Prologue

Rick did not know where he was. Not at first, at least. Disoriented, he stood up from the spot where he'd been laying in the tall grass, and slowly surveyed his surroundings. From where he stood, he could see the gentle slopes of Mount Shannon reaching high up into the cloudless sky, casting its clear reflection onto the pristine body of water below. It was a hot, humid day at Lake Shannon, yet oddly devoid of people, he thought, as it was one of the most popular summertime recreation spots within a few miles of King County. Or, rather, it had been. This particular spot had been a childhood favorite of Carl's, he remembered. Up ahead, or more precisely down the hill before him, he could see a lone figure lounging on a large rock at the water's edge.

He headed down the hill towards the figure, and could now see that it was a woman. Her hair, done up in some elaborate configuration, was adorned by a single blood-red rose. She wore a flimsy-looking sun dress that was short enough to show off her toned brown thighs against the bright white of the fabric. He stopped a few feet away from her, and stared at the back of her head, willing her to acknowledge him. His hand dropped to his hip, and he suddenly realized he was unarmed.

"You won't need that," she said, still not turning to look at him, "It would only get in the way."

"Long days to you," Rick said to her.

"And pleasant nights," The woman said, now turning to smile warmly at him.

Their eyes locked, and a deep, calming heat radiated from within him, flooding him with a sense of safety and comfort, and he remembered. He recognized her as the woman who was now locked up in cell block C unconscious with a concussion, a woman he was almost certain Hershel had been buying time for with his ever-shifting diagnosis, perhaps until Rick changed his mind about her. Michonne. Her name was Michonne. He sat down on the ground beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. She was all large doe-eyes and full pouty lips now, her expression relaxed and serene, almost the same expression she wore that very first day at the prison fence, despite being surrounded by walkers. She hadn't hesitated to reveal to him all of her vulnerabilities then, and in that moment, she reached deep into his soul and communicated a thousand words to him. In those fleeting moments before she was forced to defend herself, he recognized that he knew her, had known her for some time now, perhaps since forever. This expression she wore now stood in stark contrast to the angry scowl she usually wielded as a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She stared down at him from her place atop the rock, and he squinted against the glaring sunlight that flashed from behind her head. She turned, looking out across the expanse of the seemingly endless lake. The sky there was now full of roiling grey clouds cleaved with flashes of blue lightening.

"Storm's comin' over the horizon," she said smoothly.

"Sure is," he replied, "It's my fault isn't it?"

She looked at him, "Rick, no-"

"Yes. It is."

"It isn't. I can help you", she said brightly, "Your people. But only if you accept me."

He stared up at her, confused.

"Rick? Listen to me."

They were in the lake now, the warm water slowly swirling between them as Michonne moved closer. As it disappeared below the horizon, the sun flashed a brief fiery aura around Michonne moments before her skin was cast a soft cobalt glow in the twilight. She wore the same thin, gauzy white dress, and he could clearly see all of her though the soaked fabric before she pressed her body tightly against his. She gently held his face in her hands as he wept. The sensation of her against the heaviness in his pants was nearly maddening.

"You", she said smiling, "Will keep your world from moving on any further than it already has, because you must." The words she spoke rang true to him, and he understood them perfectly now. "You aim with your eye, you shoot with your mind, and you kill with your heart."

Rick Grimes paused to take a breath between the walkers he'd been putting down through the fence. There were others slowly meandering towards his position, but they could easily be dealt with from the outside now. He could move on to one of the more crowded sections, or maybe go check on Carl, but Rick decided to wait. He looked down at his ruined shirt, grimacing as he wiped more coagulated blood and sharp fragments of bone onto it, taking care to not let them scrape his skin. Despite the grim nature of this daily chore, he was in remarkably good spirits. He had allowed the survivors from Woodbury to join them here in the prison, a decision that Carl seemed to be finally warming up to. Because of their new additions, they would soon again have their spacious grassy field, Hershel would finally be able to actualize his gardening plans, and the kids would have more room to stretch their legs. He squinted against the low bright sunlight of the early morning and took in his surroundings. From where he stood, he could see the others, people he knew and the new comers from Woodbury, working together diligently to clear the space around an adjacent fenced-off area. The new security gate had just gone up, based on an ingenious bodyweight pulley-system devised by a former engineering technician from Woodbury, and the field needed to be cleared as quietly as possible. They had the numbers now, and there was no need to draw the attention of additional walkers to their fences. He leaned against the fence, his fingers snaking lazily through the chain link as he allowed his mind to wonder.

…It would be good….

