Lawless

by Inkslinger21

He's a gunslinger. She's a samurai. It's the end of the world and only one of them can win. Richonne AU ZA.

3. Slow Burn

3 – Slow Burn

Rick lay on his back staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. From through the paper-thin walls, the voracious voices of men boomed. These dinner parties were always the same. They'd be at it for another hour or two until the brandy wore out and then it was time to go home. Lights out after that.

He folded his arm under his pillow and rolled onto his side. Across the room, Rhett's bed was perfectly made and long untouched. His favorite comic books rested on the shelf above the twin bed, like old relics that belonged in a museum somewhere. Maybe they did. They were drawn years before the world ended. From another time entirely, they were Rhett's prized possession when they embarked on surviving the new world.

A fist rapped against the door. It creaked to a slight open and Pa poked his head into the room. Rick could feel his gaze on him, intent and probing. The thud of his boots followed as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He continued to his bed, sitting down on the footboard's edge.

"You wanna join us?" he asked. "Tell you what? I'll pour you a lil' brandy. You're old enough for a small taste."

Rick ignored the question and shifted to stare out the window. Anywhere but Pa. That didn't change that outside the corner of his eye he could see the thick black ink on his forearm. The seven digits identified him as an important man around town. He should've felt safe…

"Things haven't been easy. I know that. It's why I always tried to prepare you boys. It's why after Trish, I…" he broke off there as he always did at any mention of Ma. It'd been nearly ten years since she'd passed and his voice still strained. His breath hitched and the fruity stench from the brandy hung around for seconds. "But things should be better now. This time for good, I think. Why don't you come out and join us? The fellas won't have an issue. Philip said he'd like to meet you."

"It's never gonna be for good."

Cynicism dripped in Rick's low mumble, but it was of worn sincerity. Past hope and dreams for a better future were long gone as he accepted that life would always be a fight for survival. There was no chance to live as before. No matter how many groups put together communities or tried to right the wrongs, dispel the rampant violence everywhere, it would always boil down to death. The temporary safety was no longer enough.

"It can be," said Pa quietly. "You've gotta believe it can be. Otherwise, what else is there?"

"Nothing. And no point."

"Ricky, sit up and look at me when I'm talking to you."

The remorse thinned in Pa's tone, making way for the firm disciplinarian. Rick huffed a sigh and pushed himself into an upright position. He looked at him as requested, but it was a glare born of teenage rebellion.

Pa held his glare and raised him a steely one of his own. "You listen to me here and now, boy. You can sulk all you want in your room. For hours and hours. Woe is me and feel sorry for yourself. Lord knows I've wanted to a dozen and one times since before. But know why I haven't? Do you?!"

He answered with the faintest shake of his head.

"Because I have you to look after. Because I had Rhett. Because the world needs men who will undo what's been done. If we all sit 'round and give up, then what? Where will it end? Who will bring order to things?" he fired off question after question. "It's not all lost. It can be that way again. But we have to make it that way."

Through his unresolved angst and sorrow, Rick never let up on his glare. He heard Pa's words, but he didn't digest them. Not yet. Pa seemed to understand this after another couple seconds passed and the father and son sat in stubborn silence. He reached out and patted Rick's foot.

"You'll get it. I know you will," he said, rising off the bed. "After I'm gone, I need you to."

Rick watched him leave the room. The door fit closed against the frame and he was alone again. He slipped back into a lying sprawl and folded his arm under his pillow. His eyes traveled back to the empty bed across the room and to those comic books that haunted him…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Present day…

Rick wrenched open the door into the tavern's dining area and crossed the room in two quick strides. He made it to the staircase that led upstairs to the rooms. On step number four, a distinct thump from above fueled him into a sprint. He skipped up the stairs two to three at a time, racing across the second-floor landing. The sound came from his room. His pistol was in his hand and ready to fire as he kicked open the door.

There she was like she'd never disappeared to begin with. Michonne had snuck into his room and reclaimed her things. Knives strapped against her thigh, katana sheathed on her back, and hooded cape over her head, she hovered halfway out the window.

Rick stepped into the room with his pistol on her. "Get off the ledge now."

"No."

"Blood on my hands ain't anything new," he said grittily. "Yours'll be no different."

"I took back what's mine."

"False. You're under arrest. Nothing is yours."

"Is that what your Governor tells you? Tell me, Grimes. What law did I break?"

Rick's eyes narrowed and his grip on his pistol tightened. He hesitated to answer for half of a second. "You're one of the Horsemen, right? You know what crimes you've committed."

"Theft. Murder. Treason," she listed. Her legs continued to dangle over the ledge. "Isn't that what was under Mike's 'WANTED' poster?"

"I'm not the judge, jury or executioner. I'm the Marshall who's been tasked with bringing you in. That's my job and I'm gonna do it. Get off the ledge."

