Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from The Walking Dead TV show, which is the property of AMC. I do not claim any ownership over the characters or the world of The Walking Dead. This story is of my own invention and is not part of the official story line. Thank you to the writers of The Walking Dead for creating the phenomenon that is Richonne.


Five Years Ago

A collective hush spread throughout the courtroom as the judge called for silence. Michonne Daniels gripped the trembling hand of her client, more to calm herself than the woman whose future rested on this decision. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her face. The courtroom was stifling.

The jury foreman, a composed woman in her late forties, rose from her chair. She read from a small sheet of paper, a hint of despondency in her voice. "We, the jury, find the defendant, Sadie Matthews, guilty of the charge of first degree manslaughter."

Simultaneous cries of joy and outrage erupted from the audience. Michonne clenched her free hand into a fist, attempting to halt the tears that threatened to burst forth. She turned to Sadie, the woman's haggard face a mask of calm and despair.

Jail had not been kind to Sadie. A girl of only twenty-two, she looked as though she'd aged years in a matter of months. Tears streamed down the sharp edges of her cheekbones, plopping onto the faded table.

"You know," Sadie said, as she stared straight ahead, "I've read more in the last three months than I have in my entire life. That bastard never approved of books. He said they poisoned wives against their husbands. This one by the Dalai Lama-" Sadie choked on a sob.

Michonne squeezed the young woman's hand.

"'Through violence, you may solve one problem, but you sow the seeds for another'." She turned to face Michonne. "Sounds about right."

Michonne mustered what little confidence she had left. "We will fight this. I'll do everything in my power to get this appealed. You have to stay strong." The words rang hollow even to her own ears. She feared this woman's children would be grown before she stepped beyond prison walls.

Sadie responded with a somber smile. "Thank you, Michonne. You're the only person who's ever fought for me." Sadie's bones cracked as she rose from her chair. She wiped away the burgeoning tears. "I need to kiss my babies goodbye."

The bailiff moved to handcuff Sadie, but Michonne held up a hand to still him, her eyes darting to the weeping boy and girl pressed against the railing. He looked between her and the children and then nodded. Michonne nodded back in thanks.

Sadie crouched down to smother her kids with kisses. They held onto their mother for dear life. "What're these tears for?" Sadie asked in a playful tone. "Mama's just going away for a little while. Be sure to mind your Gran and do your homework every night. I'll be checking in on you real soon." She hugged them both tightly while they wept tears of loss.

"How much does Mama love you?" she asked in a clear voice.

The older of the two, a brunette with big brown eyes set in her round face, answered between sniffles. "More than birds love the sky…"

"…and fish love the sea," Sadie finished with her. Her younger brother only wept in response. Michonne swallowed what felt like sandpaper.

The bailiff cleared his throat. Sadie gave each of her children a final kiss on the cheek and turned to Michonne. She leaned in and whispered words Michonne would never forget, hugging the lawyer with urgency. The bailiff handcuffed Sadie and led her through the door to the county jail. Sadie looked back at Michonne and managed a small smile.

Michonne wished she'd never become a lawyer.


"Hit me, bartender." Michonne balanced precariously on a stool, her words on the verge of slurring. The modest drinking hole just a few blocks down from the courthouse was nothing like the posh bars she usually frequented in the suburbs of Atlanta. The antiquated establishment consisted of a few shabby booths, tables, and a wobbly pool table. Hank Williams crooned from a vintage jukebox in the corner. If it hadn't been the closest bar she could find, she would never have stepped foot inside the place.

"Hit you? Where do you think you are, sweetheart?" asked the graying bartender, not looking up from the glass he rubbed clean with a hand towel. "I think you've had quite enough already. You can barely hold onto that stool, let alone your liquor."

Michonne slammed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. "You sure about that?"

The bartender hesitated before snatching up the bill. "This is the last one, then I'm cutting you off."

A bell chimed as someone walked through the front door, though Michonne was too busy crunching on an ice cube to notice. The bartender deftly replaced her empty glass with a fresh whiskey on the rocks.

He eyed her warily. "Who should I call to pick you up?"

Michonne was about to protest when a man spoke from behind her.

"Don't worry about it, Bill. I'll make sure she gets to where she needs to go," the man proclaimed in a heavy Georgian accent.

Michonne peered over her shoulder at the vaguely familiar voice and caught the twinkling eyes of Rick Grimes. The sheriff's deputy was still in uniform, black and tan slacks with a matching short-sleeved shirt, his holstered gun hanging from his hip. He slid onto the empty stool beside her.