It had barely been a month since Lori died, and Rick still struggled to speak her name aloud much less go into a detailed discussion about the circumstances surrounding her death. Or about the remorse he felt. The voices on the phone, voices that he knew even then were not actually of the dead, but echoes of the dead, echoes of Lori calling out to him from the recesses of his own psyche, they, he thought, embodied his guilt.…those echoes had urged him to talk about it, just as Lori had in life…to talk, to share his feelings with others before his time with them was cut short…however, he'd come to realize, it couldn't be with Carl. Not just yet. He reached into his pocket and grasped the bullet he'd found at the very spot of Lori's death, the very spot where she'd given Judith the gift of life. He removed the bullet from its hiding place in his left jeans pocket, and absent-mindedly rolled it against his fingers as he tried to organize his thoughts…Carl would be up soon.

…You should talk about it, Rick….

"…Dad?..."

He'd even attempted to bring it up on one of the few occasions they were alone, as they boy had seemed to have developed a knack for avoiding him lately, opting instead to stick close to Daryl or Michonne, following the two of them around like a lost puppy. Not only that, but whenever Rick attempted to broach the subject with Carl, he would become too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions to even make a coherent statement to the boy, much less offer the words of comfort or encouragement that Carl clearly needed. Lori was right, but she hadn't meant for it to be Carl, he now realized. No, he needed the help of another adult to work through this first, an intellectual and emotional equal, someone to bounce his insecurities, fears and theories off of, someone to act as a veritable sounding board of sorts. Amongst his closest friends, Hershel would be the obvious choice, yet for the life of him, he just could not see it happening with him or with any of the others. They had all had their fair share of pain and loss since the world changed, and they had all known about Lori and Shane, but few of them had actually experienced the sting that came with betrayal at the hands of a close friend. To see the pity in their eyes would be almost unbearable. If not Hershel, he thought, then who-

"Dad."

The impatient tone of his son's voice shook Rick from his musings. He quickly placed the bullet fragment back into his pocket. Carl stood there, with his too-large sheriff's hat held loosely in his hands, glaring at his father, his too-long hair blowing into his eyes. Carl followed the direction his father's gaze and looked back at him, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and incredulity. He huffed in the exaggerated manner that Rick had come to associate only with the very young, "Dad, really?"

Rick dipped his head and grinned ruefully at the boy, "Hey Kid", Carl ducked as his father reached to ruffle his hair, "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, fine," Carl said before he shifted on his feet to lean against the fence next to his father. He plopped the hat onto his head, and tilted the brim up and away from his eyes, "Daryl, Glenn and a few others are planning a run today, and I thought I'd tag along."

"No."

"But Dad-"

"It's too dangerous. I said no, and that's final."

Carl relented a bit more quickly than Rick had anticipated. The boy continued to gaze through the fence alongside him, "Dad?"

"What is it?"

Carl tilted his head in the direction they were both looking. Watching. "Maybe you should talk to her. Michonne, I mean."

Rick swung his head around to stare at Carl, the expression of surprise barely contained on his face. He had been watching her this entire time, he suddenly realized. She and Daryl were the only two clearing the field from the outside, yet it had been her movements he'd been tracking so closely, his eyes seemingly glued to her athletic arms as they worked, swinging the heavy katana and cutting down dozens of walkers that had encroached upon their home. He couldn't help but admire the deadly elegance of her fluid movements or the pleasing aesthetics of her form as she easily tore through the rotting flesh of the walking corpses.

Those familiar feelings of guilt and shame crept up on him again, and he prayed Carl hadn't detected the flush high on his cheeks, or his quick intake of breath at the mere mentioning of her name. Rick dug his hand into his left pocket, pinching his grotesque keepsake between his fingers. The sharp metal dug into his skin, yet he squeezed harder, relishing the pain.

…They put a sign up in our town…

…if you live it up you won't live it….down…

"If you still don't trust her", Carl said to him, "Just talk to her", and with that, the boy turned and walked off.

