Author's Note: I still don't own anything related to The Walking Dead and no profit is intended or expected.

This story takes place in season 4 after 30 Days Without an Accident. And it's so, so angsty.

I wrote this on the fly for my dear friend who tolerates (ok, enthusiastically supports) my Dixonne writing even though she'd probably think I was cooler if I threw more Richonne her way. I'm posting my long ago "gift" (because it's always the wild west when I write for another 'ship) that I spruced up a little before I run back to my Daryl and Michonne corner. It's a little rough, but as polished as it's going to get. But I do hope you enjoy!

Rick's exhaustion had long-since caught up with him. There had been tasks to complete before he could unwind from the day, and Judith was taking a little longer to go to sleep than he'd have liked. It helped ease his nerves to know that his kids were safe, but this day… This day had taken its toll.

Life as it existed beyond the boundaries of their small prison community had reasserted its dominance, both for him and the group whose run had turned disastrous. They'd returned one man short and he'd returned with an additional soul added to his tally.

Rick understood the group's devastation; he saw the reflection of his memories in Daryl's expression as he grappled with the loss. Rick tried to help his friend make sense of losing a kid he'd taken under his wing. They all knew bad shit just happened no matter how much they prepared. Daryl would have to accept that on his own and in time. Rick had also sought out his own counsel with Hershel. The man's guidance could pull him back from almost anything—he'd proven that a few times over since those first tense days together.

Yet despite the fatigue and the comfort of his mentor's perspective on things, his sensitive nerves remained on high alert. Rick realized he wouldn't be able to rest or sleep or concentrate until he found a way to work out the built-up anxiety. When he got like that, only one person could truly connect with the chaos swimming around in his head. It was company he too often had to do without.

But not tonight. Michonne had come back to them, if only for a while.

As he rocked Judith to sleep, he'd caught sight of her and Daryl heading out of the cell block together, probably to do an evening perimeter check. They were close too. It'd do Daryl good to have that time with her like the old days when they'd soothed each other's grief out on the road together. The loss of one of their community probably wouldn't phase her as deeply as the others; sadly, she'd gotten so used to loss that she greeted it with a tightly coiled acceptance. And she wasn't around a lot anyway, probably to keep from actually getting too close to people, too complacent in their prison home; too vulnerable. It was a funny thing that she'd chosen to mostly keep her distance except with a select few. Carl and Daryl, Maggie and Hershel. Him.

Still, Rick debated whether he should go see Michonne. He didn't know if she'd welcome his company given all that had happened. His hesitation remained, more because he hadn't been too happy with her before she'd headed out on that Big Spot run, Carl either. In fact, he was pretty sure she'd left in the first place to avoid facing his disapproval of her plan to roam out to Macon—like that wasn't exactly the kind of thing they'd agreed she wouldn't be doing anymore. He'd been too frustrated to respond when she mentioned it, but Daryl stepped up to tactfully challenge her about it before either of them descended into hurtful barbs. As much time as they'd spent together, she and Daryl knew every ugly side to each other, and he didn't care much about facing her temper. He'd even laughed at the way Michonne grabbed the first opportunity possible to make a hasty retreat. It hadn't been funny to Rick though and they all had recognized that.

Having her out there all alone, only Flame and her wits keeping her from harm, it tied him in knots and she knew it. She knew it, but she left them anyway.

Checking one last time to ensure that Judith slept soundly where he'd placed her to sleep, hopefully through the night, he leaned against the entrance of his cell staring at the shadow of Michonne's weak light spilling into the hallway. It was late for her—at the prison, she normally bedded down early and rose early, similar to when she traveled the roads outside. He thought that Judith's stubbornness would make the issue of seeing her moot if his daughter chose to fuss past the time it took for Michonne to turn in. And he knew better than to try and talk to her with his daughter in tow. Judith's presence made her uncomfortable. He had his suspicions about why, but she'd never said anything and his speculation was too distressing for him to pull out of her after the string of people he'd failed—Lori and Shane, Sophia and Dale, even Jim and Jacqui. Call him a coward, but sometimes those demons lived better amidst denial, at least for now when they were all trying to find some emotional stability.

