A/N: Thank you guys so much for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. (The comments about Negan cracked me up, btw. I wrestled with whether to use Mike, but I really didn't wanna have to kill Andre yet again, so I thought I'd try something new, haha.) And I know I didn't give you much, so I really appreciate that y'all are already into it. It's the reason I'm back so soon, because lord knows I'm generally not a two-chapters-in-one-week kinda writer, lmao. But I'm so excited about this story, and I wanna get as much done as I can while I have the time. So I hope you dig this installment, too! -Ash

Chapter 2
Girl Next Door Went A-Walking

It had been two full days since Michonne walked away from her life and her fiancé in Atlanta. In that time, she took a leave of absence from her job at the Centers for Disease Control, relying on the promise that she'd still have it if and when she came back. She had a long conversation with the director of her division, requesting a six-month hold on all her projects, and much to her surprise, he'd given it to her without any pushback. He said her mental health was paramount. It was one of the few perks of being a government employee, she had to admit – it was pretty difficult to get fired.

And with that, having discarded the one thing that might've allowed her to change her mind and stay, she decided on a place to go. She didn't want to go too far, in case of an emergency, for one. In case she didn't like it, for two. She didn't want to be halfway across the country if she were to decide she couldn't do this anymore either. She was such a fucking mess. It was a wonder she was managing pulling off such a sudden move like this. But it'd been a perfect way to keep her mind busy. Searching for affordable, livable homes in suitable cities...

After careful but speedy research, Michonne decided the mountains would be good for her. She definitely preferred warm weather – beaches and such – but thought the change would be nice. Maybe necessary. The Blue Ridge Mountains were only a few hours' drive from Atlanta if she picked the right place. She had options in the northern parts of Georgia, east Tennessee, and even areas of North and South Carolina. So she looked for houses in all those places. Cabins and treehouses that sat amongst nothing but nature. Some of them didn't even have doors. A true adventure, that she wasn't sure she was ready for.

But then a particular listing caught her eye, the description practically screaming at her from the screen: Three miles from the western edge of Smoky Mountain National Park. It's very wooden and serene, with no civilization in sight. It was all she needed to know. The fact that it was a three-hour drive from Atlanta, in some place she'd never heard of, was a bonus. She was sold before even speaking with the owner.

Luckily, the owner, Jeanne, was kind. Maybe she could hear the grief in her voice, or maybe she just didn't know how valuable this place was to Michonne, but she was letting it go for $800 a month. That felt like pocket change compared to the mortgage she and Negan paid on their Decatur home. So naturally, she took that deal.

Which brought her, two days later, to this cabin perched at the peak of a mountain, in the middle of nowhere. It was a beautiful house, described to her by Jeanne as 'traditional Appalachian style.' Made of rich, dark logs, decorated outside by the greenest shrubbery she'd ever seen. Inside was spacious and sparsely decorated – the main items downstairs were a large cherry wood table in the kitchen, and a couch in the living area, facing a fireplace encased in stone. It was already cool for July, so she imagined she'd end up spending a lot of evenings by the fire. A narrow flight of steps led up to a bedroom, with a king-sized bed that she couldn't see herself getting much sleep in – especially with no television in sight, though at least there was WiFi. The place was almost too big for what she was looking for, and she hated all the wood, but she would force herself to make it work.

That morning, she'd gone to an interview at UT Knoxville, hoping for an adjunct professor position in their College of Health and Human Sciences. She worked at the nucleus of public health, after all. Plus, there'd been some recent controversy over the lack of diversity in UT's faculty, particularly in the science departments, in which case, if all her fancy degrees didn't work, perhaps her black womanness would work to her advantage for once. She thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of income while she wasn't doing her actual job, and also have a little something to occupy her time. She couldn't phone it in like she had been. She'd have to get out of bed and face students, be somewhat social. The interview went well, she thought, but it was hard to tell for sure when she'd barely interacted with anyone for months. Her frame of reference was off. If she didn't hear back from them within the next two weeks, she figured she'd have to find something else. Even if it was just a part-time cashier at some local store. She would make that work, too. She had to.

