A/N: The majority spoke, so here is the story in full! I'm sorry it took so long to publish. This is a companion piece to Try, so if you haven't read that story, please do, because this one contains a lot of references to it and is a continuation of Michonne and Rick's emotional journey.
The Dawn, Part 1
Carl was at the door, but the peephole was too high for him to see. His father was slumped against the couch with an amazed smile on his bruised face. "Dad, who is it? Who is it?!" he whispered urgently.
Rick looked at him, unable to believe the words he was about to utter. "It's Michonne." Or he was seeing things again. He was about to find out, because Carl took off like a shot to pull back the couch.
It was heavier than it looked. Carl would ask his dad for help if he was feeling any better. Rick did what he could by moving away from the couch to slump against the door. He looked through the peephole again.
There she was. Still there. Crying, and smiling, and visibly relieved. He hoped to God that he wasn't making her up.
She knocked again.
"We're coming!" Carl yelled, his heart thundering in his chest. He wouldn't believe that it was Michonne until he saw her for himself. When he'd created enough space, he moved to the other end of the couch and pushed it with his lower back, using his legs to propel himself.
Once there was enough space, he moved to quickly untie the door lock he'd set up: an hdmi cord, one end tied to the door handle and the other tied to a structure on the wall. It would also serve to slow anyone down if they barged through the door.
He finished untying the cord from the handle and hurriedly whispered, "Dad, move."
Rick hobbled away from the door.
Carl wrenched it open. And there she was.
There he was. Michonne looked down at the little figure before her, unprepared for the emotions that flooded her. Relief, love, comfort, familiarity. Happiness. Vindication. She'd decided to try, and here they were. She removed the sword from her back and kneeled, stretching out her arms.
Carl took off and slammed his body into hers in his haste to hug her. She didn't falter, though. And for the first time in a long time, he was lifted off of his feet.
Michonne gathered him and stood, and he wrapped his legs around her. She shivered from the fierceness with which he hugged her. She completely fell apart, crying as she alternated between hugging him tight and touching all over his back and head to make sure that he was really there, that she'd really found him. To go from wandering among walkers to this intense show of what it meant to be aliveā¦
Her chest heaved as she cried. She carried Carl's full weight and crossed the threshold to enter the house.
"How'd you find us?" Carl asked as he faced her, his voice hitching from his unshed tears.
"I tracked you," she said, smiling as she absorbed his beautiful face into her memories. "From a candy wrapper and some footprints," she said in disbelief. It could have been impossible. The trail could've turned cold. She could have found their dead bodies. Or she could have found them lifelessly roaming around, ready and willing to attack her when she found them.
But none of that came to pass. They were alive.
"You found us," Carl said, smiling. Just like his father had found him and his mother a year ago.
"I did," Michonne whispered as she ran her hand over his hair.
She looked at Rick, then.
Rick tried to stand taller, as if he hadn't been all but dead earlier. As he looked at her, if someone, some divine being asked him what he wanted in that specific moment, he would answer that he wanted her to rush into his arms the way Carl had rushed into hers. The worst thing imaginable had happened to him. And now Michonne had delivered herself to his doorstep. Again.
"You look a lot worse for wear," she quipped softly, so happy to see him.
"You should've seen me earlier," he responded hoarsely.
"He was unconscious. Forever," Carl supplied. He extended his legs, and Michonne set him down.
One of Rick's shirt sleeves was completely gone. His left eye was smaller than his right eye, and he had an ugly cut on his cheek.
She had no problem believing that he'd looked worse earlier. She'd practically carried him after she'd saved him from the Governor.
She couldn't stop staring at him, however. Not because of how he looked, but because he was standing in front of her. She'd found him.
"I don't get get a hug?" Rick asked. He sounded light-hearted, but now that he'd said it he seriously wondered if she would hug him.
He stopped wondering when she took large steps to get to him and cradled his still-tender face.
Michonne committed every detail to her memories. Closing her eyes, she hugged him.
Rick's eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed into her, splaying his hands on her back to touch as much of her as possible. And similar to Carl, Michonne ran her hand down his back to reassure herself. And to let him know that she was alive, too.
They separated, and she gently cradled his face again, her smile wide and her eyes wet. He was smiling, too, and she thought to herself that she could not have continued on with walkers when there was a chance that she could see his smile again.
Just one more to go, and her day would be complete. "Where's Judith?" she asked expectantly as she lowered her hands.
Rick's beautiful smile slowly fell away, so slowly that she didn't understand. His eyes clouded. His lips parted. And she didn't understand. She searched his face, trying to get it. Trying to figure out why his face was changing.
