A/N: Hi guys, I've decided to dip my toe in the water. With what's happening with the show I wanted to remind myself why I love these two characters (R & M) so much. So here I am trying to figure it out. This is a multi-chapter Richonne fic that, prologue aside, will be told strictly from Rick and Michonne's povs. Chapter 1, Rick's pov, is right below the prologue. The only warning I have apart from it being rated M for reasons, is that this will be somewhat of a slow burn, at least in terms of where we start off. I really hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: the plot and OCs of this story belong to me but TWD does not.

PHANTOMS IN THE MIST

.

PROLOGUE

The people pressed from all sides begging them for passage. Theo was afraid. It was different seeing them up close like this. He couldn't see the desperation in their eyes from the watchtower, or how gaunt they truly were.

"Please step away from the vehicle!" Andrew kept repeating. "You'll receive food but for safety's sake, you have to stop the noise. Please step away from the vehicle!"

No one was listening.

They weren't even taking the food. Theo had been holding the same bag of rations for what seemed an eternity. Instead of taking it the people kept pressing in, pleading and trying to grab his clothes.

"I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor!" someone kept shouting.

He couldn't distinguish their voices anymore.

"Pe-please take the food." Theo tried to swallow the stutters in his voice and the fear in his belly.

They wouldn't stop shouting. From his vantage, (standing at the back of the pickup truck) it looked like they were trying to swaddle the vehicle in some mass human hug – like a game, or some random achievement to be listed in the Guinness Book of Records. Except games implied cheerfulness, and people didn't often have looks of such abject terror when achieving their life's aim.

It was supposed to be simple. Drive. Stop. Distribute supplies, get a thank-you or two and make it home for supper – a hero. They would have to start respecting him. No more timorous Theo; sissy Theo, cowering quaking pussy Theo.

They would all see.

He'd be the guy with all the stories to tell. Susanne would want to give him another chance (waltz up like she hadn't ever left, hadn't ripped his heart out – spat on it and shoved it back in his chest). He'd refuse, of course. He'd say he wasn't looking for a relationship right now. He'd say he wanted time alone then shack off with some other chick, two days later maybe – give her a taste of her own fucking medicine. And even then—and even then, he'd still be too damn nice to make it a full-on pillory.

It was supposed to be simple.

With each bellow of Andrew's voice calling for order, Theo flinched. There wasn't meant to be noise, not like this. Between that and the cries of the people he wanted nothing more than to run. Throw the supplies away, flee, and let them deal with it. Better that than the dead that would come crawling if they stayed. He wasn't even a guard, not really. He'd only taken a few shifts here and there trying to help out, trying to prove himself and feel like he fucking meant something again.

He looked to his left, desperate to catch Andrew's eyes, but in the other truck the burly Alexandrian was hard at work.

Theo threw bags into the crowd (stomach churning, hands shaking) hoping to focus their attention.

Don't leave me out here!

I have children

I'll clean – I can clean

You can't leave us out here!

Theo was sure it would be – not the dead; not thoughts of Susanne with her jeering smiles, but disembodied voices that visited his sleep that night.

He forced a bag into the arms stretching towards him. Someone grabbed his foot.

"You piece of shit!"

Theo hit the ground. Mud splattered on his face. Pain stretched around him like a blanket.

"Step away from the vehicle!" Spencer's voice.

A scream.

"Fuck!"

Gun shaped bruise forming on his hip.

"Help me," he heard, repeated over and over in a voice shrill with fear.

Panic snaked through him, roots sinking deep. Hands grabbed at him.

The groans of the dead.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

Theo pulled the trigger.

XxXPITMXxX

Chapter 1: The General Is Up

The rain hammered on the roof of the watchtower. There goes Daryl's search. No amount of tracking skills would be able to unearth what the rain was so deftly burying beneath them. He hoped they found something to at least piece together a sense of the Reapers' movements. Anything would be of use at this point, the trade routes had been crippled for far too long.

Rick missed the days when he could choose a course of action and follow it through by day's end. Now there was the Union to consider. And no matter how much he wanted, he couldn't put a bullet through Gregory's brain without some bullshit repercussions falling on his doorsteps. It was his own doing after all. Attempting to rebuild some form of civility – trying to appease the memory of a ghost who didn't even have the courtesy to grace him with her presence. Not so much as a shadow (hovering in a far corner of his vision) to make him pause and wonder. It was for his own good, he supposed. It wouldn't do to lose his sanity again; she was far too stubborn to appear at his bidding either way. Her apparition, he imagined, would probably be the precursor to his death.