The thought of being a coward propelled him towards her. Around him, he heard the sounds of life quieting down for the night, an extra sense of solemn silence looming as people mourned the loss of Zach. He'd liked the kid and felt bad that they had to lose one of the good ones when so many bad ones were still allowed to walk free out in the world. One particular bad one—the worst one as far as he was concerned—kept him awake at night sometimes. But not as much as it did Michonne and chasing down the Governor had become her biggest excuse. For a lot of things.

He pushed down those frustrating thoughts. It'd only tempt him to say something right off and that wasn't how he wanted things to start with her tonight.

Rick didn't hear any movement as he approached her cell, which wasn't unusual. There was no one stealthier in the prison than her, not even Daryl. Slowing his stride, he came to stand at her doorway: she sat on her bed bent over a map that she inspected in the soft glow of her light.

As he often did, he first looked around for her multicolored cat figure. She'd acquired it on that very first run with him back to his hometown, a silly memento she'd taken so Carl wouldn't feel as responsible for her going back to get the treasured picture he'd risked the both of them for. Rick found the ugly thing sitting on the table by her bed and smiled. She and Carl had a game where he'd move it every time she left the prison as a subtle bit of ribbing and reminder that he thought of her when she was gone. Michonne always pretended to be annoyed with the boy and they'd both laugh at her feigned outrage.

Finally, he shuffled a few steps inside, an unspoken request for her attention.

Michonne had heard him approaching; she'd know the sound of those purposeful strides anywhere. A visit from him was expected after what they'd both gone through today. She'd only had a few moments to hear about his adventure, but it was enough for her to worry over him. Rick's healing had been slow and sure, but it was also tenuous. This kind of situation would test him.

And when Rick felt tested, he often came to see her.

Michonne noted that when Rick finally stepped into her entryway, blocking off the extra light and sound of activity from outside, he just stood there watching her and inspecting her sparse room. She left him to his assessments so he could work up to whatever it was he wanted from her tonight.

It's not that she didn't want to talk with him, console him and be the friend he'd come to rely on; the same caliber of friend he was to her. She'd already played that part with Daryl, and it always replenished some part of her spirit to nurture these connections with the people she'd come to care for in the group.

No, she simply had no more patience for either Rick's or Daryl's disapproval of her Macon plans.

And the weight of what had happened with Zach on the run still disturbed her. People thought she remained cold or indifferent to this type of loss, and she did in a way. But compartmentalizing wasn't the same as being unmoved. Losing people she hoped to protect had always affected her, just not in the same way it did for others who hadn't been through what she'd been through. She had liked that kid, Zach. She didn't know him well, but he'd been on a trip or two with her and Daryl. He had a way of livening things up with his youthful enthusiasm and genuine eagerness to help. Yet he had a little of the bad boy in him that appealed to both her and Daryl's non-conformist nature. And they also liked to make fun of the awkward way he'd romanced Beth. He'd be missed by a lot of people.

Michonne sighed and finally looked towards this man who'd become one of the symbols of home to her. He seemed content to wait her out, but her fatigue wanted otherwise.

Rick nodded at her and walked towards where she sat to stand at her shoulder. He could clearly see that she'd been busy making plans as he stared down at her map and the way she'd lain it so it centered on Macon. Her belongings sat in the corner too, unpacked and waiting for easy transport in the morning. To him, it looked like she hadn't even considered staying for more than a night or two. He frowned.

"You okay?" Yes, he was frustrated with her but he also cared for her. Her well-being would always come before any admonishment.

Leaning up from where she'd been hunched over her map, Michonne scrutinized his question, wondering what version of Rick asked. The man who still longed to protect his community? The partner-in-crime? The friend who exchanged intimacies with her when life got too intense? He didn't seem keen on giving anything away.

"I'm okay," she replied. "You?" He nodded. "Your crops are coming along," she added, amusement lacing the inquiry.

He grinned down at her. They'd had a hell of a time wrangling what they needed to get things started. She felt a bit of personal investment in the welfare of the garden. "They're hanging in there. Hershel and I got to cleaning 'em up earlier; make sure we have a chance of getting what we need. Hopefully, that'll pan out and we'll have some more fresh food soon outside of the meat Daryl and I can reel in from time to time."

