Author's Note: Hi again! Sorry it's been so long.

This chapter turned out a lot differently than I originally expected it to. There's still not much action (sorry :/) but there is a lot of interaction and dialogue, especially between Rick and Michonne. So, yay! I'm trying to incorporate some of the elements of the sneak peeks we've been getting for 8x09, but I'm only using what fits with the story I want to tell, and disregarding everything that doesn't. So I wouldn't say there were really any spoilers for the next episode.

And just a disclaimer, I wrote the second half of this chapter while on pain meds, and was also on pain meds while proofreading. I think everything is okay and makes sense, but sorry if something doesn't.

Love you all, and thanks for reading!


chapter two: needs and wants

She goes over to where the rest of them are gathered together, murmuring to each other, almost automatically. Her feet move with their own volition. Her thoughts are shooting between synapses in her brain far too fast for her to be able to discern, but she knows that one of them - her or Rick - is always there. Somewhere along the way, after Terminus, just Rick had slowly become Rick and Michonne, even before they were together in any way other than friendship and family. When they first got to Alexandria, and Rick went a bit off the rails, the group turned to her when they were hesitant to go to him, when they wanted to get something through to him but weren't sure they had the right words.

On the road after the fall of the prison, when it was just him, her, and Carl - she'd learned to speak Rick. She'd come to know Rick. She got him, and through everything - even through the whole Jessie fiasco - she understood him better than anyone else. And when he wasn't himself, or made a decision that didn't sit right with her, she wasn't afraid to stand up to him and do things on her own.

And now, they were Rick and Michonne - unequivocally, inextricably, and forevermore. They were an if/then statement, an action and inevitable reaction. One didn't exist without the other.

She remembers her life before, and how she'd thought of codependence as a dirty word. She loved Mike, of course, but she hadn't needed him. She hadn't needed anyone; she was complete within herself. She was her own person, with her own heart and mind and soul and spirit. She didn't have to sacrifice that to care for someone. Love didn't require a loss or change of her identity.

She learned a few things after the world ended, and after she came upon the group at the prison. After she found Rick and fell in love with him.

She realized that she hadn't really understood what that meant - needing someone. It didn't work the way she thought it did. Needing someone didn't mean sacrificing something inside you, or changing who you were. Someone who loved you - who was worth your needing - would never ask you to change. They wouldn't want you to.

Needing someone didn't bring change; it brought an evolution, a growth into something new. Loving someone and receiving love - being truly and wholly in love with another person - took who you were and cultivated it, offered it something it never used to have and watched it flourish. You wouldn't be the same, but it wouldn't take anything from you.

Needing someone didn't make you lose anything. Instead, it gave you something more. You were able to create something unique and beautiful. And to want that opportunity, to feel that pull towards another person and want to share something with them, was nothing but human.

The concept doesn't scare Michonne anymore. Now, she admits it freely, without shame or trepidation. She needs Rick, and she isn't scared of it. She revels in it.

And she knows Rick needs her, too. That he's always needed her, perhaps even before she needed him.

She'd been able to tell that he was seeing things when they first met, so she decided to confront him about it, gently. To offer something that maybe they could build on. There'd been soft glint in his eyes when he paused and turned in her direction after she told him how she talked to Mike, a mix of surprise and gratitude that she hadn't necessarily been looking for, or even suspecting. But there it was, all the same. And it had cemented something between them; not quite a friendship, or a trust, but something more like an understanding.

She noticed that he'd walked around with his shoulders slightly slumped after that talk. It wasn't in a bad way, though. It was as if his body had relaxed in the tiniest bit of relief.

He'd needed that talk. He needed her, and he'd told her as much, one night in the firelight after they set up camp among the trees along the train tracks to Terminus, Carl sleeping a few yards away from them.

("Remember when you accused me of seeing things? That day we found Morgan?"

He doesn't sound mad, but her eyes dart to his face before answering to make sure, and when she takes in his faint, teasing smile, she lets out the light laugh she'd been holding back. She glances up at Carl to make sure he's still asleep before angling her body towards Rick.

"Figured someone had to," she whispers. "Keep you honest."

He chuckles, and folds his arms in front of him as he gazes out into the distant darkness of the forest.

"Yeah, you've always been good at that. Keeping me honest."

She hums, and looks up at Carl once more, the compulsive need to keep an eye on him instinctual and overwhelming, especially since their reunion.

"You were right, you know," he admits lowly. "I was seein' things."

She draws her gaze back to him, but stays quiet, watching him as he shifts his position, stretching his legs towards the fire and dropping his head to his chest. After a few minutes of silence, he sighs.

"What? You're not gonna say anything?" he asks, sounding like he's almost frustrated at her lack of invasiveness. "Not who I was seeing, or why I was, or for how long?"

