A/N: Guys, thank you so much for the favs, follows and reviews. I know there can be trolls when it comes to Michonne, so the fact that you gave this a chance without me showing you what I was doing with her from the get-go is really appreciated. And to the two guests, you have no idea how big a smile you put on face. Thank you once again. I really hope you all enjoy this chapter.
Disclaimer: Thomas Jefferson quotes belong to all
Chapter 2: The Dying of the Light
There was a hint of New York in his voice. The fuzzy memory of crowded subways; hybrid scents of Chinese takeaways, pizzas and urine and nameless faceless people passing her on the street – a yearning for Georgia she hadn't expected.
A multitude of people would die to the cadences of that voice.
"I'm not going to keep you long." The man she now presumed to be Marcus looked around the cemetery. "I know the personal risk you've all taken to be here. We've all heard about the Wolves."
Michonne tensed. Blood pounding. Skin stretched tight over knuckles. If any of them were left, it would be now they would show themselves.
Someone coughed.
Time seemed to pause then stretch before her, mocking.
"The fact you've turned up at all is a testament to the desperation we all feel. I look around you all and I see division."
Michonne released a breath, hardly daring to believe it. Was this it? She wished she could walk around and see each face more closely, but war had been raged on far less. If there was anyone with a 'W' carved on their forehead, hidden amongst the crowd, she would not know unless they showed themselves. Even here on neutral territory, the turf lines were clearly marked amongst the overgrown weeds, broken branches and moss covered angels gazing down on them in prayer. Her eyes trailed between the Hawks, the League and the Resistance standing twelve paces behind their leader. If a battle was to start, it would come from one of them.
"Lines drawn between one group and the next, and each man thinking how best to move so he can gut the person standing next to him, before they have a chance to slice his throat. We look at the person standing next to us and we see a threat, an enemy. We see death staring us in the face, but I'm here to tell you different."
It wasn't often she scouted the clans. Yekne and Julian were much better at melting in and out of places without drawing attention. But when word had gone out about an open meeting for all clans, organised by the Resistance, and that the leader himself would be there, she had no choice.
The Resistance; it was a name they had grown accustomed to over the past three years. Some Drifter taking it on himself to band everyone together – never successfully; but for over a year now the name had been given to a single group. One so organised and efficient that for four months no trade wagons had been pulled along the Walled Roads; and in the midst of it all the name Marcus being uttered with increasing frequency and reverence. It would have been foolish not to come. Her people were hidden, but they weren't immune to the things that happened here between the clans, and it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out and they were found.
"When you look at the person standing next to you it's not an enemy you're seeing," Marcus said. "It's a mirror. Look at us! Look at all the people gathered here. We're all dirty, we're all hungry and we all stink as bad as each other."
Michonne had expected a large turnout, but nothing like this. She hadn't seen so many people gathered in the same place since the last time she was at the Second Wall. Memories of how that day ended did nothing to curb the dread seeping to her stomach. There was a chill that morning – as there had been for the past few days – when they left camp, and the cloak it caused her to don was now causing sweat to trickle down her back, and making the t-shirt she had underneath cling to her uncomfortably. Reminding her, with each passing second, she didn't have her sword.
Swords were only carried by some runners from the walled cities, and even then – none looked like hers, and being inconspicuous was an all too important rule. Michonne gripped the carving knife hanging from her hip. It didn't have the reach or flexibility of her sword, but it would kill well enough.
"The last clean, well fed man I saw wasn't a Drifter. The last clean well fed man I saw was one of those cunts behind the wall."
The atmosphere in the graveyard began to shift. People's attention being slowly drawn from the weapons in their hands to focus on the man speaking in front of them.
Beside her, Yekne shifted closer to the wall. She could practically hear his African accent whispering at her to get ready. She felt like an athlete preparing for a race, except the entire stadium would be taking part, and at any moment the referee would be announcing; 'on your marks, get set, kill!'
"The truth is we're all dead whether we stab each other or not. If it's not the bastard standing next to us it'll be one of those dead things out there that'll do it." Marcus pointed at the gates where walkers were beginning to gather, drawn by the noise. "And if it's not one of them dead things then it'll be thirst or starvation or sickness that'll takes us down. The person standing next to you is dead. You're dead!"
