So this is my very first attempt at a The Walking Dead fic. I'm somewhat of a newb to the show and super nervous about writing fanfic about it. It wasn't until I finished seasons 1-4 on Netflix that I realized I was in fact, not the only Richonne shipper in the world. So these series of one shots will be focusing on Rick and Michonne. Hopefully it's not horrible. Thanks for reading in advance.

Church Confessions

The church somehow felt smaller at night. The walls seemed closer and the roof seemed lower. The air, definitely thicker. Rick was laying on his back as he stared up into complete darkness. His thoughts and crickets competing over who could drive him to insanity first.

Sweat beads began to form below his hair line and he could have swore that he heard them as the trickled down his face and landed somewhere near his head. He couldn't lay there anymore and pretend to sleep. Pretend to rest.

He was restless.

He sat up quickly as though he was suddenly pulled from a nightmare back into reality. But, unfortunately he was never asleep, and the nightmare was life.

He looked over at Carl and Judith who were sleeping peacefully less than a foot away. He touched his chest unconsciously. His shirt was damp from sweating. He looked over his children once more before he quickly and quietly stood up; colt python in hand. The floors creaked beneath him as he maneuvered over and around the others. He made his way towards the back of the church. The place just felt bigger when you weren't sitting in the middle of it. He needed to feel space. His mind was...pacing. He sat in the very last pew that was furthest from the pulpit but closest to the doors.

He exhaled hard through his nose. Better. He felt better.

Several moments passed as Rick continued to sit and watch. Watch and wait. Wait and-

The silhouette of a very womanly figure came into his line of vision. He squinted his eyes, as he usually did when he wanted to get a better read on something. Or someone. As she made her way closer to him it became quite obvious who it was before he could even really see her.

She walked - no, more like glided towards him. She was quiet. Stealth like. Light steps, but sure steps. She eased herself down into a sitting position on the pew right in front of him. She carefully placed her sword down right beside her. She leaned back, her should blades pressed against the back rest.

"You should be resting, Rick." Her voice heavy, but barely above a whisper.

"I should be, but I can't." He ran a hand down his face.

"Can't or won't?"

There was a brief pause before he answered her. He didn't really know anymore to be completely honest. It was probably "Both." He whispered from behind her.

She heard him sigh and then, "Sometimes, my hands start shakin' and I can't make it stop." He confessed. These days, when talking to her, words just fell from his lips. It was easy. Michonne had a powerful grip on Rick Grimes.

He stared at the back of her head. Her long dreadlocks hung beautifully over her bare shoulders that her fitted sleeveless shirt was exposing. "And I swear sometimes it feels like I have no control over myself."

The way he said it more than the actual words themselves tugged at her chest and pulled on feelings that she believed to be dead until Rick gave them life. She swallowed hard and looked down at her feet that were engulfed in darkness. She glared down at them as though she could see them anyway.

"And I swear that...I only feel centered...sane...when you're near me." His southern drawl thick on every word that he whispered.

She turned her head to the side, and saw him in her peripheral vision. "It's natural . We're survivors. We saved each other, we've been through -"

"No," He shook his head cutting her off. She turned her head forward again. "That's all true, but it's not just that. It's more than that." He moved forward in his seat and leaned closer to her back. "You know it. You know it's more than that..."

Michonne's shoulders rose and fell quickly with each deep breath she took as she tried to piece together what Rick was trying to say before he said it.

Rick moved even further up on the pew. He was sitting on the very edge of it now. His head inches away from the crook of her neck. His hands hovered over her shoulders. "We've both lost Rick," her voice shook, "we've lost and I don't think either of us want to feel that ever, ever again."

"Wether we admit it out loud or not it's not gonna make a difference. If something happened to you," He finally placed his hands on her shoulders, tentatively at first, just slightly grazing her beautiful dark skin that glowed even in darkness like a deep body of water with no light around it except for the moon . "It wouldn't matter. It'd kill me. I'm already in this." he spoke against the back of her neck. "Tell me I'm not alone in this." He closed his eyes as if her next words would physically pain him. "Please."

His voice wavered greatly and it made her stomach burn, and she couldn't tell if it felt amazing or hurt like hell. She didn't know if the fact that Rick Grimes made it so she couldn't breathe was everything good or everything she never wanted to feel again.

Whichever it was, she was powerless to stop it. She stood up and moved to where he was sitting. He reached out for her hand and she gave it to him. He grabbed the tips of her fingers.

She looked down into his blue eyes. Those eyes always spelled his intentions out clearly. And now they seemed calm, and sure. She glanced down to his mouth. His beautiful full lips were pink and chapped.

He pulled her closer by her fingers. She was now standing directly in front of him and because there was hardly any room between pews she was standing right between his legs. He sat staring up at her. He used his free hand to wrap around the back of her thighs, just under her ass. He pulled her even closer, never breaking eye contact.

She glanced down at his lap and made a quick decision. She lifted one leg and placed it on one side of his thigh and slowly brought her other leg up and placed it on the opposite side of him. The wooden pew creaked as she let all of her weight settle onto his lap. She used her knee to push his gun further down the pew.

Neither of them worried about the noise as nothing could have broken or interrupted this moment they were sharing. A herd of walkers could come crashing through that God forsaken place and he wouldn't have budged. He didn't touch her yet. He kept his hands on his seat below and held onto the edge of it. He let his head fall back and rest against the wood.

Michonne slowly brought one of her hands up between them and placed it against his chest. Her mouth opened as though to say something but no words came out. She looked down at where her hand rested against him.

He placed his own hand over hers. The contact drew her focus back to his eyes. "I know...that...you know...that...," she spoke slowly, carefully, "that you're not alone in this." She raked her fingers through his wavy hair and as she did he moved his hands to her hips. His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt. He pulled her close to his chest. She leaned down and kissed his nose, softly, sweetly. She leaned back and looked at him again.

They both moved then. Her down and him up to capture each others lips. And they did so passionately.

She cradled his face in her hands and he moved his hands up and down her back and he moaned quietly as he tasted her, felt her, savored her.

They pulled apart. He pushed one of her dreads that had fallen over her face back behind her ear. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

She smiled. "You too."