The toe of his boot kicks at the sticks and rocks around the campfire, making it flare and crackle a little stronger before settling again.

"I told you I talked to my dead boyfriend," she says, as she watches the orange and yellow flames dance back and forth in front of her, "and you didn't ask me anything else. You didn't ask me what had happened, or why he was dead. You took what I gave you, and didn't pry for anything else. And I appreciated that. I was grateful. I still am."

She turns to him again. His head is still bent towards the ground.

"This isn't about what I want," she explains. "This is about what you need."

When he doesn't answer her, she goes back to watching the fire, continuing to peek up at Carl every few moments and trying to ignore the rumbling in her stomach from days with not enough to eat. As time passes, and neither of them move to break the stillness between them, she decides she'll try to get some rest, as Rick's volunteered to take first watch. She's just about to stand up when she hears his voice.

"It was Lori," he murmurs. "I was seein' Lori."

He folds his hands together and starts to fiddle and pull at the wedding band he still wears around his finger. When he finally lifts his eyes and meets her steady gaze, he nods. She nods back, and that seems to be enough for him to know that she's there with him, and listening, even without her words.

"Lori - Lori, she was my wife," he tacks on as an afterthought, like he's just now remembered she wasn't around when everything happened. But then he scoffs gently, and shakes his head. "But I'm sure you know that. I'm sure you've heard the stories. That you know what happened."

"I have," she confesses hesitantly, afraid that this will upset him, like she'd been talking about him behind his back. "I've heard it in parts. I don't even know if I know the whole thing, but...yeah, I got the gist of what happened."

He can sense her reluctance.

"Don't worry. I'm not mad. I'm kind of relieved, actually. I really don't feel like reciting everything."

She presses her lips together in a tight, closed-mouthed smile, to signal to him that she understands, before he continues.

"I didn't expect to lose her. I know that sounds stupid. Because nowadays, you're not guaranteed anyone, for any amount of time, and it's naive to think otherwise. But, I don't know. With her, I just…"

He trails off, and she clears her throat, before speaking.

"Sometimes I think it's the people we're the closest to that we worry about losing the least. Because our lives are so intertwined with theirs, and we're so used to them being there, that we can't imagine them not being there. So we just always assume that they will be."

That's certainly what happened to her.

"Yeah," he breathes. "I guess that makes sense. So much went wrong between us. There was so much disagreement and misunderstanding and almost resentment, at times. And every once in awhile, she would reach out, or try to talk to me, and I would push it aside. Not because I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave things like that. I was just, so mad at her. And I wanted her to know it. I wanted her to feel it. I know that's wrong, but I didn't want to just let her off the hook. Brush it aside and act like nothing had ever happened."

He takes his ring all the way off, twirls it between his forefinger and thumb.

"I always thought I would have more time to make it right. That we would have more time. But we didn't, and she died, and I failed her. I've failed so many people since this whole thing started, but nothing's hurt like failing her has. I was her husband, even through all the shit we were going through, and I was supposed to protect her. But I didn't. I let that son of a bitch live, and it got her killed. And I let her die, when there was still so much left to fix."

She feels the urge to comfort him. She doesn't agree with him; she doesn't think his wife's death is his fault. Not for a second. And he shouldn't blame himself for the deterioration of his marriage like he is, either. A large part of her wants to tell him this. But she doesn't, because she knows comfort and reassurances aren't what he's seeking. That he wouldn't believe him, and they wouldn't help. They would probably only frustrate him.

That was one of the reasons she never told Andrea her story. She knew Andrea was the kind of person who would put an arm around her and tell her how sorry she was, how she shouldn't blame herself and how there was nothing she could've done. She didn't want that. In fact, that was the last thing she wanted. She wasn't ready to forgive herself, and she didn't want anyone to waste her time or their time trying to make her. She wasn't ready. She doesn't know if she ever will be.

She knows he doesn't want comfort. He wants someone to listen, and she knows this because that's what she wants. And she's learning every day just how similar they are.

"I think that's why I was seeing her, and hearing her," he goes on. "I was trying to give myself the time we never had. Making it up in my mind, since we never got it in real life. I wanted to fix it. Fix me and her. Even though she was dead."

He sighs, and slips his ring back on his finger.

"It didn't work, of course. It couldn't, because it wasn't real. So in the end, I guess it didn't solve anything. But, I don't know. Sometimes, it felt…"

"It felt nice, sometimes," she finishes for him. "It gave you space to work things out. To grieve. To try and understand everything that was happening in a way that no sympathy or help from anyone else was going to be able to do. And sometimes, it helped relieve that pressure that can build up in your chest when you lose someone close to you and it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers."