Her smile wobbled, but it was still intact, even as her stomach fell to her feet. She refused it. She refused the dread that tried to fill her. She looked to Carl, who had moved around to keep her in his line of sight when she'd gone to hug his father.
"Where is she?" she asked, forcing her smile to stay in place, forcing it to be as strong and bright as it had been when Carl had opened the door. As bright as it had been just two precious, blissful seconds ago when she'd been hugging Rick.
She tried to say something to Carl, maybe ask where again, but her voice stuck. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she thought it was nothing. Nothing. There was no reason for them.
She looked at Rick again.
There was no reason for them.
"She-"
He couldn't speak either.
Michonne bit her lip and took two steps back, her eyes darting between the two of them as a cold sweat broke out on her skin. Carl. She wanted him to take his eyes off of the floor.
He did, and they were shining with unshed tears when he fixed them on her.
"No," she said defiantly. She looked at Rick and shook her head.
"We, uh-"
Stuck. Again.
"No," she repeated. She scanned what she could see of the house, and she trained her ears, listening for Judith. A babble, a cry, something to let her know that she was nestled somewhere, out of sight and safe.
"Michonne," Rick called her.
She looked at him, and his tears fell. And her heart broke. "No," she whispered. She covered her face with her hands, and her own dam broke.
Carl came up to hug her, and she kneeled to return it. His body shook as he cried, and her heart shattered into smaller pieces. "No," she cried.
Not after Andre. Not after she'd dreamed about him and been reminded of why she needed to try, why she needed to make the effort and risk finding them. All three of them.
Rick limped forward to close the short distance between them. She lifted Carl again and shifted him to one arm, and she held her hand out to Rick. He walked into the embrace. He put one arm under hers beneath Carl's butt and the other around her waist. He rested his head against the crook of her neck as she and Carl each put an arm around his shoulders.
Carl openly cried while Rick suffered silently through his grief.
When her arm fell asleep under Carl's weight, she shifted to set him down, and Rick disengaged from her.
"What happened?" she asked Rick once she'd straightened. Usually, she would mind Carl, but it was clear that he knew what had happened, so there was no need to protect him.
As a matter of fact, it was he who answered when Rick only shook his head. "The walkers got her. We went to find her, and her...the car seat was empty. There was blood all over it."
Michonne shook her head. A sliver of hope. That was her immediate reaction. "That doesn't mean anything," she said to Rick. She looked at Carl again. "You didn't see her? I mean...you didn't see a body?"
Carl frowned, not understanding why seeing a body would've made things any better. "There was blood."
"I know, but that doesn't mean-"
"Michonne," Rick stopped her.
She looked at him, and helplessness made her blood run cold. So much gunfire. So many people. So many walkers. The invasion had been fucking vicious. If a walker hadn't gotten Judith, a stray bullet would have.
They'd been woefully unprepared.
The news of Judith's death dampened the happiness and relief they'd all felt upon reuniting. Rick offered her some of the dry cereal he and Carl had been eating, and she gratefully accepted. She was starving. First, however, she retrieved her katana from the porch. She cast her eyes about the street to make sure no one else was around, and then she went back inside and closed the door.
She pushed the couch to the door while Carl tied the cord around the door handle again.
Carl and Rick sat with their backs against the couch, and she sat facing them. She took off her gloves to eat. She asked them about the house.
"It's got three bedrooms: one master, two kids. Two bathrooms, a balcony, kitchen's pretty narrow, and it's got a basement you can only access from the inside. There are three dead bodies down there."
Her heart jumped. "There are dead bodies in here?"
"Yeah. Two women, one man. All look to be in their sixties. They opted out."
"I told him all of this, except for the ages," Carl said. "He just had to make sure for himself."
Michonne smiled at him. Shifting her gaze to his father, she said, "Shouldn't have been straining yourself, Rick."
"I double checked. An extra pair of eyes never hurt."
She took a deep breath and released it. "So it's just us."
"Far as we know," Rick said.
"Did you see anyone?" Carl asked.
"No. I didn't make it that far from the prison, but I never saw anyone. Never even heard anyone. I...I saw everything that happened, and I...I left."
Her eyes were on the burgundy rug on which Rick and Carl sat, but her mind was on Hershel. She was jostled out of her reverie when Carl hugged her. Surprised, she smiled and returned his hug, closing her eyes.
"I thought...I thought he was gonna kill you," he said on her shoulder.
"I thought it for a second," Michonne replied. "But thinking about it now, I think he'd already made up his mind. He knew he who he was willing to kill. I don't know why it wasn't me. Maybe he hoped to make it worse for me."
