A/N: So I'm back! After much deliberation, I decided to explore what 6B could look like for our favorite couple, and spent the past couple of weeks coming up with a little something that I'm pretty excited about. Since I did my dream scenario for Her, I think this is more of where I imagine the show is actually going with Richonne. Based on the comics, anyway. And I'm hoping to have this finished before 6B starts, but I haven't been so great with the updates lately, so we'll see about that, lol. But I really hope you like! Let's go for a ride! -Ash

Chapter 1
No Way Out

"Dolor hic tibi proderit olim."

Michonne gazed at the dying woman before her, wishing that they had more time – even before the tragic moment they were currently in – to speak with one another. Deanna Monroe obviously had a lot of wisdom to impart, and Michonne simply hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with her since arriving to Alexandria. "What does it mean?" she wanted to know.

"Someday, this pain will be useful to you." She lightly held Michonne's face, watching the warrior's tough exterior begin to crumble.

And indeed, she did feel that pain. Deanna obviously didn't know the details of her life, but she meant it when she said she was good at reading people. Michonne had lost her child, her boyfriend, her entire world before this one, and never fully recovered. She had learned to live with it, and did her best not to let her pain define her, but never did those scars quite heal. So she clutched Deanna's cold hand in her own as she nodded, hoping that those words would prove to be true.

"Go," Deanna gently urged her, also lamenting the lack of time they had together. "They need you."

She stood to her feet, understanding that they did need her. And she needed them if she was going to make it out of there. There was no time to mourn or feel or even think for too long, not at the moment. "Thank you," she told her friend before leaving.

"For what?"

"For believing."

Deanna closed her eyes, nodding slightly at the compliment. "I still believe," she declared, looking back up at her. "I cocked it all up, but I figured it out." She reached out to take Michonne's hand one last time, and implored her to do the same. "What do you want," she asked emphatically. "Now you figure it out."

"I will," she promised. It had been so long since she thought about herself, it was almost hard to imagine where she would start. But she would figure it out if it killed her.

"Good," Deanna smiled weakly. She needed to know that Alexandria – what remained of it, anyway – would be left to people with dreams of a future. People that could conceive of life after all this death. And between Michonne and Rick, she was confident that it would be. "Give 'em hell."

With a heavy heart, Michonne slipped out of the room that would serve as Deanna's final resting place, and into the next, where Rick and Gabriel were still preparing walker guts for their impending death march. She looked around the small room, almost in disbelief that this had become her new normal. She didn't even blink when Rick announced the plan. But somehow, Deanna asking her to figure out what she wanted out of life had rendered her speechless.

In the same vein, Rick couldn't help but notice the odd look on Michonne's face when she returned to the scene. And for most people in their situation, he would've chalked it up to plain old fear. It would've been understandable, considering what they were about to do. But Michonne wasn't most people, and like him, usually didn't let her fear show. So he guessed it had to do with having to put Deanna out of her misery. "You okay?" he called out to her, worried.

"I'm fine," she frowned, knowing she was lying. Knowing that he probably knew she was lying, too. Death was literally at the door, and within a matter of minutes, they'd be walking into a war zone – none of them were okay. They could only hope they would be. And if by some miracle, they were, and she made it out alive, she would have to actually answer those questions Deanna asked of her. That might've been the scariest part of all.

Still, Michonne knew she had a task at hand, and distractedly grabbed a sheet from the bed to drape over herself. She swiftly removed her sword, covered herself, and was pleasantly startled when she pulled the fabric down from her face and found Rick standing in front of her, his hands full of guts.

"Hold out your arms," he instructed.

She did as told, extending her arms to her sides while he spread the disgusting walker innards over her shoulders and across her chest. He was unusually gentle as his hands moved over her breasts, and she couldn't help but smile to herself a little - just a little - as she enjoyed the small diversion from everything else. It was the most action she'd gotten in nearly two years.