"Sounds good. I hope so too." They sat in silence, both hesitant to voice the deep thoughts on their minds for fear of what it might trigger. Michonne glanced up at him. "Carl?" Her eyes softened at the mention. It warmed him every time to see the tenderness she had for his eldest. Her awkwardness with Judith aside, she'd had no problems bonding with his son—and him with her. Carl tapped into some important part of Michonne that, again, he didn't dare speculate on.

Rick leaned against her bunk and crossed his arms. "Carl's good. I'm starting to think that farming agrees with him." She chuckled skeptically, and the pleasant sound caused a tension in his chest that he had to fight hard to relax.

"Daryl's better," she reported. "Thanks for talking to him earlier. He needed to hear what you had to say. He's come a long way, but he still looks to you for approval." Her assessment wasn't intended as a criticism. She thought their close friendship a beautiful thing, both strong and earned.

Rick stared down at his boots and then turned to look out into the hallway for a moment. "It wasn't his fault and I didn't want him carrying that around thinking it is."

"He's practical about it. It still doesn't hurt for him to hear you tell him that."

"Well, I've been there. Too many times."

Michonne smiled up at him finally, only a small upturn of her full lips but a genuine one. "And you've let a lot of it go."

"We both have," he added, catching her gaze and holding it. As usual, he sensed that something held her back.

Michonne felt exposed. A part of her didn't fully believe that about herself, that coping mechanism that kept her from being fully present with him and the others. Nevertheless, he insisted on chipping away at her doubt, just as she pushed him to reconcile what he'd done in the past.

Rick's stare made her uncomfortable so she looked away.

Uncrossing his arms, Rick stepped from her side and reached down to take her map. Michonne's frown reappeared, but he ignored it. Folding up the map, he threw it on the bed and sat down on the now vacant seat across from her. He took her hands and ran his palms against her long, calloused fingers; she allowed the contact, returning his hold with a tentative grip. Something slipped into place for both of them as they held each other in that manner, neither reacting to the world beyond the barriers of her cell.

This is what he'd hoped to feel from her tonight, that rightness and peace they found in each other. He cursed its temporary nature. It wouldn't last.

"About Macon…."

Michonne stiffened and pulled her hands from his, pushing away from him and farther onto her bunk. Even though she'd known it was coming, she'd let it sneak up on her anyway in the comfort of his touch and attention. Stupid.

Rick flinched at the swift distance she created. That's what she did. She'd allow him to get close, and after experiencing the warmth of her, she'd retreat, leaving him cold and pining for a return to that nearness. She'd taken him in when his emotions had raged so roughly, he thought he'd rip apart, so terrified of how the others—how his son—would react. She'd responded openly to recognizing how broken he was from his grief over Lori. Even after he'd betrayed her, she'd understood. That acceptance drew him to her; to her company, to her companionship, and eventually into her bed and body. Not that he'd call a musty storage room in the depths of the prison the most luxurious of rendezvous settings.

So he couldn't hold her reaction now against her because in the beginning, he had been the first to pull away. She'd had faith that he'd return and seek her out. Now with things how they were and with the ghosts she continued to entertain, he was left to keep the faith for the both of them; show her it was okay to pull away as long as she returned to him.

It remained to be seen whether that would be the case tonight.

To Michonne, she stuck to her opinion that having sex with Rick Grimes, even in the name of mutual affection and respect, didn't mean he got any say on how she lived her life. When it came to the future of the community or the well-being of Carl and Judith and the rest of his family, she'd take her cues from him. But he wasn't the boss of her, and no amount of friendship or late night trysts would change that. She could block out many things in his arms but couldn't deny who she was now no matter how much he wished it. Or she sometimes.

To Rick, the truth was that if the intimacy he craved had been a one-time thing, he might have dismissed it. If it had been one simple compulsion, he might've moved on. But the reality reflected a string of encounters, an array of maddening and satisfying completions that triggered his hope and patience and insistence that she recognize what they were building together between them. And what they could create would be amazing.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but we gotta talk about it, Michonne." His words reflected a pleading that he'd been powerless to restrain.

His reaction didn't exactly surprise her. They'd been over this countless times. He said he respected why she had to be out there hunting for the Governor, even with the way they'd settled into the prison and made a life there; even after he'd given up, Daryl following a while later.