Carl picked up his pace to catch up with Daryl and Michonne on their way to the newly erected barbeque pit and communal dining area, or as Daryl had taken to calling it, 'The Eatin' Pit'. The smell of grilling meat in the air brought life to his belly, causing it to churn and groan in anticipation for breakfast. Ever since their supply run to King County, Carl found himself seeking out Michonne's company more and more. Daryl had noticed, of course, and had tried to poke fun at him for having a crush, but honestly, Carl knew that wasn't part of his draw to Michonne. Not only did she make him feel safe, but she always seemed to know what to say or do to lighten his mood, or the mood of anyone around. She spoke to him like he was a capable adult. She was warm and caring, and he felt privileged to be one of the few people who got to see that side of her. That and he'd been hoping to get his hands on her katana, a fascinating weapon of choice indeed. Although he tended to side with her opinions more when they differed from his father's, she was able to explain to Carl why she agreed with most of his decisions, effectively changing his mind about the Woodburians even before he saw any actual improvements with his own eyes. Michonne had made it clear to him that Rick's decision to bring them in was not only sound, but was the only decision that made any logical sense concerning their joint survival. "Safety in numbers", she had said. He began to volunteer for whatever work detail Michonne was assigned to at the time, and accompanied her and Daryl when they were on the watchtower rotation. She would help out wherever possible, but, he noticed, she had avoided any further social interactions with any of the newcomers. When he had questioned her about it, she just shrugged and told him she was a bit shy. He knew part of it had to do with loosing Andrea, which seemed to be too recent a loss for her to discuss in detail. The sadness he saw in her eyes was enough to stop him from asking any more questions about their time together, no matter how curious he'd been about the 'pet walkers' his dad had mentioned.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," Daryl replied, "So. Any luck?"

"Nope. I guess I'm officially grounded for now."

"Well, I can't say that I blame your dad," Michonne said, patting him lightly on his back, "Hungry?"

Carl nodded.

Beckoned by the aroma of cooking food calling out to his empty stomach, Rick returned to the cell blocks to check on the kids and to see what was for breakfast. He quickly cleaned himself up and changed into a fresh shirt- he'd have to remember to wear an apron the next time he went on fence-cleaning duty, he thought. He took a mental inventory of his woefully barren quarters as he dried his hands. Aside from a few trinkets he'd picked up on supply runs, a desk lamp, and a plush duckling Maggie and Glenn had been thoughtful enough to bring back for Judy, there was nothing there that truly indicated the presence of life, family or home. A sterile, almost negative-life force existed there, sucking away at what little joy he tried to cling to. A tomb, just as T-Dog, had called it, and had been for T-Dog, for Axel, and for Lori. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before this soulless void of a place claimed them all. The sad thought of raising his children here grated away at him, wore him down, and angered him. With nothing that vaguely reminded him of his own carefree childhood, and now, without a mother's love-

Rick shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. He flipped the hand towel onto his shoulder, and raked his fingers through his greasy hair. Being so alone now, his mind tended to wander down that dark road, and it was becoming more difficult each day to bring it back. Refusing to give into to his fears, he thumbed his left pocket, tracing the outline of the jagged piece of metal hidden there as he forced down the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Mornin'", He heard Daryl's gruff voice drift into his cell before he turned to see him lifting the blankets that draped across the entrance. Daryl stepped in and shrugged his shoulders to shift the crossbow that was slug high across his back. He regarded Rick with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a weary smile.

"Hey."

"Carl and Beth are in the rec room with Judy, if you were looking for them."

"I was, thanks", he said, leaning against the frame of his bunk.

"There's a run later today after lunch, see ya then?"

"Yeah", before Daryl could head up to his cell, "Daryl?"

He paused to look at him.

"How's it going with Michonne?" Rick asked.

He shrugged, "it's night watch. Quiet, I guess."

While not exactly the information he'd been hoping for, Rick decided it was best not to press for further information about her, "And Carl?"

Daryl nodded, "He came up there about an hour or so before turn-over", He grinned, "kid's crushin' pretty hard."

"Is that so?" Rick couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah", he laughed, "I'm gonna get some rest."

Rick located Beth, and gently plucked Judith from the girl's arms so she could finish her own breakfast. He looked around for Carl just in time to see him speaking softly to, and actually smiling at Michonne as she rinsed the dishes she'd used for her meal. Everyone was expected to pull their own weight around here, and everyone participated in foraging, cooking, cleaning, structural modifications, clearing walkers, even childcare, and she had done more than her fair share, but he still felt the need to ask a just bit more of her. As much as she tried to keep away from them, most of the kids found her fascinating. She'd already made so much progress with Carl, and Lizzie, Mika, Luke, even Beth particularly tended to ask Carl so many questions about her, that he was sure his hunch about her was right. She'd make an excellent role model for young girls.

Rick stood there for a moment longer watching them while dotting Judy's buttery-smooth skin with kisses. Carl spotted him, and began to move towards him as Michonne headed off towards block C.

"Dad", he said, jerking his head in Michonne's direction, "Do you want me to take Judy?"

"Nah, I've got her."

