A/N: Back so soon? Why, yes, I am! So I actually didn't realize how fun it would be to write my own fanfiction-especially since I've been enjoying reading others' work so much. And maybe it's like, I don't know, bingewatching your favorite show or bingereading your favorite ship, except you're bingewriting? Hmmm. Well anyway lovelies, I'm disclaiming right here and right now: I only wrote the story...the characters belong to AMC and their creators, and all that jazz. I wanted to write this one because I feel that Rick and Michonne are wonderful together for all the reasons, but I felt like the build-up just wasn't there in the show, and they deserve a more solid burn to make their relationship believable. Maybe it gets better post season 6? (Don't spoil it for me, I haven't watched season 7 yet!) Hope you enjoy, and comments are golden! Just sayin'.
Rick stepped into the glade. Funny, how magical the world seemed when most of the human population was dead, or rather, undead. Blades of grass glinted in the mid morning sun. The shimmering air was slightly warm and gnats swarmed giddily. Small-game animals, grown wary of the recent hunting sprees, seemed to be in hiding. Rick sighed, happy to be roaming. He ran careless fingers through unruly brown curls and then scratched his beard, thinking it was time for a little trim again. Maybe Jessie could help him out when he got back from this run.
Things were not easy in Alexandria, but they were better. Rick couldn't help but still think how utterly stupid the Alexandrians were, how unprepared for inevitable human attackers. How naive they were, in their imagined haven. True, the walls were stronger than most. But even the prison had been breached, and it had decent fences. Until the herd got too strong. Until the Governor and his lackeys decided to storm the gates, all for a little piece of safety, in the name of selfishness and survival. Darwin was right, and it only took a zombie apocalypse to prove it.
Rick snapped out of his thoughts when he heard some rustling along the edge of the forest around the glade. He could see, over to the north end, a place where there was a break in the trees, an opening into a meadow. But slightly blocking his view of the opening was a sturdy tree. It appeared to be quite old-old enough to maybe have been planted before Rick was born. Its branches fanned out regally, its crown full and uninhibited by neighbors. One lower branch bore the scars of a tire swing's ropes-the tire was long gone, perhaps salvaged for some other use by the new nomads of this walker age. As Rick approached the tree, he could see the nuts hanging low-it was a pecan.
Food. Rick dropped his pack in the shorter grass under the tree and began to collect the windfall. Some of the nuts had broken open; picking through them for good ones, he immediately began to fill his belly. Feeling thirsty after the richness of his meal, Rick grabbed the water bottle from inside the bag and drank slowly, Adam's apple bobbing with the fullness of his swallows. Again he sighed at the simple pleasure of the moment. He wondered why it took a series of catastrophic events to make him see what really mattered.
Dutifully checking his surroundings, Rick thought he could afford himself a short nap leaning against the tree. He faced the forest, rifle on his lap, knife within easy reach by his thigh. Just fifteen minutes, he promised, as he allowed his eyes to droop.
Rick couldn't remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, he was startling awake. He heard someone calling his name, but in his drowsy disorientation, he couldn't remember whose voice it was.
"Rick! They're coming!"
It was Michonne. She broke through the trees, a gazelle in flight, the herd of walkers only a few feet behind. Rick at once jumped to his feet, no longer sleepy, all adrenaline. Without thinking, he began picking off the walkers with military precision. Who would have thought he'd have become such a sharp-shooter? During his days as a sheriff, he was lucky if he could return a perfect score at the firing range on a really good day. But now he was knocking them down easily, heads bursting, wasting no bullets.
"Behind you, Rick! Watch out!" Before he could fully react, Rick was backed into the tree by ten walkers, all reaching for him. Somehow, they had come from the meadow. They were too close for him to shoot, and his knife was on the ground. In an uncharacteristic momentary panic, Rick did the first thing that came into his head. He reached above his head for the lowest branch of the tree, the one scarred by ropes, and hoisted himself up.
The walkers clawed at the branch, trying to reach for Rick's toes. He climbed higher still, his amazement at the tree's perfection drowning the fear he felt only seconds before. Branch after branch, Rick made his way to the upper canopy. The tree was even more majestic from this vantagepoint-Rick peered through the foliage to see the meadow beyond the glade. The sun was beating down pretty hard, but the tree provided comfortable shade. The sound of the walkers was softer up here, a little rustling of the leaves below, the dropping of pecans agitated from their home. He could see Michonne approaching the tree cautiously. He smiled and waved at her.