"What?" Rick wondered, noticing her grin. Wondering if she was thinking the same thing he was, as he practically groped her. The moment was exactly the opposite of sexual, but that didn't stop the thoughts from creeping in anyway.

"Nothing," she said, her smile fading when she realized she'd been caught. She caught sight of Carl walking into the chaotic room and reality quickly settled back in. "Carl, grab a sheet," she directed him, pointing towards the bed. "I'll get you as soon as I'm done."

As Rick circled Michonne to take care of her back, he glanced at his son, both of them nodding to one another as he slathered another handful of entrails on his friend. "I was thinkin' you and me should flank the group," he said as he worked. "Just so we can jump in from either side if anything happens."

She nodded. "Who's gonna take Judith? Carl?"

"I think so," he sighed. It couldn't be either of them, and he certainly didn't trust anyone else in the group with his daughter in the middle of a herd. "You think that's a bad idea?"

"No." She carefully let her arms fall back to her sides as Rick came to face her once more. "I think it's the best play we've got."

He nodded back, relieved that she agreed, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. She seemed distracted, which was very unlike Michonne in times of peril. He was used to her laser focus; relied on it. But he also knew that she wanted Alexandria badly, maybe more than any of them, and it must have rattled her to see it deteriorating like this. "Hey," he said, demanding her gaze. He waited for it before he spoke again. "Everything is gonna be fine."

She felt the threat of tears stinging away at her, as she deeply appreciated his efforts to be comforting, even if he didn't believe it himself. And the sadness in his eyes told her that he didn't; that he was the one needing the support. She swallowed down all of her trepidation and gave him the most genuine smile she could muster. "I know."

Oh Lord, live inside me, lead me on my way
Oh Lord, live inside me, lead me on my way
Lead me home, lead me home

Oh Lord, in the darkness, lead me on my way
Oh Lord, in the darkness, lead me on my way
Lead me home, lead me home

Exhausted from the day's harrowing course of events, Michonne slowly made her way into the infirmary for the third time now since they'd brought in Carl, silently begging not to be met with bad news once she made it inside. The room was dim and eerily silent as she walked in and shut the door. She was relieved to walk past the room divider to find that Rick was still sitting at his son's bedside, the same way she'd left him. No change. And at that point, no news was better than bad news.

Rick turned his head only slightly at the sound of her footsteps, but didn't acknowledge her otherwise. He kept his focus on his son, lying there with a bullet hole torn through the right side of his face, courtesy of Ron Anderson. Courtesy of himself, when it came down to it. Rick had been at a loss for words for the past few hours now.

"You should go home and get some rest," Michonne called out to him, her voice soft and reassuring. She rested her hand on his back and rubbed gently when he lowered his head. "I can stay with him for a few hours."

"I'm all right," he declined.

She knew that wasn't true. He wasn't fine before he had to chop off a woman's arm and watch his son get shot, so his level of un-fineness had to have been multiplied by about a million by then. "Rick. No one is invincible around here. And you don't get any prizes for pretending to be."

He nodded as he thought of Jessie's advice to Sam just before they both died. "I just know I'm not gonna get any sleep."

"Then let your body rest," she offered, letting her hand fall to his shoulder. "You'd be surprised by how much just a shower helped me."

He rolled his eyes, a scoff from his nose accompanying it. "You sound like them," he said flatly, referring to the Alexandrians. "Since when do showers make anything better?"

Michonne understood that he needed the space to be in a bad mood, so she didn't respond. Instead, she stepped away to pull up a chair, as it was clear he had no designs on leaving. So neither did she. With a sigh, she sat down beside him, both of them staring at Carl as if they'd never see him again. Because the sad fact was, they very well may not.

"He was such a good kid," Rick declared, his dismal, hoarse voice pervading the silence. "He didn't deserve this."

