Deep breaths. Blink, breath. Start from the beginning.

Tell them about the first day you met Rick. Tell them how he hobbled into the classroom, bow-legged and carrying a book bag two sizes too big. Tell them how you sat next to each other, and from that day forward, you always would. Tell them about the late night conversations, the whispering in the dark. Tell them about the adventures, the laughs, the triumphs and the struggles.

Tell them about the looks.

No. Keep that for the two of you.

Tell them why this is – why this has to be – one of the best days of your life.

Michonne felt the tap on her shoulder that sent her spiraling back in the present. Blinking away fresh tears, she reoriented to the glimmering lights, silken chairs, and chatter that fluttered around. Andrea hovered above her, meeting her anguish with grim apology. "Time for the toast."

Michonne nodded, gulping air down as she stood, praying she didn't look as grim as she felt. With trembling hands she lifted up her wine glass and clanked her fork against it. "If we could please gather for a moment, everyone, please."

Chatter died down almost at once, everyone eager to hear from Michonne, the best man - or in this case, the best woman. She gave them every reason to think she was quiet, dodging away curious gazes and deflecting conversation citing nerves as physical ailment. Now, she cleared her throat as all eyes drifted to her.

A pair of blue ones in particular lodged her words into the back of her throat.

From across the room, Rick smiled at her from behind his hand, where a simple gold band shimmered. She knew he had a scar on that finger just where the ring covered it, from third grade when he burned his skin on the wax. She knew his effortlessly tousled hair was the result of hours of hassling. She knew exactly what to say to calm him down, to make him laugh, to make him see sense.

But as she stood there, tears threatening to ruin everything, she wasn't sure what to say. To him. To herself. To these people. All these people.

So she began.

2001

16 YEARS EARLIER

MICHONNE'S 18TH BIRTHDAY

(MOST OF WHICH SHE WAS TOO DRUNK TO REMEMBER)

A familiar R&B song floated over the speakers, one Rick only knew from his car rides with Michonne, days of lazy driving turned useful in this particular setting. And by setting he meant, of course, being one of only a few white people in the club.

"I can't believe they let us in!"

"I can," Michonne yelled, louder still. "It cost me two whole checks to get those damn I.D's, and we're gonna put em' to good use."

With that promise she downed another shot, her fifth that night by Rick's count. He reclined against the bar, mostly because he'd had a couple of drinks too and was starting to sway. "Feelin' reckless tonight, aren't we?"

She rolled her eyes, which looked more than a little funny, her face souring as the drink did its thing. "It's my 18th. In the UK, this is perfectly legal."

That had been her rhetoric the entire time they planned this little event. "Ok, Attorney-at-Law Grey, we live in the U.S."

"Shut up and come dance with me." She tugged his arm and together they stumbled into the beat. Rick was no dancer by far, and Michonne, even in her drunken haze, knew that perfectly well. They swayed their own little spot, giggling stupidly as they tripped over their own feet. The many brilliant lights in the place did their own dance against Michonne's skin, and it was all Rick could do to watch her for a second. Her dress, yellow and flowing, twirling as she did. Her locs free and spilling down her shoulders. He had to leash the thought of brushing them behind her ear. It would be lost in the drunken haze of it all, and then it wouldn't mean anything.

Would it? Why did he want it to mean something, anyways?

Michonne grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer as she sang loudly to the lyrics. With little space between them he could feel the heat emanating off of her, alcohol mingled with her favorite perfume, the one her father gifted her with for her 14th birthday. It smelled more powerful than ever, Rick thought, as they kissed.

Kissed. The sensation didn't fully register till' a moment later. They were kissing, Michonne's lips pressed firmly against his. The feeling both jarred and thrilled him, and he meant to pull away when -

Michonne slipped. She didn't just slip, though, she slipped and hit her head on the side of the counter. Rick felt his heart sputter as he reached out to catch her, too late. She hit the floor just as the chorus hit.

The next day Rick was rubbing the back of his head as he braced himself in front of the colorful door of the Grey family home. Michonne called him earlier, voice groggy and cracked on the other line, to come to her house. There was no mention of a kiss, but he thought maybe she didn't want to talk about it over the phone. No, this was serious enough to warrant a face to face conversation. He felt nervous enough to put on his best shirt and jeans, and even a jacket. His insides twisted as he knocked once, twice, a third and fourth time in quick succession. His signature knock.

