Rick looked at his son, the old Sherriff's hat crooked over his anxious face.

"Please don't be mad, but the kitchen is on fire."

Those were about the last words that Rick expected to hear out of Carl's mouth. He was expecting Carl to say something about Judith or Michonne's son, Andre.

"The kitchen is what?" Rick repeated. Perhaps he had heard wrong.

At the same time, Michonne stood up, "What?"

Michonne ran into the kitchen to see what was going on, followed by Rick, followed by Carl.

Sure enough, the flimsy curtains on either side of the window over the sink were engulfed in flames and the fire was rapidly spreading to the cabinets and the wallpaper.

Rick's mouth opened in surprise. This day was turning out to be all kinds of dramatic.

"Do we have a fire extinguisher?" Michonne asked, looking around. If there was one, there was no way they'd be able to find it in time.

Thinking quick, Michonne spotted the plate of pancakes on the counter, darted forward and grabbed it. She backed up away from the fire, bumping into Rick, who tried to back out of her way only to bump into Carl.

"It was an accident! I'm sorry!" Carl said, eyes transfixed by the flames.

The three survivors stood bunched up in the doorway.

Michonne looked up at Rick expectantly, as if to say, 'What should we do now?'

What does she expect from me? I was a cop, not a firefighter!

"Leave it," Rick decided, his voice gaining a firmness that he hadn't felt for some time, "Grab what you can and let's go."

Carl, Rick, and Michonne ran into the living room, shrugged on the jackets that Rick had found earlier that morning, and gathered up their bags of supplies. Michonne dumped the pancakes into a backpack and tossed the plate away.

"Hold on!" Carl said, remembering the EMT bag that was still upstairs from when Michonne gave Rick first aid the night before. He ran up the stairs and into the bedroom before anyone could stop him.

"Carl!" Rick yelled after him, "CARL!"

"I'm coming! Hold on!"

Carl used his arm to swipe the first aid supplies scattered on the bedside table into the big canvas bag, zipped it up, and slung it over his shoulder.

"CARL!" Rick yelled again, right as the boy reappeared at the top of the staircase.

Carl ran down the stairs, jumping over the last three. Michonne had already pushed the couch away from the front door and yanked it open.

The three beat a hasty retreat away from the house. Thankfully there were no walkers in sight, for the time being. They crossed the overgrown yard and stood on the other side of the street, looking back at the house.

A steady rain was coming down. Carl's beloved hat protected him from the wet. Neither Rick nor Michonne's jackets had hoods.

Carl wanted to stay and watch to see if the whole house would burn down but Rick said, "Let's get going," and they set off together.

The three walked for many hours, at times running and hiding from walkers, all the while getting pushed further and further into the housing development. Eventually they cut through some woods, passing a rusted out playground near some picnic tables, a few gruesomely decayed walkers caught in the jungle gym.

The day was dragging on, heavy mud clinging to their boots, when they came along a steep gravel driveway. It led to a large rustic-looking house. At least it probably used to be rustic-looking. Now it was hidden underneath the layers of leaves and dirt and stray shingles.

The glass in every visible window had been shattered, the doors hung on their hinges or were missing altogether, and a huge pine tree had fallen on the house, partially collapsing the side of the building.

The wrap-around porch, where it wasn't obscured by the fallen tree, was rotted and broken through in several places. Rick didn't think it was worth it to even look inside so he started to circle around the house and no one voiced an objection.

He wanted to find some safe shelter for the night. The rain had mostly let up, drizzling off and on now. Maybe there's a shed, or a garage, or something. Anything.

Behind the house they found a stretch of woods with a path that led to a lake. The scene was pretty. Despite everything else in the world, here was a beautiful piece of nature, seemingly untouched by death and horror.

"Look! A tree house!" Carl pointed excitedly, the first time he'd spoken up after hours of hiking.

Rick peered through the trees, "You're right," he told Carl, impressed that he'd spotted it.

Upon closer examination they saw a boxy wooden playhouse about ten feet off the ground, nestled in the branches of a massive oak tree. It had three walls and a roof. A tattered sheet of camouflage netting hung in the front but Rick could still make out some faded paint that probably used to be bright primary colors.

"Looks like someone could be living here," Michonne whispered from Rick's side.

"Hello?" Rick called out.

There was no response. If anyone had been staying in the tree house, they weren't there now. Rick turned to Carl.

"Here, I'll boost you up, see what you can see," he said, bending down and lacing his fingers together to make a step for Carl.

Carl dropped his bags on the ground and, with his dad's help and Michonne reaching out to balance him, managed to get his hands on the wooden platform. Straining to pull himself up, Carl peeked inside.

"It's clear," he said, "looks good. Push me higher!"

Rick grunted, pushed Carl's miss-matched boots higher, his bruised ribs protesting the effort. Carl scrambled up into the tree house. Rick caught his breath and listened to his son investigating the tree house.