Her eyes trained on his muscular thighs. Are all sheriff's deputies so fit? I thought they lived on fast food and donuts.

She ogled his firm chest, before settling on the clear blue eyes staring back at her with humor and interest. She turned away, embarrassed for having been caught checking out the man who was partially to blame for her defeat in court.

"Evening, Ma'am," he said, his tone as breezy as the waft of cologne that followed him.

Michonne's defense had been solid until the prosecution put the sheriff's deputy on the stand. There wasn't a jury in all of Georgia that could resist the blue-eyed, charming law enforcement officer, his presence commanding and genuine.

Apparently, neither could Michonne. She stared him down, but her heart only fluttered in response.

"That stool's reserved for non-assholes," Michonne said, taking a swig of her drink. Rick chuckled.

"Here you go, Rick, it's on the house," the bartender said, as he slid a sweaty beer bottle his way.

" 'Preciate it, Bill," Rick said, his pink lips caressing the brown glass as he took a sip.

Michonne spied his drink. "IPA? I pegged you as more of a Budweiser man."

"That stuff tastes like horse piss. I prefer a drink with some bite."

Michonne threw Rick a sideways glance. He looked to be a few years older than her, in his mid- to late-30s, a handful of grays sprinkled throughout his curly, brown hair. The beginnings of five o'clock shadow covered his chin. The gold band on his finger warned her to keep her distance, but she chose to ignore it.

"You know that woman - that mother - you helped put behind bars will miss the most important moments of her children's lives. Birthdays, graduations, prom nights. You're responsible for that."

Rick took a sip of his beer before responding. "You chose to defend a murderer and you're blaming me for her conviction?" Rick scoffed. "Typical lawyer."

"A murderer? She was defending herself from a man who beat her senseless on a regular basis, who threatened to kill his own children if she ever left him. And you have the nerve to label her the criminal?" Blood pulsed in Michonne's temples.

He turned in his seat to face her head on. "She should've relied on law enforcement instead of taking matters into her own hands. Every time we were called to her home, she chose not to press charges and to remain in the home."

"Did you miss the part about him threatening to murder her children? What would you do to the person who threatened to harm your kids?" Michonne yelled. The other two patrons in the bar stared at her and she glared back. They returned to nursing their drinks.

Rick considered her words. "I would do whatever it took to protect my son."

She caught a glimpse of something in his expression that both terrified and excited her. Lacking the boldness she'd initially felt, she was the first to look away. "You could've said as much on the stand."

"I testified to the truth, Michonne."

She was pleasantly surprised that he remembered her name.

"I testified to what I saw when we arrived at that woman's home. To the carnage, that mutilated man lying dead on the floor, the knife drenched in blood. Her two children cowering in the corner. You weren't there to witness the horror that I did." He nursed his beer, his hand trembling almost imperceptibly.

Fueled by the liquor coursing through her bloodstream, Michonne reached across the bar to cover his hand with her own. She had only just met the man; and yet, he seemed oddly familiar, as though they'd known each other for years. Her urge to comfort him outweighed the anger, which was unusual considering how much she hated losing. He caught her sympathetic gaze and her pulse quickened. She snatched her hand away in embarrassment.

Rick glanced at her half-empty glass. "You want a coffee or something? My treat, counselor." He smiled, raising his eyebrows.

Michonne knew she should say no and just head back to her hotel. "Sure," she said, not meeting his eyes.

Rick waved over the bartender. "Another IPA for me and a coffee for the lady, Bill."

"Sure thing," Bill said. He slid another beer to Rick and poured a coffee for Michonne, setting it in front of her. "You make sure to drink every last drop. We wouldn't want the deputy taking advantage of you."

"You haven't seen her in court," Rick said. "I'm the one who needs protection."

Michonne laughed. "In your dreams, deputy." She sipped her coffee, eyeing Rick over the rim of her cup.


"You're shitting me." Michonne bubbled with laughter. They sat in a booth near the back of the bar, lit only by two tea light candles.

"I shit you not," Rick said, the humor in his voice making Michonne laugh even harder. "The guy was so drunk, he'd forgotten to put on his pants before getting into the car. I hauled him into the station in his tighty whities. It was way more embarrassing for me than him." Rick smilined at the memory.

Michonne snorted, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hadn't laughed this hard in years.

"Snorting is punishable by law," Rick said. " Especially, if you're a lawyer."

"This is nothing." Michonne caught her breath. "I once made grape soda pour out of my nose from laughing so hard."

"That's hot," he said, with a mix of sarcasm and...something else. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes made him even sexier. Her body tingled in the most private places. Light bounced off the wedding band on his finger, sobering her more than the coffee.

