Thanks for taking the time to read. I started this story fully intending for the first chapter to be it, but after i wrote it, the characters had more to tell me. So i can't say how long this will be, but i'll try my best to get it all down. Enjoy!
It takes three days; seventy-two hours; four thousand three hundred twenty minutes for Michonne to open her eyes. During that time, I've been away from her for as little time as possible. I had to at least check up on Carl and Judith while Abraham and Sasha were gracious enough to look after them. Carl was old enough that he didn't need 24/7 supervision but I didn't want to put taking care of a toddler on him.
Everyone else was shaken, the whole community was terrified. They've finally really come to the full realization that it isn't the walkers that we have to fear, but the humans. It is a hard pill to swallow, and I think even some of us veterans still had to be reminded. If you're not strongest then you are weakest, prey.
The saviors, as Negan promised take half of our guns, half of our medicine, and take the doctor with them when they leave.
Maggie loses the baby.
But Michonne opens her eyes. I feel guilty that I have this piece of happiness when my brother and sister have lost a child. But I can't help the feelings, the spark of joy.
It happens slowly. Carl is visiting, reading to her from one of the comic books she found for him back when we were at the prison. One minute she's lying there as still as always and the next she's flailing. Her body erupting in a flurry of movement, and she's ripping the iv out of her arm, and pulling the feeding tube out of her nose.
"Michonne!" I call her name as Carl calls mine, the comic book flutters to the floor, forgotten. "Don't do that, Michonne calm down." I hold her forearms, down on the mattress, peering down at her still swollen face. It's gone down a lot but there are bruises and abrasions all over it, she has two black eyes.
"Go get Rosita." I tell carl as Michonne gets a hand free, the uninjured one, and pulls again at the feeding tube, making herself gag. "Damn it Michonne, stop!"
She looks at me then, her rich dark eyes burning into mine. It's strange, I've never seen her look so scared before.
"Its okay. You're okay." I tell her hoping to reorient her, and it seems to work but her eyes are darting around wildly, darting from my face to the ceiling to around the room. "You're okay."
"She's awake?" Rosita rushes into the room, Carl hot on her heels.
"What's wrong with her? Can she see?" I ask as I lean back, allowing her some room to look down at Michonne. I watch as she shines a light into Michonne's eyes, checking their response.
"She can" she says to me and then leans directly over Michonne's face. "Michonne, it's Rosita, can you hear me?"
She's silent for a moment, we all are. Waiting to see what she'll say. If she says anything. She hasn't made a sound since she woke up. We're all waiting with bated breath.
"I can hear you." She says and it's a relief that her voice sounds exactly the same. A knot in my stomach relaxes for the first time in three days at the sound. "How do you know my name? I don't know you."
And just like that my stomach falls to the floor.
To her credit, Rosita doesn't even blink. "I'm Rosita, we met a couple of months ago—Maybe you'll know Rick." At my name I snap to attention and realize that I've just let my mind wander. I take a step forward.
"Rick." She says in that monotone she used to use all the time at the prison, back before we really knew each other, back before us.
"Michonne?" Carl steps forward, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. He's hesitant and there's even a little fear in his eyes. I watched as he faced down a bat wielding Negan, stared him right in the eye in defiance, but the idea that this woman, his best friend and confidant, the one who has always been there, the closest thing he has to a mother since Lori died may not know him, may not know the things that they've shared has him terrified. And I can't blame him. How will we be able to live though losing Michonne? Even when she's right here still breathing.
She looks at him for a minute, taking in every detail of his face, and I find myself holding my breath.
"Carl?" Her voice is soft, unsure. "What's—What happened? Your eye-"
He brings his bangs forward to cover his eye and smiles down at her reassured, I suppose, that she at least knows who he is. He takes her hand, I watch, jealous as she squeezes it. I'm not sure I should even touch her. Who knows just how much she remembers.
"You were unconscious." Rosita informs her as she leans over to cover the wound Michonne caused when she pulled the iv out. "You've been out for three days."
"Three days?" Michonne frowns, and I can practically see the wheels turning over in her head.
"What's the last thing you remember?" I ask, holding my breath again. I'm dreading the answer, but some part of me already knows.
"I—I don't know. I—" she frowns her breaths quickening. "I can't—" She's working herself up pretty good. I've never seen her like this, panicked. But I have. That first day we'd met when she'd sneaked us into Woodbury and left us on our own only to reappear when Glenn and Darryl were missing. She'd panicked when she'd thought we would leave her. Back then I had every intention of doing so. But not now. That's not who we are anymore.
"Shh. Its okay, just breathe." I tell her, leaning over again. I'm sure she doesn't know me as much as I know her but that doesn't mean that she's a different person. I know how to calm her. I lean closer, get right down in her face. "Michonne."
She stills—her brows coming down and her lips compress into a line. I almost smile. I haven't seen this face directed at me in such a long time.
"You're alright. Just rest. We're safe here. We'll figure this out." He watches me for a moment, her dark eyes darting over my face and back to my eyes. She's reading me, like she's always seemed able to do.
"My head hurts." She says as her eyes dart toward Rosita and back to me.
"I'll go get some morphine." Rosita says.
"I'm missing something aren't I?" she asks. "There are things that I don't remember—aren't there?"