Her phone had been buzzing incessantly since the evening she left, which was to be expected. Message after message, call after call, 90% of which were from Negan. She knew she should've answered – their relationship warranted that much, at least – but she couldn't. There was nothing to say, and too much of a risk that he'd convince her to come home. She'd hear his voice and his pleas and tell herself that he didn't deserve to be miserable just because she was, so she'd go running back to him. She couldn't take that chance.

She did take calls from her parents, though. Her mother was very clear about the fact that she'd call the police if she got even an inkling that she was in danger. So she'd checked in with them at every juncture of her journey, just to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped or killed. After she quit her job, after she found a new place. She called them when she left Atlanta, and now that she'd arrived and seen that her new home was real and clean and not some terrible mistake, on its surface at least, she would call them again.

She opted for a Skype session this time, as the cell phone reception up there was questionable, at best. And she hoped that if they actually saw her, had visible proof that she was safe, they'd worry less. It was a long shot, given the fact that her mother called her every single day when she went off to college. And again, when she went to grad school, solely because it was in a different city. 'The big city,' as they referred to it. Of course, compared to her town of 9,000 people in Iowa, Atlanta was huge, so she got it. She appreciated it. Now, at almost 36 years old, that wasn't quite the case.

"Hey, Mom," Michonne greeted her mother, looking like a nearly identical version of herself, only smiling, when she appeared on her laptop screen.

"Hi, sweetie," she chirped in response, relieved to see her daughter's face, even when it looked glum and gaunt; her beautiful dark skin ashen. Dull. Rose's expression immediately turned to one of concern when she realized she couldn't go take care of her daughter if she wanted to, because she didn't even know where she lived now. Which was terrifying. "Are you okay?" she asked, praying for a convincing answer.

"I feel better now that I'm here," Michonne promised with a small nod. But she could see the worry on her mother's face, which only amplified her feelings of remorse for leaving. "The place I found is pretty nice."

"It looks… cozy," she struggled to describe, based on what little she could see in the background. Wood paneling everywhere didn't quite seem like her daughter's style.

"I wanted cozy, but it's actually much bigger than I need," she sighed, her gaze scanning the open kitchen in front of her. "But it's fine."

"You don't like it," Rose knew, her voice steeped in disappointment for her.

"It's fine."

"You can go back home," she suggested carefully. She didn't want to sound unsupportive, but she would've felt so much better to know her daughter was back in Atlanta where she was supposed to be. "You don't have to force yourself to stay there just because you left."

"I've been here for an hour, Mom. I don't know how I feel about it." She said it for herself more than anything. "But I'm gonna stick it out for at least a week."

"If you feel like you can't go home to your husband, you can always come here," she appended. "You're not alone, sweetie."

Michonne sighed, shaking her head at the fact that her mother clearly hadn't heard a word she'd said since Monday. The fact that she insisted on calling Negan her husband when she'd effectively ended their engagement... "I want to be alone. That's the whole point, Mom."

"Okay," she was quick to relent upon hearing her rigid tone. "I just – I mean if you change your mind. Don't think you can't come back."

"Where's Dad?" she exhaled again, unable to hide her exasperation.

"He's outside cutting the grass, but probably running his mouth as usual," she chuckled, rising from her spot at the kitchen table to go chase down her husband.

Michonne watched the screen as her mother and her phone wooshed through their house, and she found herself feeling homesick for a place she had no desire to be. She left Iowa nineteen years ago and hadn't looked back, other than for holiday visits when she could fit them in. It was an odd feeling to want to be there now, but she chalked it up to being in a strange place, in several senses of the term. She even managed a little smile as her mom continued outside and sweetly yelled for her husband to get off of his lawnmower to talk to his daughter. It was a mere matter of seconds before he appeared in the frame, he and his wife cheek to cheek.

"Hi, my darling girl," he greeted her warmly, a big smile to match.

"Hi, Daddy," Michonne waved at him, his happiness managing to affect her marginally, at least. Hearing his beautiful French-tinged accent always made her feel like a kid again, and she continued to smile as she gazed at them. "I made it," she said.

"I see you did," Joseph nodded, peering into the background the same way Rose had done. "Now where the hell are you?" he chuckled.

"I'm in Tennessee," she answered, purposely vague about where, exactly, within the broad state.

"She's not going to tell us because she thinks we'll come look for her," Rose informed him.

"Nobody is coming after you, child," he joked. "You're a grown woman who's run away from her life. That's your decision."

