Chapter 1

Meeting Again For the First Time

Barely able to keep the lids open

At times I might think I need the rest

But who would want to go back there?

Her leg was bleeding profusely. Even more than the extreme pain she felt and her utter weariness, the fact that the walker guts might not work this time, was prominently on her mind.

"They'll smell me this time," she whispered. "They'll smell me and tear me apart before I even get a glimpse of what or who is in that fucking prison."

Michonne looked wistfully at her destination. It looked like the perfect stronghold. What could be better than a prison to keep the unwanted out? Or was that in? She was practically dead on her feet at this point and couldn't be bothered to figure it out. She was tired. Tired of walking, tired of fighting, tired of hiding, tired of being hungry; but mostly, she was so tired of being alone. After her brief time with Andrea, she realized that even after everything that had happened, she was still a social being. And she needed some semblance of a society to survive. It was unnatural to be alone all the time ...she was just so tired.

"Fuck it," she declared quietly. "If they get me this time at least I'll finally be able to stop walking."

She winced after she said this because she knew if those monsters got her, there was a good chance that she actually would continue walking. Just like them. Michonne pushed that disturbing and almost paralyzing thought to the back of her mind. She couldn't afford to let that direction of thought take over. If she allowed that, she was as good as dead anyway.

Still about 100 yards away from the prison and shrouded in shadows, Michonne surveyed the area she thought would be the best place to approach. Her plan was to get as close to the gate as she could, without making whoever was in there too nervous about her being so close to the entrance of their make-shift home. While she was still looking over the gates and trying to determine if she could even make it, she noticed an old man, a fairly younger man, and what looked to be a child, walking together. They could have been grandfather, father, and son for all she knew, but honestly, at that moment, she could give a shit. They were there, and she almost cried out at the fact that she was seeing living, breathing humans again. But, them coming out also changed her plan. Instead of getting as close as she could to the gate, she'd walk, slowly, toward them.

She silently hoped that they wouldn't shoot her, but if they did… "Hopefully it'll be a head shot," Michonne said to no one.

They were comfortable in there, Michonne could tell. Even before she got close enough to hear that they were talking about what to plant in their garden, she could see it. They practically ignored the few walkers that were clinging to their fence, and - lucky for Michonne - the walkers ignored her. She knew that wouldn't last long because of the way her leg refused to stop bleeding.

She couldn't figure out a way to signal the living without drawing the attention of the dead, so she kept walking. And waited. The walkers were getting closer to her, the closer she got to the fence, but still, none of them went after her.

Finally, after what felt like hours to Michonne, but probably wasn't more than a couple of minutes, the middle-aged man in the little gardening group lifted his head like he was listening for something, and then happened to glance her way. It looked to Michonne, like he could sense something other than the usual walking dead reaching blindly at their fence. When she caught his eye, she begged him with her own eyes to see her. He was looking, but she couldn't tell if he could actually see her. She made her last steps to the fence and grabbed at it in desperation, hoping against hope he didn't think she was like her current companions.

She didn't moan. That's what made Rick realize she was not one of them. She was alive, but how? How in the fuck was she able to walk among the walkers?

Their heads tilted at the same time while they looked at each other. Michonne, because she was just too tired to do anything else and Rick, because he thought he was having another hallucination. He started to open his mouth to say something to her, though he had no fucking clue what he could possibly say, but he never got the chance anyway. One of the walkers finally realized that there was a possible meal very close, and it wouldn't even have to walk through the fence to get at it. It turned and sniffed at Michonne.

Fortunately, when greeted with the real possibility of death, Michonne promptly discarded the "I'm too tired to live" bullshit, pulled out her sword and started swinging. Her initial ferocity surprised the man behind the gate, but the fact that she was rapidly slowing down, pulled him out of his daze.

"Carl!" he yelled at his son. Amazingly, the youngest one of what Michonne had come to think of as The Gardening Group, shot one of the walkers that was staggering up behind her, right between the eyes and almost simultaneously tossed the man the keys to open the gate. The fact that this child was so efficient took her mind off of the fact that when the "father" called Carl's name, his voice triggered something in her. She didn't have time to focus on that though. Michonne really was slowly running out of steam. It was getting harder and harder to pull her sword back to strike. Her arms started to feel as if they were filled with wet sand. The lack of food, constant movement, and her wound were going to be the death of her it seemed, after all. Finally, with an anguished sigh, she discovered that she couldn't do it anymore. Her arms refused to move. She couldn't even try and run because it seemed that her legs had given out on her as well. As she fell to the ground, one of the dead began hovering over her with its mouth (or what was left of a mouth) opened to take a bite out of her. Even with this thing about to eat her alive, she only had two thoughts; the first one was "I was so close," and the second one was "I know him". But, before she even had a chance to contemplate any sort of response to those thoughts, she was comfortably blanketed by unconsciousness.