Well what did you expect, Grimes? She'd say with that teasing smile that started off slow (just a small curve in the corners of her lips before it spilled into laughter) she'd duck her head to try and hide it. Not everyone wears crazy and makes it look good, she would lean against the window and give him a pointed look, you definitely can't.

You were my voice of reason, he replied. She still was.

And playing Casper would serve that image how, exactly?

Rick almost laughed. For someone who struggled to grasp the concept of imaginary friends as a child, the amount of times he orchestrated these conversations was impressive, though he doubted Mrs Bratcher (the funny old teacher who despaired at his lack of imagination) would have viewed it as a victory. He was the kid who would draw his backyard, the cows they kept, his father's police car or the vase his mother loved when others drew pink ponies sliding on rainbows, and winged creatures hovering in the skies of fantastical worlds. Mrs. Bratcher would give him a kind smile (a pitying smile too, now that he looked back) and a gentle pat on the head for, 'always being a pleasure and taking part.'

You're still out there, he said.

Her smile looked so vivid when he closed his eyes (he liked to think he remembered every detail of her face and the lilts of her voice).

And you're still alive, Rick, she whispered, voice fading to the tap tap tap of the rain on the roof.

Footsteps stomped up the stairs and he turned to see Carl removing the hood of his jacket, droplets of water falling to the floor with each movement.

"You done your homework?" he asked.

"Yeah," Carl grumbled. "I still don't see the point of this whole school thing though."

Rick almost sighed, Carl's disdain for school was borderline fanatical.

"We want to keep the world running," he said. "Keep it moving forwards despite the setbacks. We don't need to regress to the dark ages on top of everything else."

"Then they should teach things that matter." Carl threw his jacket on a chair. "Reading Of Mice and Men, and making stupid sculptures each week won't do shit for anyone."

Rick narrowed his eyes.

"Do anything for anyone," Carl amended. But not before rolling his eyes heavenward as if begging some higher power to grant him strength.

A familiar feeling crawled and settled in his chest. Snug. It almost sounded like a conversation they would have had in the old world. He imagined the fifteen year old as he could have been – as he should have been. Same messy hair and smart-ass attitude but there would be lightness to his demeanor; crankiness solely routed in teenage angst and the overconfidence of youth. Maybe he would have liked those god-awful bands he heard kids listening to outside the arcade near the mall (some skinny guy with dark makeup screaming into a microphone).

He once feared he was losing him to the darkness that had descended five years ago. When they first arrived in Alexandria those feelings had been rampant (sometimes when the nights were too long he still found them waiting at the precipice). They had lost Judith, and this time there would be no Tyreese and Carol appearing from a forlorn cabin to bring her back to them. Judith was dead and Rick was afraid he'd have to watch Carl lose his humanity as well – those weeks on the road to Washington were the longest he had gone without speaking to him. Rick couldn't help but remember another time when Judith had been lost, and Carl had been trying to keep his balance on a railway track, laughing and battling for a chocolate bar because...but she was gone as well.

"They won't find anything with all this rain." Carl joined him at the window.

"Probably not," he agreed. "But it's worth a try."

Rick retrieved the spare rifle he brought with him and gave it to Carl.

"I know the school format isn't perfect but we'll figure it out. Did you eat something?"

"Carol made some pasta," Carl said. "And garlic bread," he added with a smile. "Did you want me to bring you some?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "There even any left?"

"Sure," Carl said, a too innocent smile on his face. "I left the salad. I know old people need their vitamins."

Rick laughed. "I'm not quite at that stage yet."

He turned to the empty road beneath them. The community had a three mile walker-free zone, but the dead weren't the reason for keeping watch. It was almost two years since the living had attacked them, but Rick couldn't help the unease that had settled over him these past few months. One of these days things were going to boil over; Alexandria had to be ready.

"Some guys at school were talking about that Reaper we killed." Carl checked the cartridge in his rifle. "Said we should just hunt them down and get rid of them."

"Yeah?" he tried to sound nonchalant. "What do you think?"

"Is that what you're planning?"

Rick rubbed the skin where his wedding band used to be. Someone had once called him The General; some Alexandrian – back when he hadn't considered himself to be part of this place. It was meant to be a compliment but the term sounded far too much like 'The Governor' for his liking. He thought it was a rather cowardly way of saying monster, and so he put his gun in the mouth of the poor idiot who had said it – and asked him to apologize whilst the weapon was lodged in his mouth. It wasn't his finest hour, but it was the last he heard of that title.

