Title: The Governess
Summary: AU after 3x11. One moment, one move, was all it took for fate to change courses. Follow Andrea as she rises to power in Woodbury while struggling to maintain order within herself and those around her. If there's one thing she knows, the Walkers aren't the most dangerous force—it's each other.
Pairing(s): Eventual Michandrea (Michonne/Andrea)
Author's Note: My first Walking Dead story! This has been on my mind for quite some time. Updates will be irregular due to school, but the more responses I get, the faster I usually write. Enjoy!
It is said that power corrupts, but actually it's more true that power attracts the corruptible. The sane are usually attracted by other things than power.
You need to sleep with him.
The voice echoed in Andrea's head. Over and over it repeated in her mind as she lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Of all the things she could be thinking—Rick killing Shane or Michonne telling the group of her affair with the Governor—it was Carol, her dear friend, and her blunt request. Not a second passed when she didn't hear her friend's voice, see the seriousness in her eyes among the dark circles that ringed around them. It had haunted Andrea all day as she drove away from the prison, traveled back to Woodbury, and pulled the very man who threatened the lives of her friends into a kiss.
Give him the best night of his life.
The Governor shifted on his side of the bed, and the woman's body tensed. The man, turning towards her, linked an arm around her waist. Andrea glanced down towards the man's hand, expressionless. Hairs on her neck rose sharply as she felt his hot breath behind her. The reality of everything hit her like bricks then. How could she lie here while her group was in the prison, wondering when the Governor would strike again? She couldn't. It made her sick.
Swallowing, she carefully lifted up his wrist and placed it on his waist. Then, she slowly moved from the bed, mindful to not move too quickly. The floor creaked under her feet, and she paused momentarily. The man continued to sleep, unbeknownst to the events unfolding around him.
Get him to drop his guard.
Andrea's curly mess of blonde hair fell below her shoulders as she moved to the pile of clothes in the middle of the room. Searching through pockets after kneeling, she pulled the weapon out, and stood back up. Face blank, the woman turned around, and began walking over to the man.
The woman stopped. Her blue eyes scanned the Governor's sleeping figure. She studied the rise and fall of his chest, the five o'clock shadow sprouting along his jaw, and the eye patch above his right eye. So peaceful. Such a sweet deceit. Her heart pounded in her chest, to the point where she was sure he would hear her. Andrea's hand clutched the handle of the knife.
Then when he's sleeping, you can end this.
She knew what she had to do. She knew what could happen if he continued to live. Not only were the lives or Rick, Carol, Michonne, and everyone she cared about were threatened, but also of the citizens of Woodbury. Why have a war when already they were having one with the Walkers? People's lives were being risked, and for what? Ego? No, Andrea would not let that happen.
But despite the crimes Phillip has committed, she couldn't do exactly what he wanted to do: kill a human being. She knew she could fix this with a treaty of some sort, and maybe even have her group come live in Woodbury. It was a stretch, but it would be a step in the right direction.
Andrea breathed in, and took a step backwards.
The floor creaked.
Her heart stopped. Quickly, she whipped her head up, eyes meeting with the one of the Governor. They stared at each other. The blonde swore time slowed altogether, and it was only affecting her. "Andrea?" he said, voice drowsy. His eye glanced to the knife in her hand, which glinted in the moonlight. One moment he was laying in bed, and the next he flung himself out of it, grabbing her wrist.
His fingers dug into her wrist, causing her to drop the weapon. She cried out, "Phillip! Stop! It's not—it's not what it looks like!"
The eyes that once looked at her with passion turned cold. He spoke in a calculative tone as he tightened his grip in retaliation to her trying to get out of his grip. "Do you think I'm stupid, Andrea? You were going to kill me. I should have known you were on the enemy's side, traitor." The Governor, eyes growing darker, let her go, and she fell backwards. Andrea scrambled away, with one thing on her mind: get out. Phillip was gone, and she now saw him for who he really was.
But he wasn't through with her. Far from it, actually. Hate and humiliation burning in his body, the Governor forced himself on top of her, his knees pressing into her stomach. Andrea tried to fight him off, but he was a good one hundred pounds heavier than she. He fought off her attempts of punching him with ease. The man then wrapped his hands around her neck, digging his hands deep around her throat. He pressed tighter and tighter. Andrea gasped for air and tried to kick, scratch, roll him off, but he held her down. Her smaller hands desperately tried to unlock his hands around her neck, yet they stayed firmly in place.
Her eyes watered. The woman tried to reach for his face to scratch him, but he evaded them. Blue eyes searched for something—anything—to use to defend herself. But nothing was in reach except…
Andrea's hand reached for it, her fingertips grazing the handle. She stretched her arm further, trying to scoot it closer. Every centimeter it moved, the harder it became to breath. As soon as there was enough she could grab onto, Andrea curled her hand around the knife, and plunged it into the Governor's neck.
No sound came out of the man. His eyes merely widened. She felt his hands loosen, and the woman shoved him off while wheezing to breathe. Andrea touched her throat gently as she watched him yank the knife out. Blood gushed out in dark streams, staining the bed and trailing down his naked body. The Governor clutched his neck. He tried to stand up, his eyes wild, but he gave up, falling down with a heavy thud and knocking over the dresser. The light in his eyes died out as he breathed for one last time. A red puddle formed underneath him.
Andrea may not have been willing to kill him in his sleep, but self-defense was a different story.