It was the peak of winter, and there was a sudden outbreak of something seemingly harmless back in the safe zone – a common cold – but then they'd realised they were low on medicine; low across the whole board, all three settlements. So, they find themselves out on a long run. It had to be that way. Cold bites at them mercilessly, dropping to obscene temperatures in the night. But, surprisingly, it does have an effect on the walkers, though neither of them claimed to understand the science behind it. Sometimes, it was simple – they'd find walkers frozen in place, heads still moving free, growling in their direction. A day passes, and the degrees only seem to drop further below freezing. Never did get like this in Atlanta; it was a tough adjustment. All of this, and it was harder to keep stealthy with that pleasant but too-loud crunch of snow underneath their feet.

Rick moves ahead of her with instinct and gut – it doesn't match up with her own. It's different, and she can't put her finger on it. They find just about enough out here in the wastes to keep them on the safe side – didn't fill a quarter of the van they'd brought along with them, though. But still, they walked deeper into the forest, miles away from the van now. It was aimless – even if there was supposed to be a suburb around here, somewhere – but Rick walked with direction that they hadn't synced up on, that hadn't been outlined on the map. They just walk. She shadows him closely and he looks back constantly, checking in; her own attention is split between the thickets and the man in front of her.

Three walkers wander out in front of them, dragging their torn feet through the snow, limbs contorted at horrific angles. She takes the two closest to her – a clean slice, two in one – and Rick swings his axe into the last one. Michonne whips her blade to the side and Rick is hunched over his kill for a second too long. Her mouth opens, and her feet take her towards him when he stands up straight and turns to her.

"You reckon the cold's really slowing them down?" and he doesn't really wait for a reply. She didn't really have one. With that, they carry on in a different direction than before. That, she thinks she should point out. She doesn't, and he hoped she wouldn't.

They find abandoned duffels, abandoned campsites. An empty shack. No suburb. The trees start to clear out some and they start breathing heavier than before – they're going uphill. It gets dangerous and riskier than usual; Rick slips on some snow and before he hits the ground her grip is on him like a vice. A quick thank you, and they're back on their way.

At the top of whatever hill they decided to trek, the space opens up. Ahead is a wavy landscape, the land riding itself out in hills. It's hard to make out what this once was – a golf course, someone's old backyard, or just untouched land. Untouched then. Untouched now. Even the snow covering every inch of it – undisturbed. There's nothing here but the lip of the forest they're standing on, and them, witnesses to the winter sunset that makes the white that much more blinding. They stand there without meaning to, catching their breath, freezing up quicker than it took to warm up. It's scarily quiet, save for a silent rustle of leaves.

Their breath wafts in front of them.

"I think we should get back," he rasps out, throat dry and cold. He swallows and she hums back to him – bad enough that they'll be in the forest when it's dark.

"Michonne."

She looks to him then, questioning, and he has to look away for a second at his feet in the snow. Running a finger across his brow, Michonne sees a quirk of his lips but its too slight to be sure of. The conviction on his face when he looks back at her almost throws her. Almost.

He takes off his glove, and his skin is still stretched white across his bones from the cold. Flexing his fingers once, twice, he goes to pull something out of his pocket. It unsettles her, that her instincts can't guide her through something she has no idea about. But she grounds herself in the fact that –

"I love you," he says.

A beat.

"I love you," she replies.

His shoulders slacken and a tension lifts from his face, his body relaxing. He smiles now and there's no doubt about it – laughing, even, and the sound rings against her ears. A woman in love looks back at him, her mouth parted and upturned like she wants to join in, but she doesn't get the punchline.

Moving closer to her, he takes her hand – "Michonne," – and takes off the glove she's wearing.

"I'm not good at this. But I have to do this. I know. I've known."

Her hand is warming between his, her eyes holding his own, searching. Searching. Inside himself, he's fighting the urge to scream it from the top of his lungs, to splurge it out all at once, or to kiss her hard and soft all at once, knowing that he'd never stop. The look on her face that night on the couch when he slipped the mints in her hand – when he slipped his fingers between hers – he sees that playing out again across her face, and he feels breathless.

"I hope this fits," he whispers, slipping the ring he'd found earlier on her finger. He didn't have much variety, much choice, but if he's honest with himself, he loves it. She'd love it. He hoped.

"Michonne?"

Her vision blurs looking at her hand in his, the ring wrapped around her finger perfectly. Tears well up in her eyes and she wills herself to keep them at bay. She risks looking back up at him, and doesn't even notice that she's smiling. She's smiling but her eyes are full of tears. His hand comes to cup her face, wiping away a tear that falls anyway.

Bringing herself forward to him, pushing herself up on her toes, she brings her hands to his neck and their lips meet. The force of it takes Rick aback, but he catches up, his arm wrapping around her waist with one hand still on her cheek – he feels her tears fall then. Whoever breaks the kiss first is unclear; it aches like a dull pain beneath the skin. But this isn't painful. Their foreheads rest together in the meantime.

"Is that a yes?" he asks.

She laughs at him, her eyes still shuttered, only to kiss him again. It's softer and slower, her fingers against his face.

"Yes," she says against him.