"You hear that, Mom?" Michonne pointed out, relieved to hear that at least one person got it.

"Oh, please. He's putting on an act for you, trying to pretend he's not just as worried as the rest of us."

Her expression deflated at her mother's use of the word 'us.' Not that she expected any different, but it was a reminder that Negan had probably been in close contact with them. She'd gotten a few calls from her best friend, too, which was another apology she'd have to extend at some point soon. "How is he?" she asked, referring to her fiancé. Her ex-fiancé, she supposed. Her voice was thin as it came out, because she knew she shouldn't be asking.

"He's about as bad as you'd expect him to be," Rose answered plainly. She was still in disbelief about it all. She did figure it was better that Michonne leave now instead of embarrassing him at the altar or something along those lines, but all of this was just so unlike her younger daughter. "I think he'd like to talk to you, at least."

She shook her head, wishing she could shake away the guilt along with it. "Just tell him I'm okay?" she asked of them.

"We will, sweetheart," Joseph promised. "But do us a favor and make sure that you really are."

"I'm trying to be," she nodded. "I had a job interview for a place here," she offered, wanting them to take that as a sign of life and her attempting to have one. She really was trying here. And it was slightly easier to do that without the reminders of Anthony everywhere she turned. "I think I'm gonna take a walk," she added, thinking about Negan then – how it was the last thing he suggested before he left. Before she left. "See what my new neighborhood is like…"

"Oh, well don't let us keep you," Rose grinned at that news. Based on the daily reports she'd gotten from Negan, it had become a herculean feat to get her to do that much. "Let us know what it's like."

"Take pictures," Joseph suggested with a smirk, secretly hoping they'd give away her location.

She smiled faintly at her parents, their silliness comforting in a moment where nothing felt comfortable — by design, of course. "I'll call you guys in a couple of days," she promised, waving at them one more time.

"We love you, Mich—"

She'd inadvertently cut off the call before her mother could finish her sentence. She instinctively touched the screen as if it could bring them back somehow, as if she could touch them, then let out a big sigh when she realized she was, indeed, alone.

"A walk," she spoke out loud to herself. That's what she said she would do, and it was in her best interests to actually get up and do it before she could talk herself out of it. She'd gotten good at saying she'd do something later, knowing damn well she wouldn't. But she was genuinely interested in the lay of the land around there. She thought she'd seen a lake or pond when she was driving in, which seemed like a nice thing to have nearby. The temperature was almost shockingly low for late July, so she didn't expect to go swimming anytime soon, but maybe fishing was in her future. With the whole 'no civilization in sight,' she imagined that would be something she'd get bored enough to try.

Michonne collected her phone, containing the instructions for how to lock the front door, along with a light sweater for the mild weather and headed on out. She stopped on her porch for a while, just to take in the view for the first time. She hadn't noticed the two rocking chairs perched up there when she came in, but she had now, and they reminded her of her home. Her old home, that is. She and Negan spent three days picking out the one they ended up putting in Anthony's room. So with that in mind, she stuffed her phone in her back pocket and decided to turn the chairs on their heads so that they could no longer rock.

Once that was done, she continued down the short staircase of the porch and ventured into the neighborhood. Her front yard was small, practically nonexistent compared to her old place, with no driveway to speak of, which she was unused to. Back in civilization, people had their own little spaces cut out for them, clearly delineated. But with only a couple of other houses in the area, maybe it all belonged to her. Across the road there was a seemingly endless lot, filled with trees and nothing else. She imagined it would be quite beautiful in the autumn once the leaves turned all their different colors. But for now, it was just a sea of green, too thick to even see through.

She proceeded onto the road, opting to go downhill, the way she came in, hoping to familiarize herself with the route. The neighborhood was quiet, almost annoyingly so, aside from a few chirping birds, the leaves whispering in the wind, and as she got toward the bottom of the hill, the sound of water running. She was correct about passing a creek on her way in, and as she came to a bridge in the road, she realized there was a little waterfall flowing into it. In the distance, the mountains made for the most beautiful backdrop to it all. It was all so perfectly picturesque. Her friend Glenn was an amateur photographer, and he would've loved this place. She almost – almost – took out her phone to take some pictures for him, but alas, she wasn't ready for the conversation that would open up.