On the other side of the cemetery, the red cloths of the League hung in loose ribbons from a tree (red sap on dark bark) Frank Walton stood beneath. His group would have been larger than the Resistance but some of them were missing. Michonne guessed that people had to stay back to keep watch over the prisoners. She pulled the hood of her cloak, trying to sink further in its depths, then stopped. There were far too many people, she reminded herself, they would not see her. Michonne forced herself to relax, to hunch her shoulders, fiddle with the seams of her cloak and look more like the frightened woman up-front she was supposed to be channeling.
"I'd understand if there was no food. I'd understand if there was no safe haven, and I'd understand if there was no more clean water – but there is! There are three communities out there and every fucker standing here knows where they are. What are we that we have to die here like animals? Are we not people just like them? Are we not Americans just like them? Did we not have families and dreams that were torn from us too? Do we not deserve to live with dignity?"
With each question, shouts echoed throughout the cemetery. His words sweeping everyone into a fever that, for a moment, made them forget the mistrust that had been boiling through them only minutes ago. People began to move towards the centre of the cemetery, turf lines temporarily forgotten.
Michonne craned her neck trying to see above the wave sweeping towards Marcus.
"We stand in Virginia but we are not all Virginians. Some of us have walked miles and risked death just to get here. We've walked from New York, Georgia, Indiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Florida," he checked each name on his fingers. "Did we travel all this way just to die at the doorstep of salvation?"
"Fuck no!" someone shouted.
"We'll drag their asses to hell with the rest of us!" someone added.
And the Hawks cheered. It was impossible to miss the blackish blood and goo of human entails. They occupied most of the northern parts of the Circle and where others slathered gore on makeshift ponchos, the Hawks lathered it on their clothes and wore it like second skin. And whilst no Drifter could be described as clean – good water was hard to come by and any Drifter who found it wouldn't waste it on a shower – the Hawks definitely took the crown. Yekne often joked they should have called themselves the Lords of the Flies.
She always found something disquieting about their presence. It was as if the violence they lived each day had clawed through their skin until it could personify itself fully through their existence. Perhaps that was the source of her unease; that violence was a stain on all of them after all. Better the beast that paraded in its own skins then hid beneath more gentle cloaks. In the end, she couldn't help thinking, the Wolves would have agreed.
"On this very soil our forefather was raised who wrote; 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness–'; I ask what life have we out here? What liberty have we, when every waking hour is shadowed by fear of death and starvation?"
Michonne and Yekne had positioned themselves so that the end of the concrete wall that led to the gates covered their left, and the small woods that flanked the rest of the graveyard was kept to their right. If things turned sour their best bet would be to climb the wall, jump to the pavement below and flee as fast as they could before the carnage seeped out beyond the gates, and onto the road outside where the dead would begin to gather. If that failed, they would have to fight their way through the slaughter to get to the footpaths in the woods that would lead them to the fenced alleys – where there would no doubt be more desperate scuffles as people tried to crowd the narrow passages and climb the fences that led to the other streets.
Michonne hoped it wouldn't come to that.
The smaller groups who came in twos and threes kept close to the walls or huddled near the trees – they all had the same getaway plans running through their minds.
"Our forefather also said; 'I have sworn upon the altar of god eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.' What tyranny and oppression can be greater than this fate we've been abandoned to? Join me and fight because our time to stand is near running out. We either fight or we lie down and accept death, but unlike the people lying here, there'll be no graves for us."
Some people cried silently. Others raised knives and bats and long poles of metal in the air as a salute to their fallen.
The coiled snake of the Resistance slithered in the sky, black against a gold-yellow background. Don't tread on me, it warned. Michonne closed her eyes and felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes, they outnumber us. And yes some of us will die if we go to battle, but what difference does that make when we're already dead? They've already shot at us! They shot at us as if we were nothing but sewer rats because we dared to ask for food. Because we dared to ask for water and because we dared to think we deserved to be treated like men. So will you come and fight with me? Will you come and fight with me?"
The cemetery erupted in wild cheers and calls of 'Marcus! Marcus!' rang in the air.
Outside the gates the dead groaned and reached forth their hands.
XxXPITMXxX
The journey home was quiet. Even Yekne, who usually had no end of tales to tell, seemed withdrawn. Michonne kept replaying the events that had taken place over and over again – trying to make a plan, trying to unravel the different scenarios and all the ways that they could die.