"He doesn't," she agreed, but couldn't help but frown at the way he spoke as if Carl was already gone. "But he saw you were in danger, and he wanted to save you. He gets that from you, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah..." he chuckled spitefully at the thought. "I wish he'd settled for us having the same eyes."

"Your kid's a hero."

"I'd rather him be a coward if that's what keeps him alive."

"You don't mean that," she sighed again, running her hand along Carl's leg. Jessie's kids were scared to death, and it nearly got all of them killed. "You're both still here."

He finally glanced at Michonne for the first time since she'd walked in there, immediately feeling lighter as he took her in. She did seem a bit better after going home and getting cleaned up. She had been crying harder than him earlier in the day. Maybe there was something to be said for cleansing yourself of being covered in other people's blood. He eventually nodded as his gaze blankly wandered away and fixated on the kitchen counter in the distance. "Judith's okay?" he asked.

"She's fine," Michonne assured him. "Asleep when I left."

"Sometimes I wonder," he started, speaking in his typical slow, contemplative cadence, "if she has any clue of what's goin' on. What kind of mess she was born into."

"This is what's normal for her. She's gonna be more equipped to deal with this world than any of us ever were."

Rick nearly smiled when he thought about what a good baby she was. "She's almost comically adept at not crying at the wrong time."

Michonne chuckled as well. It was pretty miraculous that their undoing out in the walker herd wasn't the infant, but rather, a twelve-year-old kid. "She's one of us," she joked.

"I thought they were all 'one of us,'" he shot back, his eyebrows raised questioningly as he glanced at her again. "Or do y'all just say that to make me feel like an asshole?"

"First of all, that was a joke." She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "And I never said they were us. I get the hierarchy. There are certain people I'm always gonna save first, and that's just the way it is. That's why what happened today happened," she explained, keeping her voice low. She spoke as though Carl was just asleep, as opposed to in a coma, and the level of her voice could disturb him. "But what I was trying to tell you this morning is that you need to stop perpetuating the 'us versus them' mentality. It's crippling us. It's crippling you."

"And I heard you. And I heard Deanna. But then today happened." He sighed heavily, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, continuing to stare at his son. "And I'm right back to not trusting anybody."

"Rick, this isn't anybody's fault," she shook her head. "A bad day, bad luck, bad timing. It isn't fair, but… tragedies never are. You can't use this an excuse to shut down."

He looked at her again, staring her up and down for a few beats as he took in her words. "I guess you would know," he mumbled to himself.

Michonne wasn't sure what he meant by that, and also wasn't sure if she heard him correctly, so she decided against responding once again. Instead, she got up from her seat and headed for the kitchen. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head when she looked back at him.

"Well," she exhaled as she approached the refrigerator, pulling open the door. "I know you eat like a bird, but maybe try and get something down while we wait."

"I don't eat like a bird," he protested with a quiet laugh. "I just… don't need a lot."

"…Like a bird." She pulled out a pitcher of apple juice, along with a loaf of bread, and set them on the counter. "I know we're low on food, but if you're not gonna rest, you have to eat."

"Sometimes I wonder what you'd do if you didn't have me to boss around."

"Oh, you love it." She turned back to him with a grin and then retrieved the peanut butter from a neighboring cabinet. "I remember, not so long ago, as we headed to Terminus, you thanked me for taking the lead. You said you don't like making the decisions all the time, and that's fine. You shouldn't."

"I shouldn't like it, or I shouldn't do it?" he smirked.

"Both." She continued her task of quickly and carefully putting together peanut butter sandwiches for the two of them, and it all reminded her of their time on the way to Terminus. It wasn't unlike their current situation, just the three of them stuck in some room somewhere, a little bit hungry, a little bit sad, while she tried to make the best of things. It was on that road that she and Rick and Carl became family, cementing their place in her life; and hopefully, hers in theirs. Somehow, those were the happiest of her post-apocalyptic days, and they made her smile. Especially now, when she mostly just wanted to cry. It was a happy memory to get her through the rough spots, and she focused on it as she finished preparing their meal.