She sighed. "There's nothing to talk about. You told me that I should follow my gut when it came to keeping our people safe." The bite to her own words gave Michonne pause but she didn't back down.

Rick tried to catch her eyes again. "And you told me that you'd stop running off every five minutes when there are things for you here. You said that to me. You." He leaned towards her, resting his arms on his knees. "Carl hates it that you're gone as much as you are. He worries. We all do. Hershel? Daryl? Maggie? We worry about whether this time is when you don't come back, and we're left to wonder what the hell happened to you out there."

She scoffed. "I know how to take care of myself. And the rest of you. Are you saying you don't trust me anymore?" Michonne didn't want to believe that, but had to prepare herself for it. After all, Andrea had said she'd trusted her, but it hadn't been enough.

"You know I do," he countered, not letting her insecurities change what this conversation really addressed. "Look, maybe this is what happened to me today talking, but there's stuff that we cannot predict going on out there. We gotta keep a rein on the chances we take when those gates close behind us. Sometimes I think you get out there and you forget it aint just you any more."

Her head swiveled around to him in one swift motion. It hurt that he'd said that to her of all people.

"I never forget that. Why do you think I'm out there if it isn't to protect all of you and what you've built?"

"We, Michonne. What we built." His hushed words were insistent. He kept his voice low but firm. "And, sometimes I honestly don't know why you're out there." Her pursed lips told him that he walked a thin line right now. "But it aint for me to justify, I respect that."

Crossing her arms, Michonne's eyes swept around the room, taking in everything but his face. She wasn't furious. Yet. But she was so pissed at him. And disappointed.

"Hey." Michonne continued to look away. "Hey," he repeated, softer this time. Slowly she returned her attention to him. "If you say there's a need for it, I believe you. I don't need to understand it to have your back. I want you to know that." He needed her to acknowledge that he supported her, though that seemed like too much for her right now. It felt wrong to think she ever doubted how he fully accepted her. The itch to touch her once more tingled at his palms. She looked away again, but her posture had relaxed as she uncoiled a bit.

Rubbing his palms together to stave off the impulse to reach out again, he kept his gaze trained on her. "The thing is, I'm learning from Hershel and looking after my son. I see Carl struggling, but he's trying. And I think it's 'cause he sees that I'm trying too. I'm holding on to something and it's been good for the both of us." She listened, still and stoic. "I worry about keeping Carl from that darkness that almost destroyed me. Hershel says I can come back from that, but so often I feel like I'm barely hanging on."

That her eyes softened in understanding and concern rather than pity helped to propel his thoughts forward. "I just can't … I can't pull you up too." As he'd feared, all that empathy drained out of her.

"No one's asking you to pull me anywhere. That's you and your hero complex talking, not anything I put on you."

"Bullshit you don't put that on us. That's what comes with people caring for you and you can't handle it. That? That's most definitely on you."

Michonne felt trapped by his accusations. He had it all wrong, they all did. She didn't need reeling in like some loose cannon. Everyone had their roles in the community. Some folks hated runs while others preferred fence duty. People filled in where necessary and tried to make a contribution. That her contribution didn't involve sitting around bonding with the community; that her need to be out there and not farming or cooking or gathering supplies, it seemed to be a bigger deal to everyone she'd become close to than it ever had to her. She would not be conformist about her place there, not with the Governor lurking somewhere.

And not when she wasn't whole enough to play house with the rest of the prison, with Rick and Carl … with Judith. Not yet, maybe not ever.

Watching the wheels turn in her head, Rick's temper simmered on the edges of his senses. The conversation had already gotten more heated than necessary; getting angry would get them nowhere. His effort to conjure calmness failed in the face of her stubbornness—and his longing for a resolution he knew he'd not be getting right now.

"Hershel asked me to wear my guns out today." This revelation brought her attention back around.

"And did you?"

"I did." The implication of his answer sat coldly between them. They both understood that this conversation boiled down to him asking something of her, something difficult yet important to him and a lot of other people. Rick leaned back in the chair and stared out into the hallway. "You think we can truly come back from the things we've done? The bad things? That woman I met out there, she wasn't too far off from seeing dead wives and talking to dead boyfriends. Yet she's gone and we're here. Maybe these people, this place is what keeps us from slipping." Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair. "What's to stop us from becoming that if not each other?"