Marcus had held true to his words, and everyone was given food to carry back to their territories. She had stood behind Yekne, trying to look as frightened and frail as possible, as a member of the Resistance packed food into his bag. The man's nails were caked in dirt and she wondered if anyone would get sick – or if it even mattered anymore. Unlike all those years ago there was no panic as people grappled to get their hands on whatever food was left – only silent resignation and hate.
She looked at the sunken faces of the women standing about and wondered if any of them had children. This part was worse than both the Hawks and League, the promise of danger and blood she could deal with – but pity, pity would kill you faster than both. It would make her give the food to one of the ragged groups that had huddled near the walls and then the Drifters would all be looking at her, wondering what this woman could possibly have that she comfortably gave her food away and then she and Yekne would be trapped inside the cemetery. And those women – the ones she gave the food to – would be the ones who stabbed them first, so Michonne swallowed her wishes and followed after Yekne.
They left as soon as the gate was cleared. Gathered their supplies from the hiding place at the edge of town and didn't stop until they were well outside the Circle. It was probably the most peaceful day those streets had seen since before the fall itself, but the prudence that comes from years of violent mistrust is hard to shake, and Michonne was anxious to get home.
As they entered the woods that had protected them these past four years, relief washed through her. Amid the hell the world had descended to, this place had been their miracle, and as they travelled farther into the woods, she couldn't help but wonder how much longer the miracle would last.
A familiar anxiety twisted harder in her stomach. A fresh, vindictive, burst. The image of a small boy with copper brown skin flickered in her mind. Michonne forced a slow breath through her mouth as her lungs tightened.
We wouldn't want you to forget now, would we?
If it had a voice, that's what it would be whispering.
"The sweet smell of home," Yekne sighed, looking at the walkers that marked the start of their perimeter. "You know, long term, it really can't be healthy to be excited by a row of dead people."
"I'm glad we're one step closer to a shower," she joked as they tied the walkers they'd been using as camouflage to the rest of the barrier. She was grateful to have her attention veered to something other than the knots coiling in her stomach.
"Sometimes I'm shocked you survived on road so long." Yekne had that grin which seemed to be permanently etched across his face. "What would Resistance think if they heard you now, whining about no shower for ten days?"
"Eleven actually." They continued up the slope. Whoever was on watch could see them by now and had probably sent out word of their return.
"Spoken like a true wall hugger," Yekne shook his head. "If they come, I don't know you and I don't know why your standing next to me."
Michonne smiled. "Pff, if they come you don't speak English more like."
Yekne's grin widened. "What do you think is Marcus' policy on immigration?"
It took a moment for the question to register in Michonne's mind. Once it did, she let out a snort of laughter. Yekne's misplaced humour was something you could always count on.
"Do you plan on leaving for his country?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"A good immigrant always keeps up with policies," he said, with a perfectly straight face. "You never know when you have to bail and piss off somewhere else."
"That might me a problem," she said. "I heard planes were having trouble with their lift off. But at least there'll be no border control. When do you plan on leaving?"
"I was thinking in the winter," he looked thoughtful. "Somewhere hot, preferably with mango trees and twenty four-seven servings of rum."
"Hawaii's good," she said. "You might need a magic carpet though, and you know how prickly Aladdin can get."
"I'll steal it when he's not looking. You'll cover for me, right?"
"Only if you bring back pineapple."
"Deal."
She grew serious. "We'll need to have a meeting."
"Straight away?"
"As soon as possible, yes." She made a timetable the previous night. The sooner they had a plan, the more time they would have to full-proof it.
They continued in silence until they reached the tree house that served as one of their watch points. It was hidden behind leaves and branches and would be easily missed if you didn't know it was there.
"Glad to see you back Michonne." John, their community farmer, waved at them. The man was in his early fifties and had a ruddy complexion and pale blue eyes that twinkled with laughter.
"Glad to be back." she smiled. "Has everything been okay out here?"
"Yeah. We started pruning the trees a few days ago. Had to stop your little ones from running around the ladders again."
Michonne released a small laugh as the knots in her stomach gave way, and an almost overwhelming relief took its place.
"I sent Jamie off to let the other's know you're back," John continued, oblivious to what he'd just done for her.
"Farmers," Yekne said. "Not even two minutes in the conversation."
"I don't hear you moanin' when there's food in your mouth."