"I've been wondering if that's what I've been doing with Jessie," Rick proclaimed, just as Michonne turned towards him with plates of food.

"Excuse me?" she frowned, her train of thought having taken her away from their original conversation.

"The responsibility, the decision-making." He accepted his sandwich with a grateful nod, watching as she went to retrieve their drinks. "I wanted to escape it. I think. I needed to feel something other than this paralyzing fear that I was fucking up."

"And Jessie has to do with that how?" Michonne wondered, still confused.

"We were…" He exhaled nervously. "I don't know what we were. I don't know what we were doing. Our kids could barely be in the same room together."

Michonne stood over him, her expression falling even further as she put his clues together without a lot of context. "I see."

Taking his drink, he looked up at her almost guiltily. "I don't know what it was, but it was something. I guess."

"You don't have to downplay it, Rick. You always liked her." She finally took her seat, but had somehow lost her appetite in that moment. Not out of jealousy, she didn't think. She knew Rick had feelings for her, and that never bothered her. She'd just assumed they went on the backburner after he'd killed Pete. But what stung was finding out that he didn't care to share this with her, whatever it was. She thought her and Rick to be pretty close – intimate, even – so for him to still be keeping secrets was disheartening.

"I'm not trying to downplay it," he promised, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I just really don't know what it was. I knew she wasn't us, wasn't made of what we're made of. But maybe… maybe I thought I needed that."

She glared at the side of his face as he obliviously continued to eat his food. "You wanted someone else to save," she offered.

"No," he retorted quickly. "God, no. We see how that worked out." He sighed again as he stared at Carl. "I don't know what I wanted. But I was wanting. And even with everything else, with Pete and all that, I just found myself drawn to her - her sadness, maybe. Or maybe it was her attempt to be open in spite of it. I don't know."

Michonne took gulps of her apple juice as if it were liquor, her eyes fixated on the floor. "I don't know either."

"I wish I did. I wish it didn't sound so bad to say I just wanted to get away. But I looked at her today, before any of the bad shit went down, and I saw what I saw in Carter. 'It doesn't matter what I do, because you're gonna die.'" He let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head as he tore off another piece of his sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth. "And it hit me hard that none of this was real. I wanted to escape, and I couldn't. I can't."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, unsure of what to say to comfort him. She was unsure whether she even wanted to comfort him. But she understood, probably better than anyone, that feeling of wanting to escape your despair and not being able to. Wherever you go, there it is. "No way out," she commented wryly.

Rick nodded, sniffling as he realized how right she was. "Yeah, that."

"Maybe if you'd share some of these feelings," she said just above a whisper. "All these secrets…"

"What?" he glanced at his friend, genuinely unclear about what she'd said.

"I just… I just don't know why you didn't tell me. You don't let me know you're going through these things until they blow up in all our faces."

"Oh, this blew up in your face. That's interesting."

"Is it?"

"It is. I guess I'm just not sure what's affecting you so much here."

"And therein lies the problem," she sighed, setting her cup on the floor. "You think what you do only affects you, and that's not true. Not if you're gonna purport to be our leader. Your actions don't exist in a vacuum, Rick. If you'd gotten kicked outta here last week? We all would've been affected," she chided. "I killed a child today. A scared, angry sixteen-year-old kid. Because he tried to kill you. And ended up shooting someone that I care more about than anyone in the world." Michonne looked up to the ceiling, trying to avoid the images of the day that wanted to haunt her. "Come to find out, it's because you were too busy trying to get into his mother's pants to notice that this kid hated you. That's what blew up in my face today. But I can make you a list if you'd like."

"You're being cruel because you're upset," he returned dismissively. "I'm not saying things are perfect by any means, and I know I've done my shit. But so have you. And I never threw it back at you. Don't be cocky now, just because you're all happy and whole now."