He didn't much care what others thought of his actions. If it meant his son had a chance of a decent future he would happily bathe in blood, but sometimes he worried he was doing it all wrong. Sometimes he worried Carl might emulate that violence inside of him.

"The people on the other side of these gates aren't the bad guys," he said. "Understand?" He turned from the window. "If it was us in their place, I'd be doing the same thing."

Carl nodded, his messy mop of hair falling further about his face.

"The Union wants a final talk before voting," he said in a careful neutral tone, "but in the end we probably will end up killing them. When that time comes, I'll most likely be the one who leads it."

Carl's face was an impassive mask as he locked the magazine in his rifle; going through the exact motions Rick had done when he started his shift.

"Shouldn't be difficult to do. They barely have anything."

Rick bristled. "That what the guys at school say too?"

Carl looked at him. "They're right though." He rubbed his nose.

"These people who barely have anything, blocked the trade routes for over four month." Rick gazed at him from under furrowed brows. "They're still not fully functioning."

"That's `cause the Hilltop keeps backtracking on everything." He shook his head. "If we ignored them this would have been over by now."

"You really believe that?"

Carl trained his rifle towards the trees left of the road. The bullet ripped through the walker perfectly – skull cracking like a fork through an eggshell.

"I think there should be another way, but I get it," he said, "it's us against them. The fight should still be short though."

"Gregory claimed it should be quick as well."

Carl looked offended.

"Remember when we were on the road?" he asked.

"Yeah," Carl eyed him suspiciously. The road was a topic they always avoided.

"We didn't have anything either," he said. "But there was never a doubt in my mind that we'd beat anyone who stood in our way. Reason was, we knew what hell looked like and would do everything to escape it. The people who don't see that threat in the Reapers are the privileged who've had it easy – people like Gregory and half of this Union. One of these days it'll get them killed. I don't want you to ever make that mistake, Carl. On the battlefield each Reaper deserves respect, anything less will cost you dearly."

"I know," Carl glared at the window. "The guys at school are idiots."

Innocent was the word he would use. He sometimes wished he could undo everything Carl had seen, but maybe that would only serve to shorten his life.

"Whatever battles that take place, I want you to stay here."

Carl stepped back. "What, why? I can help."

"They'll be adults assigned to this job, I want it to stay that way," he said.

"I helped train some of those adults, and I fight better than most of them."

Rick didn't think it was possible for so much sarcasm to be packed into a single word.

"This isn't a discussion, Carl. I'm not asking, I'm telling you. They'll be no children involved in this."

"That's such bull." Carl moved to the table and dropped his rifle. "I'm not like the rest of the idiot kids in this place, I can handle myself."

"Who exactly you talkin' to?" Rick placed a hand on his hip as he stared his son down.

He wished the anger in Carl's eyes wasn't so familiar. There had been a rage there since Judith died and sometimes it took all his strength to still look him in the eyes. His life was a long patchwork of regrets and screwups and he wouldn't mind if so many people hadn't been caught in the crossfire. He wouldn't mind it at all if his son had at least been spared the damages of his failures. Eight year old Carl had written about him at school, talking about how his dad was a hero and he wanted to be just like him when he grew up. He wondered what he thought of him now. He wondered what his own parents would have thought if they could see him.

Carl made it a hobby to turn most discussions into battles on good days; today had been a bad one. After months of arguments he had finally stopped antagonizing his teachers, but he still barely got on with the other kids in the community. Rick steeled himself.

He was taken aback when Carl's eyes drifted to the floor, focusing on the dirty laces of his shoes.

"You said you trusted me."

"This isn't about trust, Carl, you're a child." He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. It seemed like whenever they moved two steps forwards they took three steps back.

"You can help from here," he said, hoping for some middle ground. "The community will need watching, Glenn and Carol will use your help."

"Do you even—" Carl stopped. His mouth opened then closed before he shook his head, frowning.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Rick could see him slowly retreating into himself. This is how it was nowadays. Everything had turned out wrong but Carl refused to talk and Rick didn't know how to fix it. He wondered if this was how he had made Lori feel; she always complained that he never spoke enough.

Carl went to the chair and took his jacket.

"Carl," he approached the teen, "talk to me."

"It's nothing dad, geez." He pulled his jacket on. "You don't want me there, I get it. Can I go home now?"

The scowl on his face did nothing but emphasize his youth. "Yeah, yeah you can go home," he agreed. "But first I need you to look at me."