Carl let her go and sat on his knees.
"I'm so happy to see you," she said quietly, as she lifted her hand to caress his cheek.
"I'm happy to see you, too," Carl beamed.
She ruffled the back of his hair, and he scooted back to rejoin Rick.
"I went on a run on my own today," he declared.
"Yeah?" She looked at Rick, impressed.
Rick shrugged. "I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't even know when he left."
"Wait, so you brought this stash?" she asked Carl.
"Yep. I fought walkers, too."
Her impressed look swiftly turned to one of worry.
"I'm fine," Carl said. "Obviously. But here's what happened."
It was the second time that Rick was hearing the story, and Carl looked a lot more excited to tell it to Michonne. He smiled, content to look at her while he listened to him.
After concluding his story, Carl asked Michonne what happened after she left the prison. He asked her if she ran into any walkers of her own. She kept her answer simple. She said yes and that she had taken care of them.
After they finished lunch, Michonne checked out the house for herself. An extra pair of eyes never hurt.
The trio in the basement were Asian-American. Michonne found this interesting, because the pictures in the house were of a White family. She wondered how the trio had made it to the house. She wondered how long they'd survived before they'd decided there was no way out. She wondered what they'd survived. Their tattered clothes told her that they hadn't been in the house long enough to avail themselves of what was in the closets. Or maybe they simply hadn't seen the need.
From the looks of things, they had each pulled the trigger. One of the women had been the last. Carl had taken the Beretta from her lap when he'd found the bodies.
Michonne left the basement and closed the door behind her.
Carl had found food but not enough. They had two jars of pickles, the box of cereal, one box of oatmeal, a bag of cheese puffs, and five bottles of water. She was worried.
Before she focused on that problem, though, she decided to rummage through the closets to look for fresh clothes for her, Carl, and Rick. Carl wanted to help her sort the clothes, but she told him to stay downstairs with his father. However, Rick offered to join her wherever she was, so she helped him up the stairs to the master bedroom. She and Carl used that room as the base and gathered the clothes from the other two bedrooms.
They decided not to change their clothes until tomorrow. There was no point in changing tonight. Until they had more water, they couldn't use the bottles they had for anything but hydration anyway.
It was a problem. They didn't have enough water to drink comfortably, and they didn't have enough food to last one week. Not for the three of them. That was a problem for her, especially because of Carl.
Rick watched her as she separated the clothes, and he could see the wheels turning in her head.
When she and Carl were done separating, Michonne announced a plan to go for a run first thing tomorrow. Carl volunteered to go with her. She shot him down.
"You need to stay and take care of your dad," she said. "He can't be alone."
Carl looked at Rick for backup, and Michonne was surprised that the senior Grimes hadn't objected along with her.
"I'll see how I'm feeling in the morning," Rick said to Carl as he rested against the headboard. "If I'm not good enough, then you can go with her."
Carl turned to her with a smile.
She ignored him and focused on Rick. "Excuse me. You can't be left alone. I almost carried you up the stairs."
"Not almost. It was worse yesterday. I walked to this house, you know."
"That's probably why you fell unconscious as soon as you got here. You shouldn't be moving. Or straining yourself," she said, remembering that he'd checked out the entire house. "You need to rest."
"I plan to do that tonight," he said lightly.
Michonne gave him a flat look. He wasn't taking this as seriously as she was. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure he was bantering with her. She saw the little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
She let the matter go. She could put her foot down tomorrow.
She put her hands on her hips and asked, "Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable?"
"No," he answered. "We can't use the water to clean me up, so I'm good."
She agreed about the water. She walked over to his side of the bed and sat down. She put the back of her hand to his forehead and then his right temple.
"You're a little too warm, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. Do you feel cold or anything?"
"No, just some pain. A lot of some pain."
She smiled and shook her head. At least he was in a jokey mood. Before she dropped her hand, she surreptitiously caressed his temple. The way he looked at her told her that she wasn't that surreptitious.
"Wanna play a game?" she asked suddenly as she turned to Carl.
"A game?" Carl asked with interest.
"Yeah."
"Sure," he shrugged, immediately remembering the one time that they'd played baseball at the prison. While she'd been gone, after the week during which his dad had given her a tour of the prison, he'd asked Rick if they could find a baseball, or something similar to one, a bat and maybe some gloves so that he could show Michonne how to play baseball when she returned. He'd known that the gloves part had been a stretch. Nevertheless, they'd made it happen. His dad had taken him on a run, just the two of them, and they'd found everything they'd needed.