"Oh, is that what I am?" she smiled derisively, in disbelief that someone else was telling her how her life was just peachy now. "People keep saying that. 'It worked out for you.' Letting your grief turn to arrogance. Not leaving room for anyone else's pain." She closed her eyes and allowed the calm to wash over her before she completely lost it on him. "You have no idea what I live with."

Rick immediately softened his stance when he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. He only had pieces of her past – certainly not enough to paint an entire picture – and it wasn't fair to assume that she was over it. Maybe she was just better at pretending than most. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right."

Michonne finally resorted to angrily eating her sandwich, while Rick stared at her apologetically.

"Truth is, I didn't even think about telling you about Jessie," he admitted.

"Afraid I would talk you out of it?" she quipped sarcastically.

He tried not to think about the fact that, again, she could've. "I just... we don't talk about that kinda stuff. That's not our relationship, is it?"

"Well what is our relationship, Rick? Because I'm not sure that I know anymore."

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being honest. Don't dismiss me," she demanded, her mouth full of food. "I forgave you for lying about the guns and your ridiculous hostile takeover plan. But now you're telling me you've been pursuing this woman I've never even seen you talk to, and I just don't understand why. If we're friends, then let's be friends."

"Are we friends?"

Michonne scowled at the question, inwardly praying that he wasn't about to invalidate all the months they'd put into becoming closer. "What?"

"I mean, I think we're something closer than friends. You're my family. But we don't have conversations like that. You don't tell me your business, and I don't tell you mine. We don't share a lot of personal details. That's not us."

She glared at him again, hating to admit that that was closer to the truth than not.

"Or at least, that's what I figured since you never…" He sighed when his words trailed off, lingering in the air. "I dunno."

"I think you do know."

"I don't."

"Just say it."

"I guess I just don't understand why you're holding me to this standard that you don't set for yourself. I'm supposed to share. I'm supposed to be this open book. You're offended because I don't think we're really friends in that way, but…" He glanced down at his hands, still dirty from the day, and he scoffed. He wasn't sure if he should even say what he was about to say, but it was officially bothering him now. "You never told me what happened to Mike," he stated cautiously. "Or Andre."

Michonne only stared at him, a bit stupefied that he knew anything about them, resentful that he was springing it on her this way, and annoyed that he was right. She suddenly became aware of her breathing as it slowed, while her mind began to race. "What?"

Rick averted her gaze, his eyes on her knee as he bit at his bottom lip. "It's been sitting on my mind for weeks now."

"Carl told you?"

"No. I overheard you that morning we went to Terminus," he said, looking her in the eye again finally. "I didn't hear all of it, but… I got it."

"Why didn't you…" She grimaced again when she realized she was about to start crying. "Why didn't you say anything?" she croaked out.

"I don't know," he gestured a shrug with his hand. "I guess, with everything else happening, I didn't wanna force that conversation on you. I figured you would tell me when you were ready."

She nodded again, closing her eyes as she remembered all the times she considered telling him. All the times she chickened out because she didn't want to be that vulnerable with him.

"But here we are, in this conversation about keeping secrets, and you've got this massive one you're walkin' around with. And you just never… I'm not the only one. That's all I'm sayin'."

"You're right," she conceded with a light sigh. "You're an asshole for bringing it up this way, but you're right."

"I've actually admired you for the way you handle it. The way that you just seem so… okay. Maybe it's the time you spent on the road, away from everything else. Or maybe you're not okay. But you're much better at pretending than I ever was. I wish I were better…"

Michonne gave him a look, wondering where this stream of consciousness was going to lead him. "Time heals all wounds," she offered and immediately reconsidered. "I don't know if that's true. I just know I've had a lot more time to deal with my shit."

He nodded.

"I also didn't have the added stress of taking care of anyone other than myself. So I understand that you haven't had it easy, Rick." When she looked back at him, she noticed the steady stream of tears rolling down his face and she felt her heart sink. "Hey," she whispered.

