*Author's Note*

Hi there! First off, thank you, thank you, thank you for taking a moment to check this out! I know you have a multitude of other works you could be reading so I appreciate you entrusting me with your time and attention.

So, a little housekeeping beforehand. This story that you are about to read is not completely mine. It actually started life as an AU Richonne writing prompt posted by OhMyJinkies on Tumblr. It was so interesting that instead of doing my usual and waiting for someone else to write the story, I decided to tackle it myself. This, that you are about to read, is the end result. That said, any similarity to existing works (other than AMC's The Walking Dead, Max Brooks' book World War Z, Brad Pitt's film of the same name and/or Jinkies' prompt) are entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Please note: Though this is not technically a completed work, it is almost done and there was an outline. It has only been serialized here for your enjoyment. Any questions, comments or suggestions (besides of the grammatical variety), while absolutely welcome, will not alter the course of this story. Which for the most part, has already been written and beta'd (by the astonishing blacklitchick). So comment, comment, comment please but don't expect something you suggested in Chapter 3 to happen in Chapter 4 (unless you're inside my head and/or we think alike). Just sayin'.

Please also note, this story was conceived of and begun *before* the start of Season 7. Meaning, though I knew which actors were cast as which new characters and (although I'm not a GN reader) I knew what certain people were *supposed to* look like (ie. ethnicity, hair color etc.) and their characterizations, I felt far freer to imagine people as *I* saw fit for my story. There are shades of Season 7 in the story, no doubt, but they are altogether different creatures. So, fair warning - some people will not look or act as you've seen them on the show. Please, please, don't bother commenting that xyz doesn't look (or act) like s/he did on the show or in the comix. Or if you do, understand that I will respond (or not) to those messages/comments at my discretion. Just bear in mind that this is an AU story...and enjoy!

*UPDATES: MONDAYS AND WEDNESDAYS*

2011

Kisangani, Democratic Republic of Congo

She's trembling.

Rick Grimes was watching her closely. He always watched her closely. And in the over seven years he'd known her, he had never seen her like that. Unnerved. Out of sorts. Yes, there were times when a drop in temperature produced a slight shiver or a gruesome scene caused her shoulders to roll back. But now as she stood in the corner, Michonne Philippe's body was shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm okay." Michonne whispered, apparently reading the concern on his face as they stood side-by-side.

"You sure?" He asked doubting her words greatly.

She looked at him briefly and nodded before turning back toward the man standing in front of them.

Maybe he should have taken her straight to the infirmary?

For the past 10 hours they had been, as they often were, attached at the hip. He just assumed she'd want to stay with him. He, for damn sure, wanted to keep an eye on her. He'd already looked her over from head to toe. After confirming that though she was splattered with blood, only some smatterings on her face were her own, he presumed to keep her with him. Though the shaking did worry him. It was pure shock. He'd seen it before. And shock didn't need a bullet hole to start systematically shutting down her bodily functions until it killed her.

"Captain Grimes? Richard?" Brigadier General Fournier said in his heavy French accent, clearing his throat just as Rick turned back to face him. Rick looked at the man as if he'd only recently turned up in the room.

Where was he?

Rick had been in the middle of his after-action report. Literally mid-sentence when he stopped to look at Michonne –he was distracted. Rick's feelings and attentions were going in a million different directions; all vying for his undivided attention. Rationally, he knew Brig. Gen. Fournier should be his primary concern, but he wasn't. Michonne was. Making sure she was okay was the first and most crucial of his many vital concerns at that moment.

Fortunately, though Matheo Fournier was a soldier, he was a man first. "Richard. This can wait a few minutes. Get her to Dr. Lissouba and then come back, we can –"

"I'm fine." Michonne cut him off firmly. "Just…get on with it."

Both men looked at her stunned. She appeared to be falling apart but the steel in her tone suggested otherwise. The two men shared another look then focused on Michonne again. Though the shaking hadn't ceased, while still covered in blood, sporting a badly split lip and an increasingly swelling jaw, there could be no doubt from her words that Michonne wasn't going anywhere until Rick's report was finished.

"I'm sorry Matt, where was I?" Rick said distractedly. He could pretend all he wanted, but he wasn't doing much better himself. His right eye was rapidly closing down on him and the bandage Michonne had hastily applied to his shoulder in the jeep was beginning to seep again. He was pretty sure the droplets of his blood that were running down his arm would soon begin staining Matt's hardwood floor.