Yekne ignored him. "And, I don't even get a welcome."
"What you need, Yekne, is to stay away from my damn plants," John leaned down to get a better look at him. "I best not see you doin' anything 'cept picking up fallen twigs."
"You're obsessed." Yekne started heading towards the community.
John called after them. "I'm protecting my trees from an early death."
XxXPITMXxX
Despite the ache in her legs, Michonne wanted nothing more than to run when she saw the cabins and tents in the distance.
They're alive, nothing happened, was the mantra in her head as a camp from long ago loomed in the shadows of her mind. Baleful and forever present in the vestitures of her memory. Now, in the stitches of that fabric were wolves, howling and gnashing at the teeth, and in the midst of it all the constant thrum of a question: had they killed them all?
"You go on," Yekne said, all traces of humour gone. "I'll take care of this," he motioned to the backpack on her shoulders, "And I'll tell the others there's a meeting."
Michonne gave a smile of gratitude and hurried to the farmhouse that served as their headquarters. A pretty young woman, whose belly was starting to prod with pregnancy, greeted her at the door and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank god you guys are fine, I don't think any of us slept last night."
"Turns out it was all legit." Michonne entered the house. "The council needs to gather as soon as possible."
Abby gave a short nod, though she looked worried. "I'll boil some water for you. You go on, they're in their usual room."
"Thanks for looking after them."
She leaned on the kitchen doorway, fatigue starting to settle in.
"We're family, you don't have to thank us for that."
"But still, I know they can be a handful."
Abby snorted. "And we all love them for it. They'll be so excited to see you. Every day it was, 'when's mama coming back?'" The woman pulled a jacket from the coat hanger. "I'll come get you when the water's ready," she said and left the house.
Michonne went past the living room and into the back corridor. She opened the bedroom slowly, she didn't want to wake them. No matter how many times she left, it never really got easier. She wasn't sure it ever would. Memories of André would resurface from the moment she stepped away to the second she returned and saw them with her own eyes. Being a mother again wasn't something she ever planned.
She pulled a chair next to the bed and looked at them. They're alive, nothing happened. She took a shaky breath and counted the amount of times she had left them, the distances she had travelled each of those times and the amount of days each of those journeys took until the tremors in her hands subsided. Thirteen times, seven thousand and eight hundred miles, and seventy days. Seventy days and they were still alive, she reminded herself trying to recall the logicality that once was so easy but in these moments always evaded her.
They were completely oblivious to the troubles brewing around them – peaceful. Neither of them looked like her. She started seeing traces of Carl in the girl's face when she was nine months old, and the boy lying next to her looked so much like his father. She smiled as she thought of the pair who had saved her, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.
They were being surrounded on all sides by cauldrons ready to burst. Michonne gazed at her sleeping children and slowly began to plan.
XxXPITMXxX
By the time she finished showering she was more confident in her ideas. It had taken two buckets of water for her to be satisfied that the grime of the eleven days she'd spent outside was gone. The water Abby boiled had finished, and the last few scoops she poured on herself had leaned more towards cold than lukewarm. Like most of the community, the bathing sheds had no electricity. Water had to be boiled manually and mixed in a bucket before you could wash.
As Michonne headed towards their headquarters again, cleanly clothed and with her sword on her back, the community was quiet but well on its way to waking. People greeted her as they made their way to the pantry for fresh milk, or headed towards the bathing sheds to boil some water to bathe. She could hear the chopping of wood in the distance and the bleating of sheep and goats. Sounds she'd come to associate with the notion of home.
She hadn't eaten since half a day ago when she and Yekne had last camped, and her kids would be waking up soon, but she needed to give the meeting her full attention. If they saw her they would want to follow, and there might be tears as they conjured that she was leaving again and not just going to another room.
They held the meeting in what used to be a dining room, but the large twelve seat table was hardly used for that purpose anymore. After relieved hugs and greetings were exchanged, everyone took their seats. The six people gathered there weren't just council members, they were her family.
"The Resistance wants to attack the walled communities," Michonne concluded, after recounting what had happened. "The meeting we went to was a rally to get more people, and it seems like they were successful."
"I guess it's exactly what we expected," Siobhan said. She was in her early fifties and was the oldest member of the council. Her long auburn hair was streaked in grey.