It wasn't that he didn't trust her, quite the opposite, in fact. Rather, it was that he'd been overwhelmed by the intense draw he'd felt towards her from the very beginning, he'd felt that it was wrong, oddly sexual, almost perverse in its intensity. And the way he'd leer sometimes…he tried to chalk it up to his extended dry spell, and to loneliness that had started even months before losing Lori, but something about Michonne demanded his undivided attention. It unnerved him, frightened him badly and confused him, so much so that he'd made a point of being vicious to her at first. Until now he'd felt it was best to keep a safe, friendly distance, at least until he'd managed to figure her out. Lately, however, he began to doubt that he could do that on his own. Better to get to know her, he reasoned to himself, to come to understand what it was about her that often left him inwardly reeling and his mouth feeling as though it were full of sand. She'd been keeping her distance as well, especially for these past few days since Woodbury, or she had been trying to, at least, despite Carl's meddling. Back in the old neighborhood, he'd expected her to fight him, or to undermine his plans as many of his closet allies had done, but she'd only been helpful, saving his ass, actually, and she'd even been right about Morgan. He had been dangerous, and was very likely unsalvageable from the madness he'd allowed to consume his mind. Morgan, in his isolation, had succumbed to the dangerous fears that now threatened them all.

Rick's eyes, normally drawn to her curves, grazed over Michonne's form as he caught up to her in block C. It was getting chilly at night and in the early mornings now, and she wore warm layers that hid her from view. As inappropriate as he knew those thoughts might be at such a time, he admitted to himself for the first time with some degree of placidity that he missed the miserably hot, sweaty days of summer.

"Pssst," he called to Michonne to catch her attention, "Hey."

…so she left Monte Rio, son….

…just like a bullet leaves a….gun…

Michonne turned to greet him, "Hey", she slowed her pace when Rick fell into step beside her. She found herself pleasantly surprised by Rick's quick turn-around from wanting her gone, to almost constantly thanking her for simply being present and interacting with Carl. It was the very least she could do, she figured. Carl had been through so much, too much for a boy his age, but she recognized that he was resilient enough to survive the perils of this new world with his humanity intact, and that endeared the boy to her. What she saw in him was an opportunity to help mold him into a caring leader, something she wished she could've instilled into her own son, had he lived. She thought that she should be a bit more careful around this family, however. They'd just lost Lori, their wife and mother, and she in no way wanted to disrupt the delicate balance they now struggled to maintain as they tried to heal from such a devastating loss. She was only just getting to know them, but both Grimes boys seemed to be drawn to her as well, and would often come to her, seeking her input on any number of topics or personal decisions. Rick- He was a good man, she knew this, but his over apologetic behavior came off as something too close to pandering for her comfort, and it was something she couldn't help but feel she'd brought on herself. She'd simply gone with her instincts then, recognizing Rick's relaxed posture and his decidedly close physical proximity, while very likely the subconscious pleas of a lonely father, as an open invitation. She'd allowed herself to react naturally to both of them, and before she could think to stop herself, she'd began to forge a bond she feared could very easily overwhelm her.

Rick noticed, not for the first time, that Michonne carefully avoided looking at Judy while in his presence. He shifted Judith to one arm, gently placing his hand on Michonne's shoulder, only to slowly drop it a moment later when he felt her tense up. Although he understood her reaction on some level, it stung him more that he'd like to admit. He'd apologized almost profusely to her for the way he'd treated her a few weeks back, and he had hoped that they'd put those unfortunate mistakes behind them by now, "I'm not going to hurt you, Michonne."

"I know that," she said. Rick strained to hear her words, barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. Really."

"I haven't had a chance to thank you. For Andrea. And, I wanted to let you know, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here." He wanted her to open up to him the way she'd started to when they were away on their munitions run. "It happens", she had reassured him that day. Although he'd felt quite embarrassed at first, she'd put him at ease with her admission, and even after she'd caught him staring at her. Sparkling brown eyes framed by thick curly lashes gazed up at him, a slight smile on Michonne's lips, and even then, right after seeing Lori, he'd wanted to touch her, to smooth his hands down her arms and feel the heat of the sun radiating off of her very real, very alive, very supple skin. Skin that would not give way to nothingness had he chosen to act upon that impulse. But now, the way she blinked rapidly and averted her eyes when he mentioned Andrea's name as if she were fighting back tears, it was all he needed to see to know that she wasn't quite ready, and understandably so.

She smiled weakly, casting him an uncertain side-long glance, "There's a run in a few hours. I'm gonna grab some shut-eye," she said before heading up to her cell.

"Yeah, I'll see you then", He stood there as she walked up the steps to her cell, their eyes locked again, and, she thought, he looked as though he wanted to say more, but seemed to have thought better of it. He turned, cuddling Judy in his arms as he headed back towards the recreation room.

Michonne, breathing a sigh of relief, retreated to the comforting darkness and solitude of her cell, thankful for the heavy blankets that hung at the entrance. Cloaked in darkness, she curled up on her bunk and allowed her tears to flow into her pillow until she dozed off.