"Bien d'accord," Brig. Gen. Fournier conceded with a shrug. "You and Lieutenant Walsh were exchanging fire with M23 forces?" He prompted Rick.

Rick nodded, launching back into the brutal events of the past 18 hours. Periodically, he looked over at Michonne and saw she stood rigidly off to his side. Her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere over Matt's left shoulder but close enough in his general direction as to not attract attention. And she kept one hand solemnly placed over her heart as if she were attesting to the veracity of Rick's words, which was ironic, considering half of them were lies.

Clusterfuck was too genteel a word for what had just happened.

Fortunately for them, they were the only two left alive to tell the tale.

Forty minutes.

She'd stood there for forty minutes and allowed Rick to lie for her. Normally, Michonne couldn't abide liars or lies and she certainly wouldn't have suborned one. Yet, now she didn't say a word as he concocted a palatable story for the Brigadier General. It was her fault. All of it but particularly that moment. Rick was protecting her out of duty, out of some 'white knight' syndrome he seemed constantly to be suffering from. Or out of some greater sense of responsibility, she didn't know but he was doing it and she was allowing him to. For every moment she stood there and remained silent, it was a foot deeper into her own grave she was digging.

Michonne blinked. The room was silent again or maybe the ringing was back. For minutes after she had pulled that trigger there had been a ringing in her ears that drowned out everything else. Had that returned? She blinked again and saw both Rick and the general staring at her.

"I'm sorry what?" She said as if coming out of a stupor. Maybe she was.

*Are you alright Ms. Philippe? Are you sure you don't require medical assistance?* The General asked in French, their mutually preferred language of communication with one another.

*Yes, I'm okay. Captain Grimes took good care of me. I just want to go home now.* She replied attempting a smile that pained her face, causing her to wince.

Matheo Fournier frowned as if he doubted very much that was the case as he looked at her battered face but then nodded in acquiescence. She knew being able to speak freely in French to her had always given him a sense of kinship with her he didn't have with a lot of the other Americans. Even though technically, he'd known Rick significantly longer. But the truth of the matter was, the mere fact that Michonne was standing there to say that to him gave proof to her words. Rick Grimes had kept her alive.

"Well, I do want Clara to take a look at you first but then we can certainly have someone run you home. One of the privates or Richard, if he's feeling up to it." Fournier said in English.

"That's not necessary. I'll take her." Rick said practically talking over Fournier so that Michonne had to look quickly from one to the other to see who was speaking. There was still a slight ringing in her ears, she realized then.

*No, I want to go home.* Michonne reiterated in French. "Back to Atlanta."

Rick caught that last bit in English. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what the rest of that sentence had been. Plus, his time working for the UN in Francophone countries had actually improved his high school French quite a bit.

She wanted to go back to the States.

Given the night they'd just had, he couldn't blame her but he couldn't hide his surprise either. Michonne was a lifer if he'd ever seen one. She was a true-believer from the first moment he'd met her seven years ago. This may have seemed like an impulsive decision, but he knew her well enough to know it couldn't have been.

She sure picked a doozy of a mission to retire on.

Fournier cleared his throat yet again, rising from his reclined position against the front of his desk.

"Ms. Philippe, Michonne, this is a serious decision." Fournier said in English, apparently no longer feeling comfortable speaking in his mother tongue and excluding Rick. "I know that tonight has been a trying experience—"

"Trying?" Michonne snorted involuntarily. She laughed one hysterical laugh before catching herself. She composed herself before continuing, deliberately stepping closer to him and away from where Rick was reaching for her. "My friends, people I've known for years, are dead. Four people! Four people that you're gonna have to ship home in pine boxes…."

She stopped. There may not even be any boxes she realized then. With the exception of Maggie, she and Rick hadn't been able to recover any of the bodies before they were forced to flee. She looked at Rick and he frowned. Then she realized her mistake a moment too late.

"Quatre? Did Lieutenant Walsh survive the firefight?"

"N-no. I-it happened like Rick said." Michonne stumbled over her words as unbidden memories came back in angry flashes. Tears began to fall from her eyes.

Oh. My. God. What did I do?

Fournier looked from Michonne to Rick trying to discern if he was missing something as Michonne began to sob. She clutched at her stomach with her free hand.

"Matt, I need to get her to the infirmary now." Rick took hold of Michonne then to keep her upright turning her into his uninjured shoulder to weep.

