Spring is half over, and there are triple the mouths to feed, so they don't bother with icebreakers.
As the Woodbury-ites move in their belongings, Ricks pulls Hershel and Daryl aside and tells them they're in charge from now on. He's taking Carl's advice, taking a rest from leadership. Apparently, this came one decision too late because Carl is furious at him over all the foreign faces. But maybe with his extra free time, Rick can mend that rift between father and son more quickly than normal.
Hershel suggests recruiting other members to form a small council, so Daryl approaches Carol, and Hershel enlists Sasha and Tyrese, the only Woodbury-ites he's familiar with. The first item on the agenda is a bit of a no-brainer; secure the gate, clear the field, plow the land, and plant crops.
They call a town hall meeting in the prison cafeteria, and people throw out suggestions. Taking a cue from Morgan's deranged yet ingenious set-up, Rick suggests an outer wall of wooden spikes, and Andrew, a former Woodbury-ite and engineer, draws a crude pulley system by which they can operate the entrance remotely.
Three expedition groups are planned for the crack of dawn: one heading to the woods to collect logs, another into town to collect scrap metal and hardware supplies, and a third to stock up on whatever food, drink and medicine is left out there in order to accommodate their exponential growth. For tonight, Rick, Daryl and Glen set up a makeshift barricade, while Sasha, Tyrese, Michonne and Carl clear the field of walkers.
Michonne and Carl stand side by side after he shoots the last one down.
"Bullets don't grow on trees," she comments, slashing her katana through the air to clear it of walker blood and brain matter. Carl watches the motion, half-offended by her lack of respect for his weapon (he's a damned good shot!) and half-starstruck with hers.
"Did you know how to use it before all this?"
She smiles the same way she had at the papier-mâché cat. "I've taken lessons since middle school."
"Try holding it," she offers after sheathing the sword, arching one brow in challenge. Carl reaches for it (lighter than he thought it'd be) and grips the handle with both hands, extending the weapon straight out in front of him.
Later that evening…
"I saw you outside with Carl today." She glances up to where he stands in front of her briefly before continuing her sit-ups. Rick is surprised that he understands the look: not disinterest, but rather acknowledgement and silent encouragement to continue.
"Next time, I'd appreciate if you'd ask me first before agreeing to teach him how to sword fight." She finishes another rep before replying: "Won't happen again."
"Glad to hear it." He turns to walk back into cellblock C, but stops. "Thank you. I haven't seen Carl this excited about something since–" His head hangs low. She knows. She's seen it firsthand, Carl's desperation to get a picture of his mother at any cost.
"Do you still see her?" Michonne's quiet voice pulls Rick back from the spiral of heartbreak that burns in his chest every time he thinks of Lori. It has only been about a month since she died and Judith was born. Days later, Michonne strolled into their lives with a basket of baby formula, and their beef with the governor kicked off. Rick takes a seat at the common area tables beside her. Shaking his head, "Not today." Michonne picks up on the subtle longing in his tone. "Do you?"
She sits up, folding her arms across her knees. "Not since before Andrea. When he left, it was like living on autopilot. There was nothing left for me to care about." She glances up to gauge his reaction to this unexpected overshare. He's listening despite not looking at her. "Then I found Andrea, and there was."
After Merle's colorful description, Rick couldn't help but wonder how close Michonne and Andrea became. The logical side of him knows it was just the kind of friendship that forms when both parties only have each other, but... His thoughts went wild once. Imagining the two women naked and wrapped in one another's embrace, kissing slowly and thoroughly. He'd stroked himself absentmindedly when Andrea's fingers snaked their way between Michonne's thighs, eliciting a feminine gasp (he'd noticed her voice was rather feminine on the rare occasions when she spoke a full sentence). Then, an image of Lori had pummeled through his fantasy like a bullet train.
He hadn't been intimate with his wife since the farm nearly eight months ago, but despite their problems, there had been a glimmer of hope the day Hershel hobbled out for the first time. She'd smiled at Rick shyly, tucking her hair behind her head like a nervous teenage girl in front of the boy she likes. And that was the last he saw of her.
Michonne uses Rick's knee to support her weight as she stands up. It's unnecessary, but he's zoned out again, face as dreary as ever. She doesn't like caring about people, not since this mess began, and she hadn't met any men worth caring about. With social restraints lifted, she had seen the worst in men until her escape. That's how she knew the Governor was not what he seemed. The perverse leer under his genteel veneer was as clear as day. She had expected the same from Rick, but turns out he's still clinging to some outdated code of honor. Most of the time, it irks her. She doesn't like caring about people, but Rick's goodness demands it, so she squeezes his knee on her way up. The kind of support she can give.
He looks at her in surprise. When he'd threatened her while investigating the whereabouts of Maggie and Glen, she'd recoiled with a threat of her own: "don't you EVER touch me again!" and he realized instantly that he'd made a mistake. Touch was one of her boundaries, and he has been careful not to cross it again. So the fact that she's touching him now is shocking. He must be in really bad shape.
Rick acknowledges academically that he has an attraction to Michonne, one that's primarily mental and increasingly physical. He admires how such a tiny frame can possess so much strength, and he appreciates her obvious intelligence. Her pants leave little to the imagination, but he predicts a tiny waist and ample bosom up top to pair with her apple bottom and toned thighs. And her skin tone is exquisite. Like it has a life, an energy of its own. It's as if she's trying to transfer some of that energy to him through this momentary contact. She gives him a small, almost imperceptible smile before walking away.