Instead, she decided to follow the bridge's path, allowing it to take her straight down to the creek. There was a cute little painted sign on the way that read, 'Fishing Hole,' which made her chuckle to herself. The neighborhood seemed so uninhabited, she wondered who'd put it there?

In hindsight, it probably should have been obvious when she spotted a giant house nestled in the trees, not far away. But in the moment, she thought nothing of it and continued with her little adventure, tiptoeing through the grass until she was at the edge of the greenish water. She closed her eyes and inhaled the fresh air, the sound of the rippling filling her mind. In that moment, she let herself believe that maybe this wasn't the worst idea after all.

She even went so far as to take a seat in the grass, not caring whether it was damp and could seep through her jeans. She should've cared, because she didn't bring much. She took her largest suitcase and still, it didn't fit everything. She tried for the essentials and a few mementos, but by and large, her walk-in closet back at home – her old home, that is – was left in tact. So she probably should've taken care not to sully her best pair of jeans. But she didn't. She sat crosslegged in the cool grass, eyes still shut, and imagined herself floating away in the water. A spectator probably would've thought she was meditating.

And Rick was certainly confused when he looked out of the window of his garage to find a stranger sitting at the other end of his yard. He wasn't sure what he found weirder: the fact that someone was actually out there, or that she had taken to his property to do… whatever it was she was doing. He was fairly certain it was the former, since he'd yet to meet a neighbor in the year since he'd been coming to the place. And even when he went into town, it was rare to see a black person, which made her appearance all the more mystifying.

Not wanting to scare her, he made the conscious decision not to open his garage, but slipped inside his home to go out through the front. He kept his footsteps light, his eyes fixed on her, as if he were approaching a doe, until he was close enough to see what she was doing. Praying? Pondering? Her face was pointed to the sky, so he figured it was likely one of the two, and he was reluctant to disturb her in that case. So he watched from afar, for a few minutes, at least. He had to wonder what a beautiful woman like this was doing in the middle of nowhere; how she'd found her way to his yard. She had the most beautiful skin, rivaling the sun in brilliance. It reminded him of his favorite wood stain – Jacobean – a perfect dark brown that managed to enrich every room it was in.

He eventually recognized that he was staring, and should probably speak before he veered into creepy territory, so he did. "Hello," he called out to her softly, his footsteps inching toward her again.

Michonne's eyes popped open at the sound of a voice that she was pretty sure wasn't in her head. Her momentary serenity stripped away, she peered at the figure walking toward her. He was kind of tall and lean and had far too much hair on his face and head. He looked like he'd spent most of his summer in the sun, his peachy skin bearing a golden glow. She would've thought he was homeless had it not been for the house set behind him. And something about his gait also told her that he wasn't lacking much of anything – especially confidence.

"Are you lost?" he asked when she didn't reply. It occurred to him that he'd probably startled her, so he stopped in his tracks so as not to alarm her any further.

What a loaded question, she thought. Ignoring it, she rushed to her feet, realizing that she was probably trespassing on this man's property. He seemed harmless enough, but she did need the reminder that she was not in Atlanta anymore. She couldn't just go exploring some random neighborhood in the middle of Bumblefuck, Tennessee and think she was safe. "I'm sorry," she replied to him, shaking her head. "I thought this was public property."

"It's all right," he chuckled, detecting her uneasiness. "I just saw you out here and I wasn't sure what the hell was goin' on. I've yet to see another face but mine up here."

"Ah." She found that encouraging – accurate advertising on the part of her landlord. "Well I didn't mean to disturb you," she said. "I just saw the water and wanted to sit by it for a minute."

"You're welcome to it," he was quick to offer. "I'm Rick, by the way."

He moved closer to extend his hand, and she had to ignore everything in her that wanted her to back away from his advance. Instead, she accepted his hand, even feeling some version of comfort when their eyes locked. His were the color of the sky, and she imagined there might've even been an attractive guy somewhere under all that hair. "Michonne," she reluctantly revealed.

He nodded at the unique name, taken in by her eyes, as well. Just a shade or two darker than her skin, they were big and beautiful and sad, in a way where he felt lost in them for a moment. He'd forgotten what else he wanted to say to her.

"I should go," she submitted, feeling overwhelmed by the prolonged contact. "I'm sorry, again, about disturbing you."