"Of course, of course. I'm so sorry to you both. Richard, you get some rest and report back at 1400 to fill out the paperwork." There was a cold efficiency to Fournier's words but the concern and sadness was written all over his face. Still, even in the midst of a peacekeeping operation in the middle of Africa, they all remained beholden to a larger, unfeeling bureaucracy.

He walked up to Michonne and put a comforting hand on her shoulder using it to guide both her and Rick, who held her tightly now, toward the door.

*Ms. Philippe, we will revisit this conversation again when you are feeling better. Until then, for lack of something better, please accept my condolences on the loss of your team.*

Michonne nodded into Rick's shoulder and allowed herself to be escorted out. Blue Helmets, the UN police decked out in their fatigues and signature blue and white-colored helmets, stood on the other side of the General's door and escorted them both to the infirmary.

The entire time Dr. Lissouba tended to her, Rick noticed Michonne wouldn't remove the hand that she held across her chest. Even as her pulse was taken and her blood was drawn Michonne, kept her left hand firmly clasped over her breast. It took a minute before Rick realized she wasn't covering her heart.

'It's your other left, dummy.' Shane used to tease him in grade school when it was time to do the Pledge of Allegiance.

Rick wiped a tear that was threatening to slip from one eye roughly. He'd known that motherfucker since elementary school. It was always Grimes and Walsh, through school, through the Corps, even after Rick decided to join the UN. It had been like that since they were ten years old and in the course of one night it was over. He took a bracing breath that the nurse mistook for a reaction to her stich work.

"We're done, Captain Grimes. I'm sorry if I hurt you." Makemba, Dr. Lissouba nurse, said bashfully.

'You know in Africa, you're allowed more than one wife.' Shane had loved to rag on Rick about the young nurse's crush on him.

"Don't worry about it, Kem." Rick answered, his eyes still trained on the curtain behind which the doctor quietly spoke with Michonne.

"They didn't…violate her?" Rick asked quietly. He couldn't bear to ask the question of Michonne on the ride back but he also couldn't bear not knowing now.

Makemba shook her head discreetly. "She won't let the Doctor examine her but she says it didn't happen. I believe her."

Rick looked at Kem then. "Why?"

Makemba made direct eye contact with him and spoke earnestly. The sadness in her eyes was a departure from the usually jovial young woman. "Because she can walk."

Rick clenched his jaw and hopped off the examining table. "Thank you, Kem."

These were the people Shane had decided to get into bed with?

These were the people that he'd chosen to betray his best friend and every ideal they'd ever believed in for? Rick thought he'd known Shane better than any other single human being on the planet – but as he realized tonight, he didn't know the man at all.

When she was done, in the wee hours of the morning, Rick drove Michonne home to her small flat far from the mission HQ in central Kisangani. While most UN officers chose to live in apartments adjacent to the HQ and within an unofficial 'green zone', an area patrolled and protected by their peacekeepers, Michonne chose to live amongst the people. Rick had always admired that, but now it terrified him. Though he realized it wasn't the time to broach the subject again.

Michonne unlocked her front door and Rick watched as her shoulders fell. He had no idea how long she'd been holding them up or that she was, but now she deflated like a punctured balloon. She staggered to the small table that delineated the line between her tiny living room and her even smaller kitchen, and fell heavily into the chair beside it.

"'Chonne, if you don't mind, I'd like to take your couch?" He was only asking as a formality. There was no way in hell she was getting him out of that apartment before he had to report back to HQ.

Michonne shrugged unable to speak. Somewhere between the hospital and her house she'd lost the ability of speech, it seemed.

Rick flopped down on the couch, first removing his side arm and placing it carefully on her coffee table before removing his shoes. They sat in silence like that for long minutes before Michonne got up again and padded to the refrigerator on shoe-less feet as well. She struggled with a jug of water and her cup, still refusing to remove the hand crossing her chest. Curiosity finally won out and Rick rose out of his chair, coming over to her in the kitchen.

"Want some?" She asked finally regaining her voice although it sounded disused for years instead of hours.

Rick shook his head before reaching for her. Michonne stepped back reflexively. Though they'd known each other forever, Rick had touched her more in the past eighteen hours than he had in the preceding seven and a half years combined. Clearly, she didn't want it to become a habit. Neither of them had forgotten the shiny gold band that he'd worn forever on his left hand.

Rick paused briefly but didn't stop gently grasping her left elbow. She jerked back immediately and he quirked his head to the side in question. He had her pinned between the counter and the refrigerator with no means of egress. Applying more pressure, but still gently, he grasped her elbow and forearm in his hands.

