A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. You made my intro into the Richonne fanfic writing fandom so spectacular. I appreciate it more than you know.


I can tell you of sorrow
Of losing, of pain
I can cry through the levee
If it'd washed you away-

Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples


Michonne had taken Carl's shooting hard. She had watched it take place in slow motion. She was behind one step too many to keep it from happening. The second that shot was fired, she had thrust her sword deep into Ron's heart and not even watched the boy take his final tumble to the ground before jamming her blade through his still living skull.

She'd fallen to her knees clutching Carl's head. There was so much blood. Pain radiated so deeply in her soul that she felt that numb, achy feeling of knocking one's funny bone throughout her entire body.

She was glad they weren't out there when it happened. They'd lost Tyreese because of lack of medical assistance. Here, at least, a qualified doctor existed.

She sat in shock for days, staying by Rick's side and soothing Judith while Rick cried. Before Carl's prognosis came, she'd mourned. She failed Carl. She failed Rick. And she failed herself.

Half of her journey through this end of the world adventure had been about blaming herself for not being there for Andre. If only she hadn't went on that run. If only she hadn't left the camp. If only she'd taken Andre with her. If only she'd been a better mother somehow. She always assumed she could have stopped him from getting bitten, from turning into one of those things. But the situation with Carl made her question that. It made her question her belief in herself. If she couldn't save Carl from his heartache when she was standing right there then how could she have saved her little boy in the rush of the beginning throes of this affliction? It made her question her anger at Mike.

During the worst of the uncertainty of Carl's survival, she'd stayed up at night, afraid to be haunted in nightmares by the demon eyes of her precious boy. Those eyes held accusations for him and Carl. Truth was, she loved Carl like a son. She had killed for him and she would die to ensure he stayed safe.

She thought about talking to Rick, about sharing the most difficult of her secrets with him, but the man's self-loathing could put hers to shame. His hands stayed clasped in silent prayer as if he could turn back the hands of time with one chat to the god he'd abandoned.

He was also hung up on Jessie and Michonne knew that there was never any way she could compete with a dead woman. When people died, all their foibles got erased. Even before this plague on humanity, people lionized the dead, boosting them to saint levels even when they were evil.

She eventually started to feel the strain of being there for Rick with no reciprocation. So much of their friendship had been a balancing act. They were perfect parrying partners who could take on the world.

What she didn't expect was Morgan. The man she'd remained skeptical of had shown up on the periphery of her pain. He'd shared about his wife and son. She'd opened up about Mike and Andre. His tenderness and internal strength was attractive and when she saw his understanding morph into understanding and lust, she let herself get carried away into his universe. He was a gentle, deadly man and she knew they were alike in that way.

They were silent about their budding relationship. If there was anyone who valued discretion more than she did it was Morgan. She wasn't sure they would have ever been caught if it hadn't been for Rick's ability to pop into her life (and room) without warning. She wasn't ashamed of what she had with Morgan. Neither of them was under the delusion that this was something it wasn't. They were fucking and that was the extent of it. But it was fun and when she was in his arms she felt cherished.

"You okay?"

She sat up. Her fingers gripped the side of the bed and she kept her bare back to Morgan.

She nodded. Her dreadlocks flowed freely across her shoulders.

His calloused fingers skimmed across the smooth expanse of her back. Despite her numerous wounds since this all began, she still had a lot of unblemished, silky skin and Morgan couldn't get enough of touching it. She basked in how often he connected with her on a physical level. She missed affection, had closed herself off to touching after Mike's death. It seemed that everyone else who touched her wanted something from her that she didn't want to give. The only other exception being Rick after their initial bad meeting.

She didn't want to think about Rick though.

"This have to do with Rick?" Morgan asked.

Think of the devil and he would surely show up somehow. She tensed at Morgan's words. They both knew Rick had everything to do with her mood. It's why she was staying longer at his new house instead of the one she shared with Rick, Carl and Judith. She'd shown up with her sword and a small bag to crash a few days. That was forty-eight hours ago.

"I know there's something between you two." He carried on in her silence.

"Not what you think." She couldn't offer him much assurance. She still wasn't sure what was going on between her and Rick anymore.

Morgan snorted. "Rick," he began, "Rick is possessive. It usually plays right. If he gets attached then he's loyal to death. He tried to power play me into coming back to the prison with him and we haven't spent the time you two have together."

This was not shit she wanted to deal with right now. She didn't want to talk to Morgan about Rick.

Michonne bent over and reached for her panties, making his hand fall away in the process.

"If this is something you want to pursue, I understand." Despite Morgan's newfound peace, Michonne could hear the hesitation and hurt in his voice.