"Yeah," he says, nodding as he stares at her with wide eyes. "You really...get it, don't you?"

She smiles sadly.

"I do. And you do, too. It's not an understanding most people can claim, so it's nice to find someone who can."

"Yeah," he whispers again, shaking his head slightly as he tries to gather his thoughts.

"It helped you, talking to her. Seeing her. So in the end," she says, repeating his words from before, "I guess it was helpful, after all."

She gives him the tiniest grin, and he mirrors it, before turning back to the fire.

"It still made me feel crazy, though," he tells her. "Hearing voices, seeing things that aren't there - that's not supposed to happen to normal people. That's what everyone always said. So I was pretty certain I was losing my mind. And then after seeing Morgan, the day we went back to King County. After knowing him before, and seeing what had happened to him, what he turned into. I was afraid that was gonna be me, soon. That I was gonna turn into that."

He turns to her suddenly, and catches her gaze, his expression more serious than it's been all night.

"When you told me about your boyfriend," he says solemnly, "I needed that. To know that someone else had gone through what I had, and come out on the other side - someone smart and capable and strong - it was everything. Sometimes, I don't know where I'd be without that."

His eyes flit away from hers for a moment, towards the forest, and when his gaze returns to hers, there's a certain mirth to it. A wry smirk appears on his face.

"I thought you were a lot of things when we first met, and I admit, some of them weren't very flattering. But I never thought you were crazy."

Both of them laugh as silently as they can, still mindful of the sleeping boy right there with them. But he quickly becomes serious once more.

"I needed to know that," he tells her again. "I needed you. And I never thanked you for that. You helped me through that time more than you know. So, thank you."

Her fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. The feeling makes heart heartbeat double in time, and she isn't entirely sure why. It wouldn't be an odd thing to do, she tells herself. In fact, it might be the polite thing to do, after such a heavy conversation. To reach out and place a hand on his shoulder or forearm, giving a touch of gratitude or commiseration. They were friends now. That was something a friend would do.

But pulse is pounding and her palms are sweating, and she stops herself, turning herself away from him. She can sense something that feels like fear churning in her gut, and again, she doesn't understand it. But, whatever it is and no matter why it's there, it makes her clasp her hands together and intertwine her fingers to take away the temptation to reach out to him.

Instead, she murmurs, "You're welcome," and her voice is so meek that the words slip away into the silent, sleeping woods around them.

It isn't enough.

Even though she can see him nod out of the corner of her eye, confirming that he heard what she said, she knows it isn't enough. Not for her. He just gave her so much, and he deserves more than two weak words breathed into the night air. He deserves something from her, too. She should give him something back. She wants to.

And the words begin to leave her mouth even before she makes the conscious decision to speak them.

"I had a son. Me and my boyfriend, we had a son."

She brings her hands up to her temples to block him from her line of sight, before she can see his reaction. She's afraid if she does, or stops her story for any reason, she won't have the nerve to continue. She knows she gave a bit of it to Carl already, but there's a different feeling that comes with giving it to Rick. A sort of gravity, and significance. He'll understand the weight of it better than his son can, with him being a father himself, and with what happened to Lori and Judith. He'll share in it with her.

And she realizes, in that moment, that she doesn't want to carry it by herself anymore.

"His name was Andre, and he was three, and he was perfect," she continues. "He was the light of my life. He was so smart, and kind, and beautiful. He was happy all the time, and loved the world. Loved learning about it, and being in it. He made it his own, and it was such a wonderful thing to watch. Nothing in my life has ever brought me as much joy as being with him, and watching him discover everything life had to offer. He was everything to me, and I loved him with my entire heart. More than I had ever loved anything."

She pauses to take a breath, and to wipe at a tear that's gathered at the corner of her eye. She doesn't want Rick to see her cry over Andre. Not yet.

"We were together when it all happened - me, Andre, and my boyfriend, Mike. Andre's father. Mike's best friend, Terry, was with us too. It was all so chaotic and insane, and we ended up at some FEMA camp set up about ten miles outside of Atlanta. Everything was fine, at first. Everyone was calm, and even a little hopeful. Everything was going to be fine, and the government was going to get us through it. They'd gotten us through everything before. I mean, talk about thinking something stupid.

"The government fell apart soon enough, and so did the camp. And Mike and Terry went downhill pretty quickly after that. I was trying to stay strong. I had to, for Andre. And I tried to get them to see that, and told them to get their shit together, but they were just… so pessimistic and hopeless and gave up so easily. Hell, I might've been too if Andre wasn't there. But Andre was there, and I had to keep going for him, you know? He was the most important thing. So eventually I gave up on Mike and Terry and just focused on my son.