Rick Grimes and his son Carl made quick work of the leftover walkers that were trying to get at the downed woman. When it was clear, Rick ran over to grab her and bring her inside, but he was stopped short and he lost his breath as he looked down at her. His son was standing just inside the gate, covering his dad, but couldn't understand why he had suddenly stopped. He was just staring at her.

"Dad?"

Hearing his son's voice snapped Rick out of his disorientation. He reached down and picked up this person who looked exactly like the woman from all those years ago. The woman that should have been his wife and the mother of his children. Not forgetting her sword, he got her inside as quickly as he could with Carl right on his heels, and Hershel bringing up the rear as fast as he could hobble. Rick lay, who he thought could have been his Michonne, carefully down on the cold stone floor of the prison entrance, but didn't want to look at her. He knew that he was hallucinating again and that whoever this woman was, was not who he thought (or wished) she was.

Finally, Hershel made it to the prison entrance having to push his way through lots of curious residents. He watched as Rick quickly looked over this woman that could seemingly walk among the dead, as he searched for bites or any other kind of wounds. He knew Rick would want to make the initial inspection himself. If he found a bite, he would promptly put the woman down.

"Her thigh has a pretty deep cut, maybe a stab wound, but I can't find any bites," Rick said to Hershel.

"Then, we need to take her to the infirmary. I can't treat her in here on this floor."

Rick picked up this strange new woman, but made sure not to look at her face. He couldn't bear to see Michonne's face again when he knew it wasn't really there. So he looked straight ahead, and rushed, as much as he could, to the infirmary, wondering the whole way there why his mind was torturing him like this. Lori was one thing, but Michonne…his fucking Michonne. This shit was just cruel. He couldn't figure it out, and at that moment, he didn't want to. He'd resigned himself to just chalking it up to being fucking crazy.

"Do you think you're gonna need any help here?" Rick asked Hershel as he watched the man prepare to clean up her leg wound.

Hershel cautiously watched Rick as he paced back and forth about the small space they had reserved for their injured. He noticed that Rick pointedly did not look at the woman lying on the table. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew Rick was going through a bit of a mental break. The last thing Hershel wanted was to be trapped in a room with Rick if he had a psychotic episode, with only the body of a woman who may or may not be able to commune with the dead separating them, and one fucking leg.

"I think I'll be okay here. She's out and…" Rick didn't let him finish. Once he heard that Hershel thought he'd be okay, he had to get out. He'd risked a glimpse at the unconscious woman and she was still wearing Michonne's face. He had to go.

He went back to where he laid the woman down before Hershel informed him of the need to get her to the infirmary. He needed to find the woman's sword and he wanted to check on Carl. When he got there, it seemed like practically everyone was there, all gathered around the sword like they'd never seen one before. He slowly realized that Carl was relaying the happenings of the 'rescue'.

"She was swingin' that thing," he pointed to the sword that was still propped on the wall where his dad left it, "like she was in Afro Samurai! It was amazin'! I could kind of tell she was tired, but she didn't stop until she passed out. Then, me and my dad had to…"

"Carl, that's enough." Rick interrupted trying not to laugh at his excited son and even more excited audience. "They don't need a complete blow by blow," he said as he smiled down at him.

He needed to talk to Carl, privately, and he couldn't do it as long as Carl had a crowd enthralled by a story which seemed to be exactly like all the rest. Someone was always needing to be saved. But, if Rick were honest with himself, he knew that this one had a slight twist.

He looked at all the faces in the crowd and addressed them since they were there. Something he hadn't done in what felt like ages to him.

"I don't want any of you goin' into the infirmary unless you have no other choice. We don't know this person," he grimaced when he said that and hoped no one noticed, "and until we can get some answers from her, I want y'all to stay clear."

"You takin' over again?" Daryl asked from the back of the crowd.

"…Yeah," Rick said looking at his friend. Even though he was hesitant about it, he knew it needed to be done. She'd walked right up to their gates and no one sounded an alarm. She was almost right upon Carl, Hershel, and himself before he even noticed. Yeah, he needed to lead again.

"'Bout damn time," Daryl said as he walked away. Rick could only nod in agreement. He knew Daryl didn't fully understand what was going on with him, and when Rick finally did tell him, he'd probably get cussed out for not trusting Daryl with his pain, but he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Right now though, he needed to get his shit together and for that, he needed his boy.

Carl looked at his dad, a bit confused. He said that they didn't know the new woman, be he had the feeling that that wasn't true. At least for his father, anyway. He sure looked like he knew her when they were outside clearing those walkers so they could grab her and bring her in. He'd let it go, for now. He was too excited to hear that his dad was taking over again. Now, hopefully, he wouldn't have to be a farmer anymore.

