A/N: This is a sequel to Knots. Read it first as the emotions continue from there. After last night's episode and all the Michonne goodness, I had to write a part 2.

Enjoy!

I'm not...fine. I don't know why I said I was.

Bob?

And Daryl, Carol, and Beth. Sasha, too. Glenn and Maggie.

Now Tyreese.

His body was lying on hot assphalt, dead and decomposing.

And she was walking, walking with her eyes closed, feet stomping heavily on the ground, her steps short and hurried.

Behind her, two different sets of footsteps.

"Michonne."

"Michonne."

"Michonne!"

"What?!" she snapped, opening her eyes and swiveling around. "What is it, Rick?"

"Where are you going?" Rick asked slowly, having stopped when she snapped.

"I'm getting some fresh air," she announced, opening her arms, the katana clutched in one hand.

She resumed her hurried walk, but she kept her eyes opened this time.

Rick was right behind her.

With a frustrated and impatient sigh, Michonne threw the katana aside and kept going. He could pick it up, since he was intent on following her.

"You're already outside," Rick drawled.

Michonne stopped walking. Slowly, she turned around, her shoulders sagged.

"We're going to Washington," Rick said.

"That's not the problem," she said, shaking her head.

"I know."

Michonne turned to leave.

"Michonne."

"Stop, stop, stop saying my name," she said, turning around.

"You can't run from this."

"I'm not running. I'm walking."

"You cannot run from this."

Michonne breathed in and out, in and out. "So let's go. Let's go back to the road and haul his carcass inside the car. Glenn can be on resurrection watch so he can run a knife through his skull when he wakes up. Because we can't leave him out here. We can't bury him here either. Because we need to get him to Sasha. We need to go break it to Sasha that her brother is dead.

So get on that radio, Rick," she said, out of breath from her rant as well as her roiling emotions. "Tell Carol we're on the way. Maybe even tell her Tyreese is dead, I don't know, maybe she can prepare Sasha. That one's up to you. But let's go. Let's not run from this. Let's go right back and keep….doing it."

She turned from him and closed her eyes to calm herself.

Rick slowly closed the distance between them and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't," she said.

Rick squeezed her shoulders. "It's gonna be okay."

"Do you even believe that?" she asked, turning around.

"I promised you I'd untie that knot."

"It's not even about that. My stomach isn't knotted," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "No, knotted is when there's anxiety, anxiety is when you don't know what's going to happen. When you're afraid. I'm not afraid anymore, Rick. I'm not worried. Why be worried when it's happening right in front of me? When it's real."

Rick lowered his eyes and contemplated her words.

Michonne shook her head. "We're going to Washington."

Rick blinked. We're going to Washington didn't sound like an answer anymore.

Sure enough, she asked, "How many of us you think are gonna make it to Washington?"

Rick looked at her, but he didn't answer. She didn't want an answer.

"When we decided that, when you agreed, Tyreese was alive. He was with Noah. Now he's….."

She turned away from him. "Now we're just on the move again."

Rick quickly grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him before she could resume her walk.

"Rick," she said tiredly, grabbing his wrists.

"You can't run," he said gruffly against the side of her head.

"I'm not running," she said.

"Yes, you are. I saw it when you were looking at Beth. I saw it when you thought I'd said no to Washington. You ready to run."

She loosened her hold on his wrists. She realized that he was right. She did want to be away. Not get away but be away.

"Someone else is gonna die," she predicted softly.

Rick leaned his face into the back of her head and closed his eyes. "We can't think like that."

"But you do," she said.

"I try not to. For Carl. For everyone. For you."

She leaned her head slightly to the left. "I don't need you to be positive for me."

Rick didn't reply. He knew that that was what she needed to say right now.

Michonne turned to face him, and it was quite the turn, because he barely gave her room to move. And when she did finish moving, his hands were back on her waist, rooting her in place.

Michonne looked up into his concerned blue eyes, her head lolling to one side as she gazed into them.

She blinked to pull herself together. "Do you think you can hold me here until…..?"

"Until what, Michonne?" he asked, equally taken by her stormy brown eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Washington," she chuckled, the sound hollow.

Rick wasn't amused.

"We should still try," she said. "Because…..what else are we gonna do?"

Rick contemplated the stretch of trees on their left. He shifted on his feet and when he did he flushed her against him anew.

"Have you figured out how to deal with it?" Michonne asked.

He knew what she was referring to. Has he figured out how to deal with losing people he'd grown so used to, grown to love?

"No," he answered gravely.

"I was kind of hoping you'd say yes and give me some pointers."

"I just keep going. Lately," he answered honestly.

"Making it, right?" She inhaled deeply and exhaled just as deep. "I'm okay now."

Rick looked into her eyes. "No, you ain't," he concluded.

"Well, you can't hold me here forever," Michonne said, rolling her eyes to the top of the lids. Then she realized how that sounded. "I don't mean I'm gonna steal away in the deep of the night."

"If you do," he began, his eyes boring into hers.

He shifted her against him again, and Michonne became aware of how firm his hold was.

Rick swallowed and found the act difficult. "If you do that. If you run, if you take the opportunity,...I don't know what I'll do," he finished sincerely, his eyes now ping-ponging without looking anywhere, definitely not at her.

"You've been thinking about this," Michonne realized softly. She then cradled his face, her fingers cushioned by his beard, because she had enough of him looking anywhere except at her.

Sure enough, he focused on her. "It's all over you, Michonne," he said quietly.

She wanted to joke that she'd told him to stop saying her name, but she decided that that wasn't appropriate.

"I know it's not fair," Rick continued. "I know I got no right-"

"But you're saying it anyway," Michonne interrupted with a growing smile. Dropping her hands to just below his shoulders, she continued, "Because you like doing that: lay something heavy on me and then tell me it's not fair or I don't have to. Like when you told me Carl needed me?"

Rick smiled and ducked his head. She didn't seem mad about it. And it wasn't something he did on purpose. He had no right. After Merle had shown up, the times that Daryl had spent with the group, with him, had vanished into thin air, even if only for a bit.

"I'm not leaving, Rick," Michonne said. "You're right, I-I've been thinking about it. Not consciously, but it's been there. But I don't know where I would go. I don't know what I'd do about Carl. And I can't leave you," she teased with a full smile, moving her hands up to squeeze his thick shoulders.

Rick watched the storm in her eyes lose its intensity, and he smiled. Her smile was genuine, and it chipped off a part of the burden that has been in his heart since he'd watched her stare at Beth.

He nodded. "Okay," he said definitively.

I'm choosing to believe you, she heard.

He released her waist, the move hesitant, and she missed the solidity of his hands immediately. She wanted to tell him to keep holding on. She wasn't going to run, but he could continue to hold on.

"Come on," he said, and he walked the short distance back to pick up her sword.

Michonne came to him and accepted it.

They set on the path to return to Glenn and Noah. Rick wanted to hold her, still. He wanted to reach over, and pull her close, and keep her locked at his side until they returned to the car, not because he thought she might turn and sprint away but because he wanted to comfort her. No words. He wanted to touch her until….he didn't know until what. Maybe touching her didn't need to have an end.

But he kept his hands to himself, occasionally rubbing his thumbs across his fingers when the desire intensified.

They walked with only a sliver of space between them.