Michonne took her turn demanding his attention. After a few moments, she received it and tensed at his haunted expression.

"We hung on, Rick. We get to come back. You came back today because no matter how far you'd drifted, you knew what waited for you back home. And no matter what you've been through, you know what right looks like. Same here."

She'd told him about the chained walkers in addition to the remnants of her dead boyfriend in her mind; the months of vacancy before Andrea offered her something to come back for. He'd helped her return from that numbness as well, and she was thankful for it, had told him so. However, that couldn't keep her from giving voice to her next harsh thoughts.

"You talk about Hershel pulling you back. Carl too. But those are just incentives. Can't no one do the pulling except you and you do it on your own terms. It wasn't me asking you to put your guns back on. I know you'll do it when you have to, whether by circumstance or your own design."

Rick scowled and looked away. He didn't appreciate the dig, or feeling that he'd pushed her too far when his concern would sound reasonable to anyone. Mouthing off to Daryl was one thing but with him? It frustrated him that they held such similar pain and yet couldn't get on the same page about how to handle it.

How many times and ways could he tell her that he cared and then watch her leave it on the table, discarded?

Similarly, Michonne tired of Rick treating her motivations as a personal affront whenever they disagreed. Their hurts were comparable but not identical; his demons were not hers, and he didn't get to pick and choose which parts of her she shared.

"Well, then." Rick straightened and stood, hands at his hip. He'd shut down, gone cold. It hadn't been his plan when he'd come down there, quite the opposite. But he didn't have it in him to fight with her anymore. "I guess you can go on and work on your terms."

She rose as well, annoyed but pleading. "Rick—"

He held a hand up instead. "It's fine." They both knew it wasn't, but the late hour and their impasse suggested it wouldn't be something they'd resolve in the next little while.

Michonne sighed. She didn't want to fight with him either. "I don't want to leave things like this."

His stare was intense. "Then don't ride out tomorrow. Let's figure out something different." His intensity didn't stir her; her silence reflected that wall of resistance he'd been climbing for months. One day someone would find the right series of footholds to scale it. In this moment, he didn't even care if it wasn't him to do it, just so long as the barriers crumbled and he got to see more of her.

His movements were swift, betting on her instincts and their sustained connection. Pulling her to him, he kissed her and she responded as she always had, with that easy compliance she denied him for all else except physical satisfaction. Her hands moved to his chest and then around his neck; his eyes closed and he chased the feel of her muscles moving underneath his hold. Their explorations were quiet, not breaking into the white noise of everyday living beyond the barred door. The intensity of it held and then flared before easing back into heavy breaths and the cool distance of their disagreement.

Michonne would hand him a victory in that she felt torn; torn yet steadfast. If she could, she'd give him safety and comfort, the moon and the stars, both for him and his children. But that part of her that could only heal in isolation and purpose meant that she couldn't be the companion that he wanted right now. She let go first and took a step back against her bunk.

Her answer sent and received. Rick walked away.

He could accept what she had to do but he'd never like it and he wouldn't endorse it wholesale, no matter how good she felt in his arms on a lonely, stressful evening. So he'd turn his eyes from her when she again rode out of the gates, joking with his son and throwing around promises of how she'd make up her absence to him.

Following Rick with her eyes as he quickly disappeared, Michonne felt a growing regret. She'd still ride out tomorrow, but she'd do so with a heavier heart. When she went out there, it seemed as if she had something to prove and that pushed her farther and harder. More and more if felt like she had something to prove back here at the prison. She wondered how long she could sustain those dual forces that strained her motivations. And how long Rick would wait for her to figure it out.

When he returned to his cell, Rick took a deep breath, checked on Judith, and then once again drifted to the entrance of his cell to stare at the illumination spilling from hers. After a few moments, the light flickered off.

He similarly extinguished his hopes of spending one night not wondering when she'd truly be home.

Yet today was another chip at the wall. He would have to wait for the right time, the right place. But he wouldn't have to wait forever. Of that he was sure. And that would keep him watching out for her.

Fini