Rick saw Carol making her way over to the sword, and made a beeline for it to get at it before she did.

"I'll just put this away," Rick said reaching the sword a mere beat before Carol was able to pick it up.

"I wasn't going to steal it Rick. I just wanted to see it."

"I know you weren't gonna steal it," he assured her. "But, have you ever handled a sword before?"

"No, of course not," Carol said.

"Well then, I'd prefer if your curiosity didn't cost you or someone around you a few fingers," he said smiling at her, trying to ease the blow he knew he was delivering.

Carol was getting better at taking care of herself thanks to Daryl, but he still didn't trust her not to hurt herself, or someone else. Not completely anyway. Then despite trying to not make her feel too bad, he did something that was even more insulting than suggesting that her lack of skills would make her or someone else and amputee. He handed the sword to Carl, his 12 year old son. Rick didn't even realize how it would look to tell her that she was not quite ready to handle something as lethal as that sword, and then turn around and give it to his son who balls probably hadn't even dropped yet.

Carol realized it though, and she was inwardly seething. How fucking embarrassing. Not even good enough to hold a sword, let alone use it. She'd made up her mind, right then and there, to fix that. She went looking for Daryl.

Relieved that Carol was finally gone, and oblivious to her hurt feelings, he turned to his son.

"Carl, I think I might have a small problem," Rick said, already hating that he was about to put more of his problems on his son. He had no choice though. Carl was the only one he completely trusted with his current issues.

"You knew that woman, didn't you," Carl asked. To his credit, he waited until he and his father were out of earshot of anyone. This is why Carl was Rick's go to.

"No, I don't know her. She just looks like someone that I knew a long time ago. Someone I loved," he said hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure how his boy would ingest that information, so he waited for Carl to respond.

"You loved someone before mom?"

"Yeah," he said as he raked his hand over his face tiredly.

"What was her name?" Carl asked, very curious.

"Her name was…Michonne."

"If you loved her, why didn't you marry her instead of mom?" Carl asked.

Rick looked at his son. There was no anger or misplaced jealousy. Carl was genuinely curious about his dad's past life that didn't include him, Judith, or even his mom. Rick didn't know what to say. For years he blamed his father, but also over those years, he'd come to realize that he couldn't lay all of the blame at the man's feet. He had been weak and let himself be influenced by his family, so he was just as much to blame as his father for losing his Michonne. He decided to ignore the question though, knowing full well that if Carl got a bug up his ass about it, he'd hound Rick until he told him everything he wanted to know.

It's already hard enough to say I need it.

Bad memories and good times.

Keep me from believing that I can still jump off.

"I haven't seen your mom in awhile you know," he said, nervous about what he thought was happening to him.

Carl immediately knew what his dad's problem was.

"Dad, that woman was real. I saw her and so did everyone else, remember?" he said gently.

"Yeah, I know she's real…but the way she looks. She looks exactly like my…" He didn't even want to finish that sentence.

"Dad, you have to stop this!" Carl whispered harshly.

Rick looked at his son, a bit surprised by his change in tone.

"I need you dad. Judith needs you. I know that what happened with mom was really hard on you, but," and Carl hated that he had to do this to his dad, but he needed him to get right, "you only had to hear about it. You didn't have to see her die, and you didn't have to put her down when she came back. I'm not saying that because you don't have a right to grieve, but you need to make an effort to try and get past it. Mom's gone, we're still here."

Rick stared at his son, trying to figure out if he should be mad at him, or acquiesce. He knew his child was right though. He did need to get his shit together. The crazy thing was that right before Lori died, she was his absolute least favorite person on this Earth. Of course, that didn't mean that he wanted her dead, but when he found out that she didn't survive the birth of his little girl, he felt like a thousand pound weight was lifted off of his shoulders. Immediately following that almost euphoric feeling of utter relief however, guilt and remorse fell upon him and gripped him like a vice and he just couldn't seem to shake it.

"You're right Carl," he sighed. "I do need to get my shit together. I'm sorry I've not been fully present for you and your sister, but I promise, I'm going to make an effort to get past mom, and be here for you."

"Maybe … maybe you could go with Daryl when he goes on the next run?" Carl suggested tentatively.

Rick chuckled. He could practically see the wheels turning in his boy's head. "Didn't we just agree that I need to be here for you more, now you're trying to send me out on a run," he said shaking his head.

"You also need a break dad. You haven't left the prison since mom died. I think it'll do you some good to get away from here, for at least a little while."

Rick gave his son a hard hug, already feeling better, as a conversation with his son tended to do for him. "We'll see," he said as he kissed his kid on the forehead.

Carl knew better than to push, at least not yet, but he made a note to himself to mention to his 'uncle' Daryl to try and convince his dad to go out with him on this next run. He then realized he still had the samurai woman's sword in his hand and carefully handed it to his dad.

