Author's Note: This is a collection of missing scenes/alternative scenes with a Richonne bent in season 6. I never really intended to publish them, but I figure some people might like to read them!

#605: Reunion at the Gate

"Open the gate!"

Until Michonne heard that voice, she hadn't realized how far her heart had plummeted. It rose up, fluttering into her throat. Down the long street corridor was Rick, covered head to toe in blood, pushing himself down the pavement—

He'd come back.

It should've been a magical moment of relief, but Rick's face wasn't that of a soldier returned home from war, but a soldier who brought the war back home with him.

Behind Rick, the landscape was writhing, grey mass. Walkers—hot on his heels. Lots and lots of walkers.

The plan hadn't worked.

Michonne went for the gate, but Tobin was already standing there, fingers draped on the lock, face waxy with terror.

He wasn't moving.

"Tobin," Michonne said, eyeing his hands. "Open the gate."

Tobin said nothing; he stood watching the herd through the bars, expression lost. From up on the platform, Deanna said nothing, staring out at the distance. Both of them were paralyzed. To them, this was Doomsday. Some hellish Christian painting come to life.

Rick was getting closer. "Open the gate now!" he screamed. It hurt Michonne to hear his voice so desperate. Rick was probably thinking they were going to leave him out there to die. The gate was still shut, and if they didn't open it soon, Rick would smack against it, and the tide of walkers would swallow him alive.

Michonne leveled a glare at Tobin, her hand drifting to the katana on her back. "If you don't open the gate right now, I will."

Tobin startled, but nodded. He yanked the bolt loose, and the gate screeched open just enough to let Rick slide through.

Once Rick was safe inside Alexandria, Tobin jammed the gate back into place. A second later, its beams buckled from a wave of rotting faces, mottled limbs, and groping fingers. He slid the second security wall closed. It blocked the view of the rotting undead, but it didn't silence the groaning of metal under the weight or the gurgling of hundreds of walkers now at their door.

Everyone cowered back, but, by some miracle, the walls stayed standing.

"Oh my god," Tobin broke the wordless pall. "What are we going to do?"

Rick doubled over, wheezing. He was still pale, eyes wide with terror. Even after so many brushes with death, the chill it left never thawed. Michonne approached him. She only managed to say, "Rick—" before he pulled her into his arms, crushing her with a hug.

"You're okay," he sobbed.

"Yeah," she said, somewhat stunned. She wrapped her arms around him in return. "I'm okay."

They continued to embrace for a moment; the sound of the undead roaring outside faded to a dull hum. Snug in his sweaty warmth, Michonne reveled the feeling of Rick's heart beating against her chest—but then the tangy scent of blood left her cold. Alarmed, she gently pushed him arm's length away, taking stock of his body, but didn't let go of his arms. "Are you okay?"

Rick ignored the question completely, his eyes wild. "Judith—" His voice was strangled. "Judy—is she, is she okay?"

Michonne began kneading her thumbs into his arms in circular, soothing motions, hoping it would calm him down. "Judith is fine. Carl is fine."

Rick sagged, closing his eyes. "There was a man—he attacked me. He had baby food in his pocket. I thought…"

He'd thought the worst. That was all they ever did anymore.

The wall rattled behind them. Rick looked over his shoulder, and Michonne followed his gaze. It was amazing what Reg's walls could withstand. Even with all that death outside, demanding their flesh, they remained strong.

"They followed me."

Michonne was caught off-guard by Rick's whispered admission. "What?" He couldn't possibly blame himself for this. It had been that damn truck horn, sounding like a dinner bell.

"I could've led them away," Rick continued. "Made sure they wouldn't get here."

Michonne started to squeeze Rick's arms tighter. Was Rick saying he should've gone on a suicide run? To lead the walkers away? Just run and run until his body gave out? Michonne's stomach twisted at the image of Rick collapsing in a heap on some desolate stretch of road.

"Hey," Michonne said, giving his body a small shake, capturing Rick's attention again. "With your stamina? You wouldn't have gotten very far. Maybe a mile? Then they'd wind up back here anyway—and we'd be down a guy."

That earned her a weak smile. "Yeah, you're probably right. I never did run cross country."

It was then out of the corner of her eye, Michonne saw Maggie and Rosita not far off. Both of them were staring at Rick—expectant, nervous. A sickening realization washed over Michonne.

"Glenn. Abraham—" she swallowed, already bracing for bad news. "Did you see them?"

Rick blinked a couple times, as though processing what she'd just asked. "Wait, you mean they're not here?"

Michonne heart sank to her toes as she looked back at Rosita and Maggie, who both looked paler than before.

Of all the people who were still out there, Rick was the only one to come back. Maggie, Rosita—they were still held in suspense. Was Glenn alive? Was Abraham safe? And now a sea of the undead stood between them and those answers. Between them and the men they loved.

Michonne she was still holding onto Rick's arms. She gave them one last squeeze before letting go. For some reason, a feeling washed over her that wasn't far from survivor's guilt. And she didn't know why.