"We started to run out of supplies, and a group was going out to look for more. I really didn't want to go with them, because I knew they wouldn't let me take Andre with me, but I didn't trust them enough to divide up the supplies they found evenly between everyone like they said they were going to. So I cornered Mike and Terry and told them they had to… just man up and pull themselves together for a few fucking hours while I went on this run, and take care of Andre. I made them promise me that they would. And they did. And I still loved Mike, so I still trusted him to keep that promise, so I actually felt kind of okay when I left. But when I got back - "

Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat, wiping at another tear. She thinks she can hear him shift closer to her, but she still doesn't look at him.

"As soon as the camp came into view, I could see the fences were down. I took off and ran the rest of the way. Walkers were everywhere, but I just kept cutting them down and running because I had to get to our tent. I had to get to my son. But when I got there, it was already too late. Andre was bit, and he was so sick. Mike and Terry were bit too, but I couldn't give a fuck because the tent reeked of weed. They were fucking high, Rick. They'd gotten some pot from someone and after they promised me they'd watch and protect my baby while I was gone, they smoked and got high. Mike was sobbing, and telling me how sorry he was, but I just took Andre out of his arms and went and found a safe place where I could sit with him. He was so warm, and so sick, and I held him in my arms and rocked him and told him that I was there and everything was going to be okay now, and how I loved him so much. More than anything. I held him until I couldn't anymore. And then I did what I had to."

She stops speaking. She takes a deep, shaky breath, and wipes at her eyes one more time. Rick doesn't say anything, and she's fine with that. She wasn't looking for sympathy, or comfort. She just wanted to give him something.

And she knows there isn't really anything to say.

"So I know how it feels, Rick," she continues once she gathers herself. "I know how it is to feel guilty. How it feels to run out of time. How it feels to fail someone. I know, Rick."

She feels exhausted. Like speaking about Andre has drained all the energy from her, and she's so glad he'd decided to take first watch, because suddenly all she wants to do is lay down next to Carl and sleep.

"I'm going to go to bed," she tells him. "Try and rest. It's been a long day, and I don't want to feel like shit tomorrow."

He still doesn't speak. But again, she's not bothered by that. In fact, she feels good about what she's told him, and she didn't think that would be the case when she finally decided to share with someone. She was afraid she'd feel embarrassed that someone else knew how she let down her son, or like she'd given away some sacred part of her that she'd never be able to get back.

But she feels fine. She thinks maybe it's because they're so much alike.

She feels lighter, almost.

She slowly rises from her seat on the ground, stretching as she stands. As she walks past him, towards Carl, his fingers wrap around her calf gently.

She stops, with a jolt. His touch is unexpected, and it makes her heart flutter, just like it did when she thought about reaching out to him. She wishes she knew why.

She waits for him to say something, or let go of her. But he does neither. And as the seconds tick by, her stomach slowly drops. She starts to fear that he's going to tell her he's sorry, or that it wasn't her fault.

But she supposes she should know him better than that, by now.

"I'm glad you made it, Michonne," he says softly. "I'm glad you found us. I'm glad you're here."

She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Her heart keeps twisting around behind her ribs.

"I'm glad I'm here, too," she murmurs back.

And she means it.

His grip on her leg loosens. The place where his fingers held her tingle as she walks away, and a tear finally falls down her cheek.)

He'd needed her, then. He's needed her ever since.

And she knows he needs her now.

So she gets up. He startles when he feels her leaving his side, tears his gaze away from his son and looks up at her desperately, his eyes broken and sorrowful and begging her to stay. She runs her hand over his hair, leans down and kisses his temple, lets her lips linger on his skin until she feels him relax the slightest bit. She squeezes his shoulder as she walks away and aimlessly makes her way over to the group, promising him without words that she'll be back.

She'll be back.

They decide to go to Hilltop to regroup and figure out what to do next. She doesn't say a word, but she nods absently as they finalize their decision. She can feel all their eyes on her as she walks back to her family, taking Judith from Daryl's arms as she passes him. No one speaks as they watch her go. Just as no one had spoken when she and Rick had come upon the rest of them in the sewer, having no inkling of the horror that awaited them on the other side of the group.

She knows there really isn't anything to say.

She doesn't kneel down again when she reaches Rick and Carl. Instead, she stands over them, staring down at Carl's gray and sunken face, at Rick slumped over into the boy's lap, his shoulders heaving. She cuddles Judith closer, and can feel the little girl pulling on one of her locs as she presses her nose into the side of Judith's face.

Rick's fingers wrap around her calf gently, and tears fall down her cheeks again as she starts to cry.


A/N: I know the Andre story/confession has been done a lot, but I felt like this story and moment needed it. I hope it didn't feel too redundant.

I'm still on pain meds, and kind of miserable, so reviews would cheer me up.

As always, thanks for everything!

xoxo,
Rebekah