"Is it hurt? Why didn't Dr. L give you a cast?" He questioned in a hushed tone.

He had presumed that was part of what was happening behind the closed curtain until Michonne exited without one. Still, as she continued cradling her arm, he'd resolved to get to the bottom of it.

"No." She answered firmly. "No. I'm fine. I keep telling everyone, I'm fine!"

Michonne's voice rose, which was something it rarely did. The mystery intensified for Rick. She struggled past him, pushing and elbowing to get clear.

"Michonne." He struggled with her, surprised by her behavior.

"Get off of me, Rick! I'm fine!" New silent tears streamed down her face.

"Michonne." He said again just in time to receive an elbow to the side. Makemba told him he'd bruised those ribs and he hissed in pain confirming as much.

"Oh God." She clamped a hand over her mouth and stopped struggling. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He said breathlessly. He didn't give up though tightening his grip on her elbow.

"Please don't. I just have to get out of these clothes. I promise you, I'm fine." Her eyes pleaded with him to let it go.

He wouldn't.

Moving as gently as he could without possibly hurting her, he pushed her formerly white, now blood-stained sleeve down to her elbow and looked. As she had promised, it looked fine. There was no obvious bruising to her lovely obsidian skin. Then using more force as she resisted, he pulled her arm away from her chest and extended it forward toward himself. Tears fell freely down her face now and she moaned.

Rick was shocked.

Over her right breast was a gory, pink, puckered mass of skin, blood and dried viscera.

"My God Michonne, were you hit?" Rick's heart skipped two beats and might have stopped entirely if logic hadn't stepped in. She couldn't have possibly been shot. Not only had the doctor given her a clean bill of health but he'd looked her over himself.

Rick leaned forward, much more than strict propriety should have allowed, and peered at the wound. The first thing he noticed was it wasn't a wound. It wasn't even her skin. It was gore adhered to her clothing. As he looked more closely, Michonne's crying intensified. She turned her face away from his covering her mouth with her hand as if she couldn't bear the inspection. Rick reached out and touched it gingerly with his index finger, finally figuring it out. It was brain matter….

Shane's brain matter.

Rick turned from Michonne quickly then, dry heaving violently into her sink. She finally pushed his body out of her way and ran to her bathroom, slamming the door and locking herself in.

"Michonne? Michonne." Rick knocked gently on the door a few minutes later after he'd composed himself. "Michonne, I'm sorry."

"Go away, Rick. Please." She called through the locked door. Rick eased himself onto the floor and sat with his back against the wall opposite.

He listened as the shower came on and minutes later turned off. He listened as she rifled through her medicine cabinet. Finally, the door opened and he stood as she stepped out wrapped in two gleaming white towels, one around her body and one on her head.

"There's another towel in there. If you're not gonna leave, you have to wash up. I can't stand looking at you like that anymore."

Rick looked down at himself for the first time all night. He had thought Michonne looked terrible, battered and bruised and covered in viscera and blood like the survivor of a massacre. He actually looked worse. He could understand her request even if it had been harsh. Before she could exit the bathroom fully so that he could enter, he stopped her once more by putting his hand against her bare shoulder.

"Were you serious about going back to Atlanta?"

Michonne looked directly into his eyes, the fathomless brown orbs looked through him, and nodded.

"We killed people tonight. We're here to keep the peace and we murdered people."

"Michonne, everything we did tonight, we did in self-defense."

"Was it?" She tried to shake his hand off her shoulder. "Is that what you're gonna tell Shane's family?"

Rick swallowed hard. Except for his grandma in a King County nursing home, Rick, his wife Lori and their son Carl were Shane's family. How in God's name was he ever gonna tell Lori and Carl the truth? Would they even believe him? If Michonne didn't believe him and she'd been standing right there, how would they?

"Tomorrow, I'm typing up the resignation of my commission and I'm getting on the first transport to Kinshasa. If I'm lucky maybe I can be back in Georgia by the end of the week." Michonne continued pulling him back from the dread of his thoughts to the dread of the present moment.

She was quitting. More than that, she was leaving. Would he ever see her again?

"Rick, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but after I leave here, I don't ever want to see you again." Michonne said as if she was reading his mind.

Rick's hand dropped from her shoulder to his side and hung there limply. He looked deeply into her eyes and saw that she spoke the truth. Not from a place of anger, malice or recrimination but with great sorrow, regret and resolve.

"Okay." He said simply, resigned. He silently moved into the bathroom as she slipped out. They were careful not to brush each other. "Fair enough."