"You're fine," he promised, his gaze involuntarily roaming down her slim frame to get a full look at her. Her eyes remained his favorite. "Are you stayin' around here?"

"Up the hill," Michonne admitted with a small nod. He had a southern drawl that managed to make her feel warm; nothing like Negan's brash New York accent that she'd forced herself to enjoy at some point in the last five years. She also wasn't sure why she was comparing the two. "I guess I'll see you around."

"Well I'm here if you need..." he started to say, watching her turn to walk away before he could finish his sentence. "...anything."

Michonne walked back into her house with the realization that she had no food to speak of. Nothing more than some junk food she'd collected on her drive up there. All that talk in her head about fishing, when she probably needed to be out there actually learning how to do it. What with no civilization in sight and all.

She pulled out her phone again, deciding that she would just make one big trip into the nearest town, collect her necessary items, then she wouldn't have to worry about it for a while. She opened up Waze, first searching for the closest Target, only to find that it was a full hour away in Knoxville. She frowned at her screen, wondering if the shoddy reception was perhaps missing somewhere closer. She switched her search to Wal-Mart – a place she wouldn't have been caught dead in back home, but at least it was a recognizable name. A 40-minute drive, which wasn't much better. She wasn't expecting her typical Trader Joe's and Sprouts options up there in the Great Smoky Mountains, or wherever the hell she was, but damn. "Not even a Walmart," she sighed.

As she scrolled and flicked through her phone, trying to discern the quality of closer places with names she didn't recognize, she received a text from Negan – one of at least twenty since she'd left. She'd successfully ignored most of the other ones, but for some reason, just when she'd been distracted enough to stop thinking about her heartbreak for a little while, the preview of his message demanded her attention. She saw the first couple of lines: This really sucks Michonne. It really does. I understand... And so, her curiosity getting the best of her, she opened up their conversation thread, finding a wall of those rectangular gray bubbles, beseeching her to respond.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Michonne.

Is this real?

Baby where are you?

Just please respond if you're all
right.

I don't wanna hear it from your
parents, I wanna hear it from you.
Just answer the phone.

Michonne.

Michonne…

What the fuck, just answer me
once. Let's talk about this.

Are you really doing this?

I'm not asking you to come back. If
this was hell for you... and it seems
like it was... then I want you to be
free. But I also want a goodbye that
didn't come scribbled on a fucking
piece of paper.

MICHONNE.

This really sucks Michonne. It really
does. I understand why you had to
go. If I were you and I carried a child
inside my body for 8 months, I'd
probably wanna fucking die if I were
going through what we're going
through. I don't have any room to
judge how you respond to this. I get
that. I always did. But I also always
supported you and and whatever
you needed from me. If I couldn't
give it to you, well okay. But I think
at the least, I deserve a
conversation about it. I deserve
more than you walking out on me
and then refusing to talk to me.
What did I ever do but love you?
Apologetic words about how I
deserve better don't make me feel
any fucking better. What would
make me feel better is if you picked
up the phone. That's literally all I'm
asking. Talk to me. Please.

Michonne took a deep breath as she stared at the latest message, his pained and understandably angry plea tugging at her emotions. She'd done well all day, distracted with her new life; she hadn't had the space to think too much about what she was trying to leave behind. And now, just like that, it was on her mind again. And he was absolutely right – after five years, he deserved more than this. But what was she supposed to do when she didn't have more to give?

Her fingers hovered over the screen's keyboard, trying to figure out a response that wouldn't draw her into a full conversation with him. She couldn't handle it; not now. She began typing – I ' m s o – but then stopped, erased it, then typed it again. I'm sorry. It was all she had. She sent the message, turned off her phone, and stuffed it back in her pocket as she stood from the couch. It felt a bit like Groundhog's Day as she headed out of the door, the same way she had just half an hour prior.

She marched down the hill and over the bridge and trespassed into her neighbor's yard, following the grass path along the pond, until she reached his driveway, situated on the side of his house. She hadn't gotten this far before, so she wasn't sure where to go next, but opted for a rather steep flight of steps that she hoped led to his front door. Once she got to the top, she couldn't help but notice that he, too, had a set of rocking chairs sitting on his porch, and she decided that must be a Tennessee thing. But before she could knock, the door swung open, the man with the thick beard and pretty eyes startling her for the second time that day. "Oh," she greeted him, stepping back from the entryway.

