Joe set his plate aside and rose. His boots made the floorboards creak as he approached.
He opened the door slowly.
Deanna stood there, composed as always, but her eyes widened slightly when she saw him.
"Joe, I..." she caught herself, smiling. "Wow! You clean up nice."
Joe groaned softly.
She held up a hand. "I don't want to interrupt. I just wanted to see how you all are settling in…"
Her words trailed as her gaze moved past him, taking in the entire group gathered in the living room, plates balanced on laps, the closeness of it.
"Oh my…" she said quietly. "Staying together. Smart."
Joe's jaw tightened. "No one said we couldn't."
Deanna's eyes flicked back to him, sharp but not unkind. "You said they're family. It's amazing to me, how people who are so different can become so close. Don't you think?"
Joe didn't answer her question. Instead he said flatly, "They told me you gave them jobs."
Deanna nodded. "Yes. That's part of this place. Everyone contributes."
"You didn't give me one."
Her smile returned, faint and unreadable. "I did. I just haven't told you what it is yet. Same with Rick and Michonne. Sasha too... I'm close to finding the right fit. Daryl… I'm still figuring him out. But I will."
Joe studied her a moment, then gave a small nod. "Alright. But let me just say, I don't like surprises much."
Her eyes softened. "Then I'll let you know soon. Get some rest tonight. You deserve it."
"Night." Joe watched her silhouette fade into the dark before closing the door. He turned back, heading to his spot on the couch.
He sat down again and dug into his food, eating with the speed of a man who still remembered hunger gnawing in his gut.
He cleared his plate, then reached for seconds without hesitation.
When the edge of his hunger was dulled, he rose and went back into the kids' room. He laid a blanket across the floor.
His wives joined him one by one, lying close against his sides, their warmth pressing into him.
Maggie's voice broke the quiet. "What do you think of this place?"
Joe exhaled. "It's nice."
Andrea's eyes narrowed. "But…"
Joe's silence stretched before he sighed. "These people are weak. Their defenses are poor. They rely on the walls too much."
Emma spoke softly. "But the walls are strong…"
Joe's gaze flicked toward her. "The prison's walls were strong."
The room went still.
Amy's voice was the one to cut the silence. "That's true. But so what? We make this place stronger. You build it into something that can never fall."
Joe turned to her. Her eyes met his without wavering. His own, bright and steady, held hers.
"That's what I'll do," he said. 'No matter the cost', he thought.
Amy nodded, leaning against him, her head on his shoulder.
The others pressed in closer, a silent vow passing between them in the darkened room.