She shimmied into her tight pants and tugged on her burgundy tank top. She eased her feet into her studded boots, and grabbed her katana and bag. She leaned back over the bed to give him a peck on the lips. "I'll see you during watch." This week they were assigned to walk the wall together. Rebuilding was still ongoing and would not likely finish for another couple of months.

There would be no life altering decisions in the twilight of this morning.

She wasn't surprised to see Rick had waited up for her. However, she didn't expect him to be propped up in a chair he'd dragged into her room. She wondered if he'd been here throughout the time she'd been gone. Rick is possessive echoed in her head. What an understatement.

"Thought we each had our own rooms here," she remarked. She went about tossing her bag on the lone, squat dresser in the corner before toeing off her boots.

He was bleary eyed from his shift instead of alcohol this time, but he followed her movements closely.

"Didn't think you'd mind, seeing as how you've all but moved out."

His tone said he had things he wanted to say. His tone said he was aiming for a fight.

"I've got shift in several hours."

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't move. If anything, he gave off the appearance of digging in. His hands clutched the ornate wooden armrests and his bare feet pressed into the plush carpet.

She wasn't going to beg him to leave and she didn't have time for this so she turned her back to him to put her hair up for sleep. There'd been a nice satin scarf she'd found in a drawer at Maggie and Glenn's house to wrap her hair in. She wouldn't have minded swapping clothes, but she was fine with ignoring that at the time. It was time to change the linens anyway so it wouldn't hurt.

She settled into her bed with her back to Rick. She punched her pillow. It seemed her relationships were changing from being faced head on to being passive moments she reacted to. She was sure there was some interesting symbolism and psychology surrounding this turn of events.

Her eyes remained open briefly. Had this been before The End, she'd have found it impossible to sleep through Rick's presence, but she'd slept upright next to two jawless walkers biting at thin air, had slept in the rain, in a barn that stunk of pig shit, a church with blood stains marring the pew next to her head and a prison where every echo could be an undead person dragging itself up from the tombs.

She was nearly asleep when he spoke.

"I don't want you to go. I don't want to lose you to him." Fear tinged his voice and it unsettled her more than if he'd started the fight he wanted, more than if he declared there was another deadly herd of walkers shambling their way to Alexandria.

Morgan and Rick were going through tough times with each other, but she never knew schism ran this deeply.

Michonne rolled over and looked at Rick; really looked at him. He'd allowed the scruff to overgrow his face again. Bags lined his eyes. He'd clearly lost weight during Carl's vigil and never found it again. His jaw remained clenched so tightly she wondered if he was about to ground his teeth into dust. He was, overall, a tense ball of exhausted energy.

His life was of lost. His best friend, his wife, his child's innocence, and then the many people he'd been chosen to lead. But she had her losses too and just when she was ready to open up about them he'd shut himself off to her. It stung because she'd wanted this place. He'd come at her insistence. She just didn't know he would slip from her grasp in the process.

Still, she would not add to his burdens.

"You won't lose me, Rick." Her voice softened. She cared about this wounded man.

"Michonne, when you're with him you're not with me."

Her eyes narrowed and anger swept in swiftly and settled in her gut like a brick. "Like you were with Jessie and not me?"

"Yes, exactly like I was with Jessie" he admitted with a wince. "That's how I know you're going. I did you like this and I'm sorry. I can't repay you for what you've done for me, for Carl, for Judith. I can't make right what I got wrong, for what I failed to appreciate right in front of my eyes."

"I never asked you for anything you didn't want to give." She thought they were in this together.

"No." He stood from the chair and padded across the floor closer to her bed. "You never did. But I'm not like you." He tilted his head to the side and leaned downward in his very Rick Grimes' way to peer down at her as he drifted a hand through his unruly curls. "I'm not like the man I used to be. I'm selfish now. I want all of you. Everything. And I can't share. I won't share. It's either him or me."

She sat up in alarm, her eyes slightly widened in surprise. Rick delivered ultimatums to people all the time, but he hadn't done so to her since they first met. And never one like this.

Rick is possessive.

His blue eyes roamed her body slowly, igniting a fire that burned her down to her bones. His lust shined forth and she almost gasped at the rawness she could see in their depths. His hand skimmed the comforter next to her feet, his fingers so close to her toes she could feel the ghost of them on her flesh, making her skin prickle with goose bumps without him ever touching her.

He walked to the door and placed his left hand on the knob. He pointed his right index finger at his chest, his head still cocked sideways. "Him or me."

His words startled her so much she almost missed the absence of the gleaming ring that used to sit on his left hand.


A/N: So Rick's issued an ultimatum. Michonne has a lot to think about. Also, we'll likely see a little bit of backstory from Rick next chapter.