Carl met his gaze and Rick almost flinched at the accusation there.

He swallowed. "It's my job to keep you safe," he said. "No matter how well you can handle yourself it'll always be my job."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "I trust you, I do – but more than that I want you somewhere safe. Out there you have to fight no matter how old or able you are, but here you can still be a child, Carl. There's nothing wrong with embracing that. I want you to embrace it."

Carl shoved his hands in his pockets and ground his heel on invisible pebbles.

"Can I go now?"

He nodded. "Don't stay up too late."

The words barely left his mouth before the teen threw the hood of his jacket on and flew down the stairs.

Rick sighed as the door slammed a few seconds later. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the empty street beneath him and the world that he had built.

XxXPITMXxX

It was almost midnight when the purr of Daryl's bike reached him. His shift ended over two hours ago but Rick stayed on watch, patrolling the walls of the community. He abandoned the watchtower when his replacement arrived; Steve was prone to too much chatter and Rick had far too little patience as it was.

He closed the gates and jogged after the jeep that had followed after Daryl.

"How was it?"

"Rain fucked everything." Daryl got off the bike and adjusted the straps of his crossbow.

"Wasn't all useless," Aaron closed the jeep and joined them. "We tracked them down as far as Charlottesville before the trail went cold."

"Somethin's definitely going on," Daryl said. "You was right about that."

It was the response he had expected but he was still disappointed. They had used their last stores of petrol for this. They couldn't afford to take more from their farming machines. Whatever they did from now on they would have to stick to horses, and as valuable as the creatures were they would never compare to the convenience of modern transport. It seemed that times were finally catching up with them; the Kingdom had fully transitioned to horses months ago and the Hilltop long before that.

"How big do you think it'll be?" he asked.

"Hard to tell. We still ain't got a clue where their base is, Charlottesville could be just another dead end."

"We don't know if the people we followed are actually part of that crew either," Aaron added. "They could have easily been copycats."

"True," he nodded, "but copycats are inspired by something. Even if they're a completely different crew they'll eventually lead us to the lake. It's where they get inspired."

Aaron smiled. "Times like this I believe you actually were a cop."

Daryl snorted. Rick cocked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"So, what's the game here?" Aaron looked at him curiously. "Do we inform the Union?"

"No." He'd been thinking of this all day and had finally made his choice. "They've had their chance, from now on we do things our way. We'll protect the Union as best as we can but Alexandria's our first priority. If they fall, I won't allow us to be dragged down beside them."

"You want to cut them off?" Aaron asked, his expression turning grim.

"Not quite," Rick gave a thin smile. "If they want to join us they can, but they'll have to accept a different kind of playboard. I'm done with the pussyfooting."

"Fuckin' amen to that." Daryl pulled a crumpled pack of a cigarettes from his pocket.

Rick studied Aaron. The man was the first of the original Alexandrians to come to their side. As far as Rick was concerned he was family, but he was also one of the more pacifist of their rag-tag band.

"You have something in mind?" he asked.

"I wish I did," Aaron shook his head, "but no. If there's an alternative, I just can't see it right now. I'd rather we worked with the Union but I think you're right." Aaron looked between the two of them and released a sigh. "So how do we do this? Is it war?"

Rick squeezed his shoulder. "We'll take it slow," he said. "We don't need to do anything except wait, keep tracking and be ready."

"They're the ones on the attack," Aaron noted.

"Exactly," he looked at the houses in front them. "For their attack to ever be complete they'll eventually have to show themselves. But they can't do that without leaving their asses completely exposed."

"That's when we strike," Daryl said, blowing a trail of smoke behind him.

He gave a single nod. "If we do it right, it'll be the only time we'll ever have to."

"I'm guessing meeting tomorrow?" Aaron gave a dry laugh. "You know that most people aren't gonna like leaving the Union out of this, right?"

"They'll get a chance to air their views, Gabriel and Deanna can sort that out."

He just hoped they didn't flood his home every two seconds seeking reassurances. It was enough to make him miss the days when they thought him unhinged. It was true they had come a long way, but some people were under the illusion that they had made it when reality was so much more fragile. They were living in a war zone and nothing but the will to survive was just. Looking around he couldn't entirely blame them. If he ignored the walls and the watchtowers he could imagine this being another King County; one where the houses were a hell of a lot more expensive, and every backyard had vegetable patches or fruits being grown, and people travelled in horse drawn carriages – but a normal town all the same. Some residents even greeted him as Sheriff Grimes. The first time he heard it the world had gone askew. His entire life had sometimes felt like a prelude to that moment when his name was announced, and that sheriff badge was pinned to his breast pocket, (the photograph hung in their abandoned living room, his smile frozen between those of his parents – Lori had been happy that day).