I hesitate. I'm not sure telling her that she's been beat by a madman and confirming that she can't remember a huge chunk of the time we've spent together would be such a good idea. But thankfully I don't have too much time to worry about it. Rosita comes back into the room.
"Since you're awake we don't need the feeding tube" She tells Michonne as I take a step back. Carl's staring at Michonne, his eyes locked on her, a pensive look on his face. It's the same look that he has when he's trying to put his gun back together once he's cleaned it. Utter concentration. "But we need the iv back in. You're still pretty dehydrated and with your head trauma the last thing we need is thickening of your blood."
Michonne glances at me, I nod instinctively and she holds her arm out to Rosita. As she places the iv I realize it's something we do so often that I don't even notice it until it's happened. She checked with me. Something in there, buried in her subconscious remembers. I haven't lost her yet.
I send Carl home after Michonne's drifted off again and leave the infirmary for the first time in three days. Its strange just how normal everything looks. The street is still lined with too big picture perfect houses. The grass is still green. It feels like Alexandria should somehow reflect the way all our lives have been tossed around and turned upside down. But it doesn't.
It's gotten colder, and it's just the beginning of September. It never got this chilly till late November in King County. We'll have to start getting ready for the winter. My feet carry me where I should have been days ago. As I make my way up the porch I and feel the tension building in my shoulders. I knock. It takes a few minutes before Glen comes to the door.
"Rick." He says, as he opens the door wide enough for me to enter. His face is haggard; a tiredness shows there that I've only attributed to my own face before. I reach a hand out to squeeze his shoulder and he comes into the hug willingly. We've been through so much together in the last couple of years that the word family doesn't really suffice. He's my brother, not just in arms, but in blood. When he hurts, so do I.
"How are you?" I ask him when he steps back. He shakes his head and I understand.
When I think about the kind of silent communication that Michonne and I share, I wonder if I haven't learned more about reading people from trying to desperately to get into her head. I can read gestures and body language, tiny little tics that the face makes when thoughts change. I've become an expert at reading people and its all from trying to read her.
"Maggie?" I ask.
He clears his throat, and looks out the window in the living room. It's dark so there's not much to see, but I know it's more distraction than anything. "She's not taking it well."
I nod. It's not a surprise. She's lost too much in the last couple of months. First Hershel when the prison fell and then Beth at the hospital, and just when she was getting used to planning for the future she's lost her child. I can't imagine the hurt. I don't want to. It wouldn't be doing any kind of service to her anyway. Pain is something that can't be shared. It's a singular experience, no matter what anyone says. I learned that the hard way when Lori died.
"You think she'd wanna see me for a minute?"
I know it's hard to tell but to Glen's credit he doesn't hesitate. "Let's go ask her."
Maggie is standing at the window, peering out into the darkness of the back yard when we get up the stairs.
"Honey? Rick's here to see you." He tells her, his voice gentle, as if just the tone of it could cause her to burst into tears. She doesn't respond and I take it as assent to come in.
"I won't stay long." I assure Glen as I step into the room. I step up next to her and lean my forearm on the window, the other hand settles to the rings of my belt. We're silent for a while, just breathing.
"You still think there's more?" her voice is soft; I have to strain to hear it even though I'm standing right next to her.
I don't answer right away; I think about it. Really think. It's so easy to fall into despair. To think that this setback, the thing with Negan will beat us. Turn us into something that we've never been. But there's just something that won't let me do that this time. It used to be pressure that kept me going. The weight of keeping everyone alive that kept pushing me forward, putting one foot in front of the other. But now—now I have something that I haven't had since I saw the missing photo albums back in my house in King County.
Hope.
It's this place, that's given it to me. And I realize now why Michonne fought so hard for me to get us here. Why she literally had to knock me out to get me to see it. This place is our future and it's possible for us to have one.
"Yeah. I do." I turn away from the window and look directly at her. Her face is pale, but not as white as the last time I saw her. But there are dark circles under her eyes and her hair is tangled around her head. She nods after a moment and looks at me. There's nothing that I'd feared to see in her eyes. No accusations, no anger, no blame and I have to admit that I'm not even surprised. Maggie doesn't have a mean bone in her body. She's strong, stronger that anyone, even she herself knows.
"I'm sorry." I tell her. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." She says still looking at me and I find the I don't know what to say to her. I came to see her to reassure her, to tell her that everything would be alright. To give her some kind of comfort but I just don't know what to say. I can't even imagine the pain that she's going through and I can admit that I don't want to. I remember back after the prison fell, thinking that we'd lost Judith and the pain I'd felt then had been worse than any punch, or gunshot wound I'd ever endured. In some ways it was even more painful than losing Lori.
Hershel would know what to say. He'd wrap his arm around her and pull her to his chest and quote something from the bible that would give her peace. He should be here instead of me.
It should be him.
So instead of saying anything I just pull her to me. I wrap her in my arms and hold onto her as she cries. I shoulder her bodyweight when her knees fail her and I carry her to the bed when her sobs subside. Its watching her as she drifts off that makes me realize that we'll keep going on, keep living. Its what we have to do. We can't just survive anymore.
We have to live.
And I have to make sure that we can.