"I heard you come up the stairs," he explained, again, sensing her tentativeness. "It's quiet around here."

"I've noticed," she nodded. In that moment, she realized she wasn't sure what the hell she was doing there. On the face of it, she just wanted to know where he did his shopping. But she'd be lying if she pretended it wasn't something else that brought her back down that hill. It was particularly baffling to her since her entire reason for choosing this place was so that she wouldn't have to be around people. But for whatever reason, she liked the way she felt when she was sitting in this stranger's grass, and for the few minutes that she was in his presence, the overwhelming sense of grief that perpetually invaded her thoughts seemed to take a break for a while. "Sorry to bother you. Again."

"This is the most action I've gotten in months, so I'm definitely not complainin'," he quipped, seizing the opportunity to ease the tension. He then realized that might've been a little too forward for only their second interaction. "That was a terrible joke," he shook his head. He leaned into the doorway of his home as he asked, "What can I do for you?"

She had to resist the urge to smile and instead answered his question. "I was actually... like I said, I just moved in up the road, and I realized I don't have any food. So I was wondering if there was any specific place you get your groceries? Nothing seems... especially... close." Her words hung in the air as her gaze unintentionally moved past him to see into his kitchen, observing a table with maybe a dozen fresh fish bodies sitting on a platter, and next to it, another plate containing their heads.

"Oh," he chuckled with recognition, as he had a similar reaction the first time he was in a situation where he needed batteries. "Yeah, the nearest place is Food City, about eight miles down the hill," he explained, referring to the mountain they were sitting on. "Not a huge selection, but it's adequate. Especially on those days when you don't feel like gutting fish," he pointed inside his home, "or the deer meat's still aging."

Michonne nodded, attempting to seem as though she related to anything he was saying. "Well I also need things like linen and... pots and pans. Is the closest Wal-Mart really almost an hour away?"

Rick laughed again, wondering who this woman was that moved into a house without pots and pans. "Did you come with nothin'?"

"I wasn't thinking about it," she shook her head, unwilling to delve into the story of how she ended up there in the first place. "I also didn't imagine it would require a full road trip to go buy some new stuff."

"Well, if you wanna get through the night, I have some pots and/or pants you can use," he said, turning inside, leaving her to follow. "But yeah, the nearest superstore like that is a pretty good drive. You'll probably wanna make a list so you don't have to make the trip twice."

Michonne was careful not to go any farther than the threshold, scanning his place from there. It appeared that his seemingly giant house was actually just one big room – kitchen, living area, and bedroom all in one – which made her especially hesitant to step inside. Not only was she questioning the floorplan of the house, thinking he had to have some secret dungeon hiding in all that extra space, but the thought of being in this stranger's bedroom freaked her out. "I'm okay," she declared before he could go to the trouble. "I'm sure I can find a McDonald's or something."

He turned to see that she wasn't following, which made him smile. She was an odd one. He liked that. "Well you're welcome to stay for dinner," he offered, knowing she likely would decline. But he would've been a fool not to suggest it. It wasn't every day, or any day really, that a beautiful woman showed up on his doorstep. "If you like crappie, I've got plenty," he gestured to his table.

"I appreciate that," she returned politely, doing her best to avoid that image of fish heads again. "But I should really get settled at my place." Even if she could admit to herself that this man's presence had comforted her earlier, for all she knew, he was a serial killer.

"All right," he shrugged. "But if you smell the fish on the grill and change your mind, feel free to come on up."

"I will," she lied. She turned to head back down the steps, but stopped herself when she heard his footsteps moving toward her. She wanted to see him walk one more time. "Thank you," she added, awkwardly waving to him.

"Don't forget toilet paper," Rick reminded her, following her to the staircase, just to make sure she got down safely. "And pillows."

She didn't turn or say anything to acknowledge the advice, but nodded, making a mental note for when she got back home. Her new home. She might not have thought about pillows on her own.

"And liquor," he called after her, an amused smirk on his face as he watched her walk away. He couldn't help but wonder what her story was, and given her aloofness, the likelihood that he'd ever get to hear it. But he had to believe that this beautiful, quiet stranger with the sad eyes had shown up at his door for a reason, and he was intrigued, to say the least.