When Michonne had returned, they'd played a fun and hilarious game in the prison yard. He'd come up with their team name, the King County Asskickers. Judith had been the owner of their team. The King County Asskickers had consisted of him, his dad, Michonne, Daryl, Maggie, Bob, Mika, Dr. Caleb, and Tyreese.
On the other side, Glenn had named the team the Atlanta GuardTowers. Unbeknownst to him, Rick and Daryl had given Glenn a knowing look, figuring he and Maggie had gotten nasty in one of the guard towers very recently. Unbeknownst to him, Maggie had wanted to strangle Glenn for the name.
The Atlanta GuardTowers had consisted of Glenn, Beth, Sasha, Lizzie, Carol, Karen, David, Zach, and Patrick.
He'd been convinced that Karen hated Zach by the end of the game; Maggie and Glenn had talked smack about each other and each other's team; and he'd laughed and laughed until no sound came out.
Remembering that day felt so good that he almost thought the prison was still standing. He almost thought they could go home. But they couldn't. The prison was gone and so were most of the people who'd lived in it, more likely than not.
"I'll play," he answered again. "What can we play though?"
"Charades," Michonne answered as she stood. It was her favorite game. But she immediately saw a problem. Carl would most likely not get her pop culture references, and he and Andre weren't in the same age group. She had no idea what he'd watched or listened to before the change.
So she used Rick as a bridge. He could guess, but he wasn't going to act anything out in his condition. When it was her turn to act, he whispered to her a movie that Carl had seen, song he'd listened to, or book he'd read. She didn't need his help as much with the books, because she used the ones she'd brought him from her search for the Governor, acting out titles and characters.
Rick was very judgmental about her and Carl's acting skills. They challenged him to do better when he got better. Rick knew that he'd made himself a target for the two of them, but he looked forward to it.
They played until the sun got low in the sky, laughing with and at each other.
As sunlight faded, Michonne asked Carl if he wanted to eat anything, telling him it was okay if he ate a little more. He declined, revealing that he'd eaten a full can of chocolate pudding earlier.
Michonne raised her eyebrows. "You're lucky you're not sick. Maybe I should keep my eye on you tonight. Speaking of which, I'll keep watch," she announced. "I'll sleep on the couch. You're in this bed, Rick, and Carl you can join him."
"I can have my own room," Carl suggested.
"Is that okay?" she asked Rick.
"Yeah. But there's no one to relieve you."
"It's fine, and don't you dare suggest something different."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said with a smirk.
He was flirting with her again. Michonne kept her composure.
She and Carl collected sheets and pillows from the third bedroom and made her bed downstairs on the couch.
Once they were done, she pulled the couch away from the door and said, "I'm gonna do a round around the neighborhood to make sure we're still the only ones here. Can you put the food in the kitchen, please?"
"Yeah," Carl said, and he got started.
"I'm gonna tell your dad I'll be back."
When she stepped into the room, Rick was lying on the bed with his shoes off.
"You should've waited for me to do that for you," she said as she approached the bed.
"I had it," he said.
"You shouldn't-"
"Be straining myself," he finished for her. "I'm fine, Michonne. I mean, clearly not fine, but I'm not broken."
"You're clearly broken," she deadpanned.
"I mean I'm not impotent."
"I just don't want you to do anything to set your recovery back."
They shared a silent moment, then. He recognized that she was worried. She had reason to be. He felt terrible and not just physically. "I wanna talk to you," he quietly said to her.
"I know," she returned quietly. She saw the sadness in his eyes and wanted to hold him. "I wanna talk to you, too. I'm gonna go scout the neighborhood, make sure we can sleep with both eyes closed. I'll...I'll tuck Carl in when I come back, or at least make sure he's okay, and then we'll talk."
He nodded, hoping she would do the fastest scouting ever so that she could be back here with him.
She hesitated and wondered if she should kiss him. Her uncertainty was evidence of the trauma of the Governor's attack. It was so sudden and destroyed everything in its path. How long must the whole thing have taken? Five minutes? Seven? In seven minutes, her whole way of life had changed.
Because of seven minutes, she had to change her outlook of the future. She had to differentiate between what was still possible and what wasn't. Ending her search for the Governor and staying at the prison was no longer possible. Kissing Rick, however, that was still possible. That hadn't changed. She hoped. Grief and trauma did things to people.
"Come here," Rick said as he extended a hand out.
A hesitant smile twitched on her lips. It hadn't changed.
She took the steps to get her next to him, and she leaned in and kissed him, chastely pressing her lips against his, thankful for the contact, for the sameness.
She lifted to find that his eyes were still closed. He opened them, and she saw what she felt reflected back to her. Thankfulness.
"Come back," he said sadly.
"I always do."