She rolled her eyes at him and drew her katana, moving stealthily toward the murmuring walkers. Although he could no longer see her from his place, he could hear the steely keening of the sword as it cleaved the air and then the walkers' skulls. She had an economy of movement and strikes at which he couldn't help but marvel. Rick smiled, imagining the serious look of concentration as she dispatched each of the ten zombies. The soft thumps of their bodies as they fell like cut blades of grass was satisfying.
Rick moved laterally now, to the side of the tree where Michonne stood, presumably cleaning her weapon of the walkers' ichor. Funny, he could no longer really smell the death that followed them around. Sure, on the rare occasion in which they had to anoint themselves with the walkers' entrails and bodily fluids, he could definitely smell that. But he had grown so accustomed to the heaviness of that deathly odor that he rarely noticed it anymore. But he could smell Michonne.
The breeze blew her scent to him-she was salty and sweaty with exertion. Their sparse scavenger diet had changed over the last few weeks while they were in Alexandria, but somehow, unlike everyone else's, the smell of Michonne's body managed to remain the same: slightly sweaty, with a hint of baking soda. How she was able to find Arm & Hammer at this juncture, Rick wasn't sure. Sometimes, if they found wilding peppermint or stalks of french lavender in an overgrown yard, she would pick bunches and stuff them in her pack to dry in the sun later. She'd crumble them up and mix them with baking soda and a little of her precious tub of coconut oil. And she'd smell fresh in spite of herself. And in spite of himself, Rick loved that smell. It got to the point where he'd take the long way around the neighborhood during the day just to meet up with her as she patrolled so he could take in the normalcy of that perfume.
He snapped out of his reverie. This was happening a lot lately, in quieter moments, Rick's thoughts would drift to Michonne. He found it strange, but he let it keep happening like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, however, he'd stop and ponder further. Michonne was so utterly different from Lori and Jessie, the two women who had held his gaze for more than a moment. Lori, of course, was always his, until she wasn't. And Jessie, well, she was a conquest-someone he had to prove to himself that he could still save from a totally different kind of monster. Rick was regretful in those moments. Of course, he should protect someone like Jessie; that was his job, for chrissakes. But when he thought about that feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when he looked at her, well, he was ashamed about that.
"Rick." Michonne was under the tree now, looking up, trying to glimpse him through the thick branches. "I took care of them all, you plannin' on comin' down now?" She stood quietly. Idle chatter was still sometimes difficult for her. Maybe her economy was not just of movement, but of existence. Her words were as sparse as her will to survive was strong.
"I guess I could make my way down," he drawled, "But I don't know-the branches might break, I'm a little nervous." Rick chuckled and picked some pecans, dropping them down in an attempt to tease Michonne, to lighten the moment.
Somewhat carelessly he found footholds on lower branches, slipping once or twice. Each time, his heart jumped, and he remembered what it was like to be living, not just alive in a world full of death. Rick wondered what other kinds of things would make him feel more alive. What would he have to do to pull himself farther away from the time after Lori's death, when he couldn't seem to hold on to reality? From the time shortly after arriving in Alexandria when he showed his true colors and ranted at the residents for their naivety?
He could see Michonne now, leaning against the tree trunk, picking the meat out of a fallen pecan. She put it to her mouth, full dark lips with just a hint of pink. She chewed silently, her eyes closed. Perhaps she was ruminating, just as he did, on the simplicity of the moment. The image would have been perfect, if not for the decapitated walkers at her feet.
"Takin' you long enough to get your ass down here." She placed another pecan half on her tongue. She looked off toward the meadow. "Do you think we can find anything out there?" She asked as if there were some other question on her mind, a question much more meaningful.
"I don't know, Michonne. But I do know that I might just be stuck in this tree forever with the squirrels if you don't take this bag of pecans from me." Rick lowered a bag full to the brim with nuts. "Carol will be thrilled," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes for her benefit.
"Well, maybe I should leave you there and let Daryl come and save you from the squirrels. At least then we'd have some dinner, too." Michonne returned dryly. She took the long way around the tree. Rick followed her with his eyes, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of taking in everything about her, from her dreadlocked hair to her lithe but well-muscled frame. She moved silently, shafts of sunlight striping her dark skin and clothes. In that moment, Rick had to admit to himself that he found her beautiful.
Suddenly, she was directly underneath him again. She grabbed the bag and slung it over her shoulder.
"Come on, sheriff. Time's a-wastin'. Or do I need to call the fire department?" Michonne kept walking in the direction from which they had both come, toward the forest and the road just on the other side.
"No ma'am, I'll be along presently," Rick sassed. He grabbed his rifle, knife and pack. He looked back at the tree once her made it to the edge of the forest. Maybe he'd bring Michonne back there one day when they had time. He could take her to the top and show her the view of the world as it should be.