"Dad," Carl came back to the edge, one hand holding a scrap of the camo sheet away from his face, "I think someone was living here. There's some rolled up sleeping bags and some boxes, but it's all kinda dusty."

"We could stay here," he concluded hopefully, "for a little while anyway."

"Alight," Rick agreed. It's as good a place as any.

They tossed their bags of gear up to Carl, who found a rope ladder and let it down for Rick and Michonne to climb up.

"Ladies first," Rick said with a little smile, rain-soaked curls plastered to his face.

Michonne cracked a smile and shimmied up the rope ladder like she had been living in tree houses all her life.

Rick had considerably more difficulty. He had managed alright during their long trek but a steady trudge was different from climbing a wobbly, slippery rope ladder and his injuries were far from healed.

It all seemed to catch up to him after he got his feet on the first cross-rope. The dull ache in his bruised ribs, the burning pain in his leg, the creaking of the rope ladder as it swung back and forth; all of it conspired to make his head swim. And he was less than three feet off the ground!

Pull yourself together, Grimes! You've got this! Rick gave himself an internal pep talk, rallying his determination.

Steadying his breath the best he could, Rick reached up with one hand, then another to grab the next higher cross-rope. Slow and careful, that's it, don't fall... He took a step with his good leg, held on tight, and pulled himself higher.

Don't fall in front of Michonne! That would be about the most humiliating thing he could think of. She's already seen me at my lowest point, beaten down by the worst life could throw at me, many times over. I always stood back up, but if I fall now...she'll think I'm a total klutz and that'll be the end of it!

He repeated the process, slowly climbing the ladder, refusing to look up, all the while telling himself, Don't fall in front of Michonne...Don't fall...Why can't I look cool in front of her just once? ...Almost there!

After what felt like an eternity but was really closer to ten minutes, Rick reached the top of the rope ladder. Michonne's hands were ready and waiting to grab his arms, helping him up onto the wooden platform.

"Sorry, I should have held it still and sent you up first. I didn't think," Michonne said apologetically, looking at him with concern in her face.

"It's okay," Rick said. He didn't have the energy to say more.

It was reasonably dry inside the tree house, back from the open side. Someone or a couple someones had been staying there at some point, but the place wasn't particularly neat or well-supplied so it was impossible to tell how recently. Whoever it was could be long gone by now.

Michonne spread out the sleeping bags and the three weary travelers sat in a row, leaning against the wall. They ate the crumbled bits of pancake that Michonne scooped out of her backpack. It wasn't much, but it was enough to quiet their hunger.

Carl rummaged through the water-damaged and mouse-nibbled cardboard boxes stacked against one wall of the tree house.

To his surprise he found several metal ammo boxes with U.S. ARMY stenciled on the sides. Most were marked .50 CAL but one of the boxes held smaller caliber bullets and Carl and Rick each loaded their guns.

Rick slid his gun back into its holster, reassured by its weight, and went back to sit down next to Michonne, leaning his back against the smooth wood panels.

"You're soaked," he said, touching the soggy arm of her jacket.

"Hey, you're one to talk," Michonne replied, meeting his eyes.

She shifted closer to him and reached a hand up to his face.

Rick's heart began to beat faster in anticipation.

"Here," Michonne said softly, "this is about to come off anyway," and pulled off the Band-Aid that she'd stuck on his cheek the night before.

"Ow!" Rick winced in surprise more than anything else.

He'd completely forgotten about the Band-Aid covering the cut on his face. Never mind the fact that he'd, quite irrationally as it turned out, been expecting her to do something else entirely. Maybe not so much expecting as wishing...

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Rick ducked his head to hide his disappointment.

"I got this one," he said, pulling off the Band-Aid that was stuck across the bridge of his nose.

"Suit yourself," Michonne said nonchalantly.

Rick noticed Carl watching him and Michonne, an odd expression on his young face. Before he could say anything, Carl went back to sorting through the last of the boxes and Rick decided to let him be.

The tree house was quiet but for the sound of the occasional water droplet rolling off a leaf and falling to the roof.

Rick yawned. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes, pushed his wet hair back from his face. Jacket is soaked through, he realized, and slowly removed his coat.

Michonne and Carl followed suit, spreading out the three wet jackets on the floor where hopefully they might dry.

Carl opened his mouth to suggest that they build a small fire to dry their clothes, remembered exactly why they had left that nice dry house in the first place, and closed his mouth again.

"Rick, get some rest," Michonne said, "I'll keep watch."

He nodded his consent. That sounded like a fantastic plan. Truly exhausted, Rick unzipped a sleeping bag and crawled inside, for a fleeting moment feeling for all the world like his was back in Boy Scout camp.

"Don't go anywhere," Rick said before his eyes fell closed.

"We're not going anywhere," Michonne assured him with a soft smile, speaking for herself and for Carl.