"Thanks for the laugh, deputy." Michonne gathered her purse and coat from the booth. "I needed that."

"Me too." He had that look again, suddenly reaching out to cradle her hand. "Are you sure you're ready to go?"

Michonne paused. She knew what that look meant - and he knew that she knew. This was the point of no return. The coffee had sobered her, but these moments with him - laughing, flirting, joking - had opened up something inside of her she thought had died a long time ago. She loved Mike but, she craved Rick. He peered into her soul, not turning away from the rage and despair and frustration buried there. And she saw his pain behind the charming smile. Their hurt seemed to comingle - embrace even - and Michonne knew this man would ruin her.

She drew her hand away. Before she could stop herself, she whispered, "I'm ready for that ride."

Rick drained the last of his beer and bid farewell to the bartender, the bell chiming as the pair walked out of the bar together.


Michonne lay naked and panting, sprawled in bed alongside Rick. She kept her eyes on the rickety ceiling fan, spinning laboriously but doing little to cool her burning skin. A sudden sense of guilt washed over her.

You just had the best sex of your life with a married man. You're definitely going to Hell.

Rick threw his arm across her stomach, making her body glow with warmth and causing the encroaching guilt to dissipate. "You awake?" she asked, knowing this was the time men usually drifted off to sleep.

"Mmmm," Rick hummed quietly.

Michonne couldn't stop the words from leaving her lips. "How long have you been married?" she asked.

Rick's arm stiffened. She guessed he was wide awake now. There was a long pause before he finally answered. "Eleven years. But I only count the seven before she cheated on me."

"Is this your first time...cheating?" The woman in Michonne begged her to just bask in the afterglow of sex, but the lawyer in her needed the truth.

"Yes," Rick whispered. "I'd never been compelled to, even after her affair. You're the first woman to ever make me even consider it." Rick paused before continuing. "I guess I never really could forgive her. Now…I don't know…"

"I've never cheated before either. My boyfriend, Mike, asked me to marry him and I haven't given him an answer yet. It has never been like this with him." Michonne trailed her hand along his hairy arm. Why was she telling him all of this? Considering everything he'd done to her in bed, maybe he'd driven her mad with passion.

Rick pulled her closer, his hand gripping the side of her waist. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her sensitive skin. "I knew I was good, but not that good." He chuckled, satisfied with himself.

"I'm...I'm going to say yes. To Mike." Michonne waited for his response. Indifference or jealousy, she didn't know which would be worse. Either would force her to feel emotions she was trying to ignore.

Rick propped himself on an elbow to face her. Michonne continued. "I've avoided this for so long, this sense of not being in control. Mike makes me feel in control. You make me question everything."

The hum of the fan sliced through the tense silence. Rick moved his hand up her stomach and across her chest, finally resting his palm on her cheek. He turned her face toward his, wiping away the falling tears. He kissed her - long, deep and final.

"Let's make the best of the time we have left," he whispered, rolling on top of her.


Michonne teetered on the edge of the toilet, the pregnancy test dangling from her fingertips. In less than a minute, her life could be forever altered. This had to be her punishment for enjoying the most intense love-making of her life.

That night, Rick had plucked her body like a mandolin, his fingers awakening the melody of her soul. Weeks later, her heart still ached for his smile and her body for this touch. She had fallen for him hard and her feelings would not ease, even in the face of the accompanying shame and guilt.

Michonne peeked at her smartphone. 25 seconds. If she was pregnant, her freedom would be a thing of the past; her plan to open a private practice, only a deferred dream; her recent engagement to Mike, broken. The only man she had ever truly loved - albeit for the briefest of moments - would become the father of a child he could never know. She refused to be a homewrecker on top of everything else.

Michonne stared at the diamond ring Mike had offered her when he proposed for the second time. She had been giving him hints for weeks, wanting to move past her feelings for Rick and begin anew. He surprised her by inviting their families and close friends to their favorite Jamaican restaurant. On the patio, in front of the people they loved, he bent down on one knee and proposed, Bob Marley and the Wailers playing in the background. The memory brought tears to her eyes. She didn't deserve him.

The timer on Michonne's smartphone sounded, startling her back to reality. She held her breath and flipped over the white stick. Two pink lines had just destroyed everything.


A/N: This is the first time I've written fan fiction and the first time I've worked up the nerve to actually publish anything. I'm hoping to fill in some of the gaps of Michonne's and Rick's relationship, as I envision it. I'll try my best to post chapters on a regular basis, as I could use some routine when it comes to writing. Hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your comments!