Mrs. Grey answered the door. Michonne's mother was always glowing and beautiful, and today was no different, as she was glowing and beautiful glaring at her daughters best friend. By the accusatory glint in her eye, Rick could only wonder what Michonne had said or done since they'd been dropped off that night. "Good morning, Rick."

"Mornin' ma'am," he greeted, laying the politeness on thick now that he had something to be embarrassed about. "Is Chonne – "

"Up there." Mrs. Brown nodded towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms. "Michonne, Rick is here!"

There was the sound of her door creaking open, and Michonne appeared at the top of the steps, wrapped snugly in a purple blanket. She squinted down at them and the harsh sunlight they let through the front door. "It is too damn early for you all to be yelling."

Rick squinted back at her, amused by her post-drunken attire. "It's 2:00 in the afternoon."

"Too. damn. Early." With that, she disappeared back down the hall in a flurry of sheets. Mrs. Grey rolled her eyes, looking just like her daughter as she did it. "I take it you two had quite a bit of fun last night?"

Rick blushed deep. "Sorry bout' that. Meant to have her home at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable state but, as you know, she argued her case pretty well."

"I know my own daughter," Mrs. Grey chuckled despite herself. "The lawyer. I expected better from a future doctor such as yourself though, Rick."

He was far from being a respected, reputable doctor – he was barely a functioning volunteer. He dismissed himself, clambering up the familiar steps. The wall to the right of him was inundated with pictures of the family: Michonne, her mother and father and fraternal twin sisters, Anele and Aneni. Rick was always happy to see the couple photos he was in, grinning toothless next to Michonne at birthday parties, walking down the aisles at weddings. He had the same ones of her at his house, not to mention photo albums.

Michonne had left her door open a crack. She was just collapsing face first into a mound of pillows, groaning as she did, when Rick entered. "I take that as a 'we're never doin' that again."

Michonne flipped over, massaging her temple. God, it felt as if someone were stabbing her through the skull. Several times. "Let's never do that again."

Rick dropped on her bed. "I hear eighteen-year-olds in the UK do it all the time."

She smiled, hating and loving him for making her laugh in a moment where she wanted to be miserable. She turned to him, propping her aching head in her hand. "I'm serious, never again. It was awful."

Rick's smile faltered. "It wasn't all that bad. I mean, there were some things you liked, right?"

"No, it was terrible," she insisted, eyes going wide. "All of it. The whole thing. It was stupid and we never should've done it," she blew s steady stream of air out of her mouth. "And we shouldn't tell anyone about it, either."

Rick looked at her as he'd done countless times before, hoping to see a response that way, but her eyes were full of regret. His stomach sank for the first time that day, and it had nothing to do with a hangover.

Of course she didn't want this, whatever he was trying to make it, beyond what they had. Whatever he was feeling, had felt - she didn't. And it was strange to be on that wavelength.

Michonne watched him a bit warily. She always said Rick was somewhat of an open book, and right now the book was flung right open, in bold and italics. He looked a little gutted, honestly.

"Hey," she nudged him. "You ok? Need to throw up?"

He swallowed. "No, I'm good."

She nodded, not totally convinced, but unlike Rick, Michonne had mastered the poker face. "What did your Dad say?"

"Same as always, 'never gonna be a respectable doctor' blah blah. Still thinks you're a saint, though. He thinks I'm the bad influence."

Michonne's grin was slow and teasing. "Well, you kind of are, Rick Grimes. I think it's the general consensus that I'm the sensible one in this relationship."

"Yeah, well, because of you being so sensible," he playfully poked her side. "I have to stay in the library for an hour after school, studying."

She grimaced. "Lord."

"Yup. It ain't all that bad though," he added in second thought, a slow smile spread across his face. "Jessie Anderson studies at the library every day."

Michonne scoffed. "Jessie Anderson? Forget it, all the guys at school want to sleep with her. Half the girls, too."

Rick almost choked at that. "You part of that half?"

"Oh, you wish."

He shrugged. "She's been looking at me funny lately, so I guess that means somethin'."

"What, that she has eyes? She's probably staring at the zits on your forehead."

Rick pounced her, playfully wrestling her down to the bed as she dissolved into a fit of giggles. They rolled around laughing for a few minutes, until Mrs. Grey called them down for breakfast. Rick was thankful when Michonne's hands slipped into his, as it often did, with none of the baggage of butterflies. That's the way things always were between them. The way they should be.