He felt like an imposter.

"It ain't Deanna and Gabe they'll wanna hear from." Daryl gave him a pointed look.

Rick cocked his head in acknowledgement. "I'll deal with it when the time comes. I want a family meeting tomorrow, Maggie isn't getting any better."

Aaron stopped walking. "How bad?"

"We'll have to get Denise back."

"I'll head out first thing," Daryl said.

"No. You and Aaron need to be here, y'all have been doing the actual tracking so you can't miss those meetings. Sasha and Heath will go to the Kingdom tomorrow."

Aaron nodded. "I'll go by the infirmary, see how they're holding up."

"See you tomorrow man," Daryl said.

Aaron gave them a mock salute as he walked away.

"Where did you get the cigs?" he asked.

"They were actually in the Jeep," Daryl looked smug. "I might get Carol to trade something. How's Carl doin'?"

He sighed. "Much of the same."

"It'll get better," Daryl offered. "Y'all are just too hard on each other."

"You're probably right," he agreed. "I just wish I could do something to help him."

"Not much you can do about grief," Daryl looked at him with sympathy. "Just keep being there for him and let it run its course."

Rick made a sound of acknowledgement.

Jessie Anderson was on her porch lifting a basket of what looked to be the scraps of metal she used for her sculptures. Their eyes locked as she stood and Jessie froze, for a moment looking like the embodiment of a deer caught in the headlights. Rick gave a polite nod and returned his gaze forward. From the corner of his eyes he saw her wave awkwardly at Daryl before hurrying into her house.

A year ago he probably would have followed her inside or invited her to his home. Now he simply wanted to erase all memories of ever being there.

"You wanna ask?"

"I can ask about Carl, but that right there," Daryl tilted his head towards Jessie's house. "It ain't none of my business."

"I didn't ask if you were going to, I asked if you wanted to."

Daryl shrugged in that lazy way he had. "I ain't judging."

"But I was still a piece of shit, right?"

"She weren't for you." Daryl glanced at him. "Just took you awhile to see it."

He laughed. It sounded bitter and mirthless to his own ears. "Oh I saw it," he said. "I just didn't give a shit. What kind of man does that make me you reckon?"

Daryl gave him a worried look. This man was a brother to him in all but blood, but there were some things even he would struggle to understand. Or perhaps the problem was that he would understand it all so perfectly, and that would make the reality of it too final to bear. Maggie had suggested he book some therapy sessions with Denise. She reminded him so much of Hershel in those moments and he wished, not for the first time, that things had worked out differently. He wished a lot of things had turned out differently.

"There ain't none of us fully right at this point." Daryl gave him a brief pat on the shoulder, it may as well have been a hug. "But you're a good man." He paused. "Maybe when Denise gets back it won't be a bad idea to speak with her."

Rick looked down at his left hand. His thumb drawing small circles on the skin where his wedding band used to be.

"Nah," he said. "There are more important things to deal with right now."

XxXPITMXxX

Rick entered the dark house and made his way upstairs. It was always so disproportionately quiet at night when compared to the bustle that took place there in the daytime. It was the house he and his people had piled into four years ago when they first arrived in Alexandria. It was far too big for he and Carl alone, but at the time everyone had insisted that he keep it. To fully utilise the space, he had turned the majority of it into an office of sorts, a focal point for the administrative running of the community. Various meetings took place in its rooms and people were constantly milling about. Apart from the kitchen, the only area that belonged to them alone was upstairs.

Rick glanced in Carl's room before making his was way to his own. It was a habit Carl would no doubt scoff at if he were ever told, but it was his own type of therapy. Seeing his son alive and safe was the anchor that stopped him from completely falling into the abyss – that place where phantom voices cursed him in the dark.

And then there was her.

She was alive, somewhere. He felt it in his bones and every echo of his breath but she may have as well have been dead, in this world where a week could span a lifetime and everything else was circumstantial. She let him be. And that made her the worst type of phantom because it was still her touch he would imagine and her lips he would feel and her moans he would hear when Jessie lay beneath him.

"I came to Washington like you wanted, Michonne," he whispered.

Rick closed his eyes but no one answered.

A/N: next chapter we'll see where Michonne's at. Thanks for reading and do let me know your thoughts :)