"Will it last though?" Julian looked around the table, his glasses catching the light. He was two years younger than his sister Abby. Him and Yekne were their scouts, and knew the territories and clans better than anyone. "This is the clans we're talking about, they'll probably start killing each other for the rest of the food the Resistance have. And the League? No one would willingly join those people."
"But the League aren't the ones they're going to, Marcus is," Siobhan said. "And why not? He's given them food, he's already proven he can deliver."
"That food will run out though." Abby turned to Michonne. "You said it wasn't much."
"It won't last long," Michonne agreed. "But it's still more than those people had before."
"You really think they're gonna follow him," Clyde said, it was more a statement than a question. Michonne hadn't missed the tightening of his jaw and the fleeting glance Siobhan had thrown his way at the mention of the League. "This isn't the first time someone's tried this. It might not follow through."
"I wouldn't believe either," Yekne said. "But the man gives good speech."
Michonne nodded, remembering how even she had been moved by his words. Everything Marcus had said was true.
"Marcus lives up to every expectation," she said. "The question is, what do we do?"
"What can we do?" Ayda asked. "Expect watch and hope that whatever happens doesn't reach us."
Michonne tried not to think of the faces she'd seen in that graveyard.
She sighed, pulling threads from a previous life when she used to be a lawyer. "What do we know?" she asked, looking around the table.
"We know whatever the Resistance has in mind, they have to do it soon," Morgan said. It was his job to design traps and secure the community. When it came to pre-empting possible moves of invaders there was no one better. "If their food runs out then it's over."
Michonne nodded and turned to Julian. "How are the walled roads?"
"Still nothing last time we checked."
"Suppose they follow the resistance and don't start killing each other," Ayda said. "We know the numbers don't work."
"Maybe they don't attack all of them," Yekne said. "Maybe they just attack one."
Siobhan shook her head. "The other communities won't sit by and watch."
"And the Wallers have horses and more weapons, and they might even still have guns," Julian added. "It won't work."
"He knows something we don't." Morgan looked thoughtful. "The man ain't stupid. He messed with their trade routes so good they stopped using them for four months straight. And that was before he had all these people. A man like that doesn't start a war with no planning. There's something we don't know."
The room grew quiet as they contemplated his words.
"We know that whatever happens, it'll be a bloodbath," Ayda finally said. "Either the Wallers will kill them all or…"
Or nature and desperation will do the rest. She didn't have to say it, they all knew. Marcus hadn't been lying about time running out.
"Just to get this out the way, are we joining them?" Julian asked, eyes quickly darting to Clyde before settling back on Michonne.
"Along with the League?" Siobhan's voice was sarcastic. "I don't know about you, Julian, but I rather enjoy sleep. The kind where I don't have to keep an eye open in case of attempted homicide."
Julian shot her a glare. "Still had to be asked."
Siobhan gave a sweet smile, teasing Julian was something of a hobby for her, and looked around. "Everyone agrees that joining the Resistance is completely off the table?"
"Definitely can't be an option," Morgan said. "Not anymore at least."
"My proposal is that we don't do anything, we stay on the sidelines and see how things settle," he continued. "In the meantime we keep on securing the community, we double the number of watchpoints and only Yekne and Julian are allowed out."
"That's definitely our safest option right now," she agreed.
Morgan smiled. "I get the feeling there's a 'but' coming."
Their eyes locked and though her face remained a cool mask, Michonne felt her cheeks warming as she turned her gaze to the rest of the table.
"It won't be entirely safe," she said, "but there's another option."
She waited until all focus was on her. "We can join the Wallers."
Silence.
Even Morgan looked surprised.
"We can't keep relying on the fact that no one knows we're here. Look at what happened with the Wolves. We've been lucky. One day all it'll take is the wrong group to find this place, one that's larger and better armed and we'll lose everything. None of us have any reason to love them, but the alliance those communities have seem genuine and beneficial. Having a group we can call on for help will make a huge difference when someone worse than the Wolves finds us."
"That's a huge risk," Morgan's voice was grave. "Once we reveal ourselves to the Wallers, it'll only be a matter of time before the Drifters find us too. Is it worth the trouble it'll bring us?"
It was the biggest flaw Michonne had thought of too, but she couldn't think of a way around it so she shared the thought that stopped her from disregarding the plan altogether.
"The Drifters can find us either way, the Wolves did, it's just a matter of time and chance."
Morgan nodded, his expression grim.
