Chapter 3

***I don't own TWD or anything associated with TWD. Don't sue, mmmmkay?***

Me: So y'all don't like Mike. My apologies for the irritation! If it's any comfort, I don't like him much, either. Thanks so much for all the kind words of encouragement! It really inspires me to keep writing and try my best! This chapter may be a little more irritating in some spots, but we're going somewhere with this, I promise.

"And this little piggy ran wee wee wee wee all the way home!" Michonne finished the nursery rhyme by releasing Peanut's little toe and then using her fingers to tickle her son's sides, chuckling at his sweet laughter.

She was tucking him into bed at the house they were currently occupying. Luckily the previous inhabitants included a couple of children who must have been on the young side, as there were two child-sized beds and an overabundance of SpongeBob SquarePants paraphernalia. She pulled the blankets up to his shoulders and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Time to go to bed, okay, Peanut?"

He smiled at her. "'Night, Mama." Peanut didn't speak often or very many words yet but she wasn't concerned. She and her brother Simeon had both been on the later side with speech development but once they started talking, their conversation grew by leaps and bounds, per family legend. And Daddy had told her a few times (privately) that they were his two brightest kids.

Not that he hadn't loved or appreciated Langston and Genevieve, who were both intelligent in their own right, but he related better to Simeon and Michonne, the quieter ones who operated as much on intuition as they did their intellect. He understood them better, as Mama had felt more comfortable with Langston and Genevieve.

She swallowed back her grief, knowing that her tears would make Peanut cry. He was what was keeping her on her feet right now, away from the chasm of misery that threatened to pull her down. She could (and would) cry later.

Softly, she stroked the top of his head, wanting to stay with him til he fell asleep. Nowadays it was these moments that provided the only peace she knew. Peanut snuggled against the teddy she had christened Bruno from the curio shop. It had been the right call to grab him, as Peanut carried him around everywhere with a devotion that was touching to observe. The chestnut-brown bear with the red plaid bow around his neck and velvety pads had become Peanut's new best friend.

His eyes began to droop, and soon closed altogether, his rhythmic breathing signaling that he was now asleep. A small sigh escaped her as she reached over and dimmed the lantern that was on the night stand. She hated that she had to follow up something that calmed her down with something that wouldn't...but it had to be done.

She went down the stairs slowly, trying to mentally prepare for the discussion that needed to happen. It had been on her mind for a few days now that things could not continue as they were. Something had to give.

The low volume of the exchange issuing from the kitchen caught her notice. True, everything had to be quieter now out of necessity to prevent drawing the hordes of dead ones that roamed the streets, but she didn't like it. Paranoid or not as the suspicion may be, she had the sinking feeling that she was the topic of conversation.

She resisted the urge to hang back and listen to whatever was being said. Things between she and Mike were strained enough already without adding to it, and she definitely had to try and keep her temper for what was coming next.

"Peanut's down for the night," she offered Mike, marking the shifting of his eyes away from hers, a tip-off that her hunch was probably correct. Turning to look at Terry cemented that idea when she took in his falsely-cheerful smile. The man couldn't lie to save his life.

"Terry, could you give Mike and I a bit? I need to speak with him about a few things." She resented Mike sharply in that moment for making her sound like a scolding mother.

"Sure, Michonne. I was just about to turn in, anyways," Terry replied, his tone almost passing inspection. Almost.

She gave him a small smile in return. "Thanks." Polite games. Well, that was all about to go out the window anyway.

She sat down in Terry's vacated chair, directly across the table from Mike. The half-full glass of wine Terry had been sipping from was within her reach. She picked it up, looked into its depths for a moment, then drained it whole.

"That bad, huh?" Mike questioned, making her heart beat a little faster. It was what he used to ask her when she'd get home from hard days at work, annoyance constricting her brow. He'd usually then disappear into the kitchen and come back out with a glass of wine in hand, giving her a neck and shoulder massage while she poured out whatever the particular frustration of that day had been. It wasn't something she had needed all that often, maybe just once or twice a month, but she had loved that he noticed and that he wanted to help. Maybe all of that wasn't gone. Maybe...

"I hope not," she said earnestly, letting the rein of her emotions slip for a moment. "Mike...we need to find...another place."

"The food here should be good for another week. What do you mean?" Immediately his tone became defensive. Inwardly, she quailed a bit.

"I mean we can't keep living like scavengers, going from place to place until we exhaust everything there, then move on. There's only so much out there and a lot of it has already gone bad. We need to regroup. We need more support. We need-"

"We need? Don't you mean, you need?" Mike's tone shifted from defensive to nasty. "I'm sorry it's so tough playing samurai. Guess you need to take a break."

Every ounce of her self-control came to bear as she spoke her next words. "It is a little rough, if you want to know the truth. I...I'm getting tired, I could use some help with...with killing them. And I want to give us a chance at something resembling a normal life again. I don't want us just surviving...I want us to live, Mike."

"So you mean that I don't help," he sneered. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

"THAT'S the one thing you picked out of what I just said?" she gritted out. All restraint was gone. "This isn't working, Mike! You don't talk to me anymore. You don't touch me anymore. You act like every time you take care of Peanut that I'm asking you to do something difficult when you're his FATHER and I...have...fucking...HAD it! We need to find other people! I don't know what's going to become of us, but we won't survive this way, much less live!" Her fist came down on the table, making the wine glasses rattle and Mike jump a little in his chair.

"Why can't you see this is hard on me, too?" she whispered, her voice breaking a little. "The world ended for everybody, not just you. I...please, Mike...I don't want to do this alone. I don't want to do this...without…" She couldn't finish. Her throat was starting to close with unshed tears.

He put his head in his hands and there was a long silence. Finally, he spoke. "How can you just...the way you kill them...like it's nothing. Like it's okay. Don't you feel anything? Don't you care? It's like you're not even…"

Human. The word didn't come out of his mouth, but it didn't have to. She looked at him, her eyes wide. His own eyes were sad, but also distant. Mike sighed, long and drawn-out. "You keep going, just like some damn machine. Now you're here telling me it's rough, but...it doesn't look all that rough for you from where I'm sitting."

"You...you're punishing me for being strong?" she asked, the disbelief making her voice come out high. "When you said before that you loved my strength...was it only when you could tell yourself that you were stronger?" Do you really hate me so much just for that?

But she couldn't make herself ask that question, not when she wasn't sure if she could take the answer.

Again there was a long silence and he wouldn't meet her eyes, staring out one of the windows into the darkness outside. They were sitting only a few feet apart but it may as well have been half a world away.

"It's late. I need to sleep." Mike pushed his chair back from the table abruptly, the scrape of it against the wooden floor startling in the formerly-quiet room.

"Mike-"

He turned away from her, his shoulders slumped forward, as if in pain. "It can wait til tomorrow. You want us to find more people...fine. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Michonne listened to his footsteps going up the stairs and heard the eventual click of the bedroom door as it opened, then closed. She waited for five, ten, fifteen minutes until she was reasonably sure that the wine he'd drunk earlier had done its work and he'd be fast asleep.

Her hands covered her face as she finally allowed herself to weep.

To Be Continued