He began to run his fingers across his eyebrows, hiding his face from her. "I'm all right."

She knew he wasn't, and pulled her chair closer to him, wanting him to know that she was by his side. "Rick, I don't know what it is about Alexandria. I thought it would help, I thought it would be better for all of us," she said softly, "but something has been going on with you since we got here. You seem sad, or lost, or… maybe angry. I don't know. I don't know what's made you so resistant to this place, but you can't… How long are you gonna keep doing this?"

He shook his head, knowing that she was right, but having no clue how to reconcile that with the fact that he was aching in places he didn't even know he had, and he couldn't pinpoint why. "I don't know what's happening," he quietly cried.

"That's okay," Michonne assured him. She reached out to touch his knee and could feel the tension in his entire body. "None of us do."

"But I should be happy here. I should've been. My kids were safer, we were finally some semblance of okay again. And yet, I don't know if I've really smiled since we walked in those gates, Michonne. I'm terrified that I don't know how to be happy anymore." He covered his face again as his silent tears turned to a quiet sob.

Michonne's frustration with Rick had long since dissipated, but now she was just heartbroken for him. She felt her own tears falling as she softly squeezed his knee, wishing she knew what to say. "All these scars we have." She sniffled as she reached up to his face, gently pulling down his hand, urging him to let her see his pain. She wiped at his cheeks, where the marks from his fight with Pete still lingered. "It's easy to forget that they're not our entire journey. But we've been happy. It wasn't that long ago. We've had triumphs. Whatever you're feeling now, that's not all there is, Rick. You can be happy again. And someday…" she offered a small smile, the most she could give him in the heat of their glum moment, "this pain will be useful to you."

Rick stared at her, inhaling her words, the look on her face. Her eyes were so expressive, he thought. He always thought. Her confidence was often what kept him going, and when it felt like she was breaking, he wanted nothing more than to fix it. He wondered if she felt the same – the symbiotic nature of their relationship. When he was down, she knew she had to be up. He nodded, resting his hand over hers, not wanting it to leave his face. He appreciated the warmth of her touch at that moment. "I hope so."

Oh Lord, heaven's waiting, open up your door
Oh Lord, heaven's waiting, open up your door
Lead me home, lead me home

She hoped so, too, but refrained from saying so. Instead, she pulled back, wanting to give him his space again, and returned her gaze to Carl. Rick hadn't been in great shape before his son's injury, so she knew his return to form would hinge on Carl's recovery. And at the moment, she had to admit to herself that that was a pretty dicey prospect. "You should go home," she tried suggesting once more, though her tone had softened even more from the first time.

"Michonne, I don't—"

"Just for a little while," she insisted. "It'll do you some good to see Judith. Lie down with her for an hour or two."

He considered it for a moment, and it did sound comforting. But then he looked at Carl, and shook his head. "I can't leave him."

"I'm gonna stay right here. If he moves a muscle, I'll radio you."

"I'm not gonna sleep."

"Rest," she said. "You never rest your mind, and barely your body. Just give it a try."

He began to fidget with his wedding ring as he stared blankly at Carl for a few more seconds, contemplating whether he could leave him like this. But the fact was, he was exhausted, and Michonne was probably right - she usually was – he needed some rest. "It's three-thirty now," he declared, glancing at his watch. "I'll be back by sun up."

Michonne nodded, and as he stood from his chair, she grabbed his hand before he could go, softly rubbing her thumb across his knuckles as she held him. She looked up at him, doing her best not to cry again, now that she'd finally gotten through to him. "Still with you," she declared, wanting him to know that was a promise.

He closed his eyes, his thumb running across the back of her hand as well, and he nodded thankfully. And with that, he headed back home.

Lead me home
Lead me home…

Lyrics: "Lead Me Home" – Jamie N. Commons (The Walking Dead Soundtrack)