"How do we get close enough to ask about joining?" Ayda bit her lip.
"I know it's a dangerous plan but if it works the benefits will greatly outweigh the risks, and there might be a time when we won't have a choice." Michonne looked around the table. "Does anyone have any objections to at least exploring this?"
"I think it's worth hearing what you've come up with at least," Clyde said.
Michonne smiled. Her plan wasn't perfect, but with the people sitting there she knew they'd be able to develop it into something useable.
XxXPITMXxX
Morgan stopped her on her way out.
"You can't be serious about joining them," he said.
Michonne waited as he grabbed his staff. "I've gone back and forth over it and this is the only way."
They made their way down the hallway.
"If we do this we lose the one thing that's kept us safe all these years."
Michonne shook her head. "We already lost it when the Wolves came. If even one of them is still out there…"
"They're not," Morgan's voice was firm. "We made sure we got them all."
"We think we got them all," she corrected.
Her orders had been simple that day; kill them all. She'd been on edge ever since. Her gut was telling her there was something she had to do and this was it. She was sure of it.
"Julian and Yekne have scouted that area repeatedly, there's been no sign any of them survived."
"We were never going to stay hidden forever." she looked at him. "I'd rather we have full control over how the rest of Virginia finds out about us then wake up one day to a full-blown attack on our community."
"The Wallers will want something," he said. "Whatever they offer us won't be free and it might not even be a fair trade."
"If it was free I'd be afraid." She smiled. "People have always wanted things, the only difference is now the price is paid in blood."
"Blood that each of us has spilt." Morgan met her gaze. "We won't be welcomed with open arms."
"We hate them just as much as they hate us. But we both want to survive and that'll be enough reason to work together."
He nodded, but Michonne could tell the discussion wasn't over. He was merely storing it away to be drawn out at a later time. She had known him long enough, walking a hundred miles with someone would do that to you.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked.
Morgan looked at the hubbub of the community beyond the door. "I was thinking about that day I found you," he said. "The trail was starting to go cold. I wasn't sure if I was following actual signs anymore or just walking to keep myself going. And then there you were with a gun pointed at my forehead, with Siobhan and Yekne ready to pummel me if you missed. "
She laughed. "You didn't recognise me."
"I did," he insisted. "I just wasn't sure."
"Yeah right."
"It's true," he said then joined her in the laughter.
"We found a home here," he said after a pause.
Although their journey had started off with a different goal. She heard the unspoken words, but she didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about the man he had been searching for when he found her instead.
"Hey Morgan, everyone's waiting," Oliver called from the doorway.
"Class to teach." Morgan shook his staff. "I'll see you later."
XxXPITMXxX
Michonne made her way to the kitchen. She could hear their voices from the hallway. They were playing on the floor with their backs to her as Ayda's grandmother, Maryam, washed the dishes and Jamie wiped and helped to put them away.
Maryam was the oldest member of their community and was like everyone's grandmother. The kids especially loved her. The woman had left India to spend the holidays with her son, Ayda's father, before things had fallen apart. Her four children, nine grandchildren and eleven great grandchildren were lost to her now. Ayda was the only living relative she had left. She spoke to the kids in a mix of her native Urdu and English, and the children, who've known her since they were babies, had learned to respond in kind. The old woman was the first to see her in the doorway.
"Judith?" Maryam called, in a heavily accented voice.
"Jee nani?" The girl answered without looking up from her game.
"Look who's at the door," Maryam said.
"Mommy!" The girl ran and jumped into her arms, her younger brother following excitedly behind her.
"My little munchkins!" Michonne knelt down and scooped them into a hug. "I've missed you so so much. Did you behave for nani?"
"Yeah," they both chorused.
"You were gone for so so so long mommy," Judith complained as she wrapped her arms around Michonne's neck, and Levi tried to climb her lap.
"I didn't mean to be." She kissed them both on the forehead. "But I'm proud of you, for being brave."
Levi tugged at her top and poked her cheek to grab her attention. "No go again mama."
Michonne blew cherries on his neck before kissing them once more. "I'm sorry I took so long baby."
"Kids, let ammi stand so she can have breakfast," Maryam said as she laid a plate on the table.
Michonne ended up sitting with both children in her lap as Judith took it on herself to feed her.
A/N: of course Judith is alive ;) . Thank you for reading!