"What are you gonna do with it?" he asked as his father relieved him of his burden.

"Well, for now, I'll just put it up here," Rick replied, laying it carefully on the top bunk of his cell, as close to the wall as he could get it.

"I think the scabbard is still out there. You want to help me look for it?"

"What's a scabbard?" Carl asked.

"The cover, or the sheath that holds the sword so a person doesn't cut their back to shreds while trying to carry it."

"Oh, the case?" Carl asked, wondering why his dad just didn't say that.

"It's called a scabbard, but yeah, the case," he said shaking his head. He felt good. He hadn't felt good in a long time. He probably should have cornered Carl sooner.

They made their way out of the prison to find the other half of the sword Rick had assumed responsibility for, just as Hershel was finishing up on his new patient. She still hadn't woken up, but Hershel figured she probably wouldn't for quite a while. Despite knowing this, he was still a little anxious to speak with her. Even though it was only for a short while, he'd never seen anyone wield a sword the way she did. He wanted to know where she learned that skill. He wanted to know where she came from. Most pressing, how was she able to walk among those walkers? But when he cleaned her off earlier, he thought he may have figured it out. He was even more anxious to share that particular bit of information with everyone else. But the question that was really nagging at him, wasn't even for her. It was for Rick. When he ran out there to bring her in, Hershel thought Rick looked like he'd seen a ghost, only snapping out of his shock… "was it shock I saw in Rick's face?"…when Carl called out to him. He wanted to know who she was to Rick. But, Rick wasn't there and she was still unconscious.

"That's fine," Hershel said to himself. "I can wait." He settled into a chair across the room so he was still be able to keep an eye on his patient and did just that.

About 12 hours later, Michonne finally woke up. The room she was in was dark, despite the moonlight coming through the small window in the infirmary, and unrecognizable. She didn't dare move. Squinting her eyes to still appear asleep in case someone was watching her, she tried to look around the darkened room to the best of her ability. It was to no avail. She knew that if she really wanted to see, she'd need to move her head. Slowly she turned, feeling like she could hear the tendons in her neck creaking like a rusty gate as she tried to see something other than a ceiling. Her eyes fell upon another pair of eyes looking right back at her. She would have yelled in surprise if she hadn't trained herself to go through this latter part of what was now considered life, mostly in silence. After looking into those sea blue eyes for a few more seconds, she spoke quietly.

"What's your name?"

"Carl," the kid said. Nothing more, nothing less. She liked him already, especially after she remembered what he'd done for her.

"Carl is my brother's name. Well, was his name," Michonne said a little sadly.

Snapping herself out of the oncoming funk, she focused on this young boy with her dead brother's name.

"I think I owe you a thank you," she croaked.

Her throat was so dry, like instead of being asleep for all those hours, she'd spent them screaming at the top of her lungs. As if he read her mind, Carl got up and got her one of the bottles of water Hershel set aside for her. He opened it for her and, to her surprise, was going to try and help her drink it. She gently reached out for it, not wanting to scare him, but also not yet knowing the full extent of her injuries. Her arms were tired as hell, but thankfully, they still worked.

"You don't owe me anything," Carl whispered softly, hoping his voice didn't travel further than her. He didn't want to get caught in here, but after what his dad told him earlier, he just had to meet the woman they brought in today. Well, technically yesterday. It was currently 3 o'clock in the morning.

"I think I do," Michonne said softly, after she'd guzzled almost half of the bottled water Carl had given her. "You saved my life today. Thank you."

She noticed he didn't try to hem and haw about rather he'd actually saved her life or not. He just nodded and accepted her thanks. She was looking for a place to put the bottle, but the little table she spotted was too far for her to reach. Carl was immediately at her side. He took the bottle and then pushed the little table closer so that if she needed the water again she could reach it. He even went and got an extra bottle for her. When he sat it down, he looked at her. She looked like she was on her way back to sleep, so he hurried and asked the question he'd come to ask her.

"What's your name?" he asked her softly.

"Michonne," she said even as she drifted off.

He wasn't surprised, though he was glad that his dad wasn't actually losing his mind. It was her, just like he thought. Now, he had to figure out a way to inform his dad of this information without revealing exactly how he got it.

As Michonne floated off, she tried to fight the sleep that was coming down on her like a coma. She needed to know something.

"Who is he?" she asked, sleep slurring her words. Carl heard her though. He knew who she meant.

"His name is Rick," he whispered. He didn't know if she heard him or not because it looked like she fell asleep before she could get his answer. He wasn't worried though. She'd find out soon enough.

Happiness is not having to lie on the floor dead alone.

Happiness is not having to...

Lyrics: Meeting Again For the First Time – Poison The Well