Michonne never answered. She challenged his gaze, holding it for few tense seconds, and then she dropped. She flipped out the window. Rick's finger hovered over the trigger, but he failed to go through with the fire. He grit his teeth and ran to the window.

Michonne had landed on the roof over the tavern's back patio. From there she swung off the porch cover like a gymnast executing a routine. She was off as soon as her feet touched the dusty ground. Her cape trailed after her, dipping out of sight between two buildings. Rick reached into his back pocket and withdrew the parchment he had been clever enough to separate from her other things. She had no idea her mission in Ashburn had been in vein.

And now he was going to hunt her down like any other bounty.

Rick barreled out the tavern as fast as a speeding bullet. Shane and Carol stumbled in his wake. Carol paled ghost white with her jaw dropped and Sophia hidden behind her skirt. Shane jogged after him trying to figure out what was going on.

"Now what'd I miss?" he called.

"Take Tucky and head to Woodbury. Get Monroe there. I'm handling her."

Rick reached Goose, untying the rope tethering the horse to the post. He was perched on the giant steed a second later, yanking on his reins. Goose charged into action, gathering momentum in a single gait.

At a distance, somewhere on another street in the small town, a horse whinnied. The loud cry was in umbrage. Rick redirected Goose, the horse and its rider splitting down an alleyway and onto the next road over. His quick decision had been correct; Michonne had borrowed a horse in another stable and was racing off into the distance.

"YAH!"

Goose erupted into another great burst of speed. Soon Ellenwood was left behind. Its woodland terrain surrounded them, centered by a rocky dirt road that dipped and curved. Rick's attention held unrelentingly on the distant figure riding away. He wouldn't blink, wouldn't take his eyes off her not for a second.

It might've been minimal, but they began to bridge the gap. The trees whizzed by as green blurs and the thunderous clop of hooves played in his ears. The whoosh of air dried his eyes and the leather reins cut into his palms due to his herculean hold. None of these things fazed him. He'd zeroed in so intently on her that he'd tuned out from any bodily pain.

After a mile, Goose caught up enough that Michonne and her stolen horse were only a couple paces ahead. Rick held onto the reins solo-handed and used his freed right to grapple for his pistol. He bounced along with Goose for every stride taken, aiming his Colt with a steady hand at his runaway prisoner. It was more than a little difficult to get a good line of sight all things considered.

If Goose's broad back wasn't flexing beneath him, the road was cratered or the horse they chased after kicked up plumes of dust and made it impossible to see. Rick aimed his pistol at Michonne's form, her cape flying in the wind. His finger eased onto the trigger and his heart raced at a speed to rival Goose. The anger that darkened his gaze and coursed through him like a poisonous boa constrictor urged him to do it. To pull the trigger and shoot her as he'd done any other escaped prisoner.

In that split second, he had her lined as a target. The bullet would hit her spine and she'd slump off the horse. Probably fall and break bones on her way down. Maybe die. But he'd keep his perfect record as the most successful Marshal in the Blake Territory. Most importantly, he'd keep his word. He inhaled the sharpest breath and let his unshakable belief in law and order drown out whatever personal feelings harbored deep.

Rick fired. The bullet missed. It shot astray, off by several inches. He couldn't tell if it'd been the circumstance of the surroundings or if he had subconsciously sabotaged himself. There was no time to think of these things, though a hunch said the latter.

Michonne's sudden tug on the reins caused her horse to make a hard left off-road. Rick copied, barreling down a grassy slope in his pursuit. The lead had opened up again as she and her horse careened toward what looked like an abandoned cabin. They rounded the corner to a fencing surrounding the property. Trailing yards behind, Rick growled in frustration.

This was what she wanted. The couple seconds it would take for her to disappear without a trace. They reached the fence and discovered the stolen horse alone. He'd set to grazing on grass, tired and hungry. Rick leapt off Goose and left him to do the same. His pistol was drawn again as he sprinted for the cabin.

He wasn't going to kill her. Something in him would not allow it. Besides, that was not for him to do. The Governor wanted her and the other Horsemen alive. But he was going to catch her. He'd leave her fate to him. That freed up his mind for strategy. He slowed upon approach to the cabin's back door. Turning the knob, he let it swing open on its own accord before he stepped inside.

"I know you're in here," he shouted against the quiet. His eyes searched every nook and cranny in the kitchen. The many cabinets and the pantry posed as potential hide outs. He opened several to find nothing more than mice and moldy food. The den was next. The floorboards squeaked under his weight. He checked behind the door and the curtains and under the sofa. "There was nowhere else for you to go. You ran in here somewhere. You're not getting away."

Rick checked the dirty window, surveying the grounds. The horses were still outside grazing. He moved on to the bathroom. There weren't too many hiding places in there considering it was cramped with nothing but a tub, toilet and sink. He propped open the cabinet under the sink and turned to go, but then his penchant for details noticed a ceiling tile askew. He climbed onto sink counter and lifted the tile.

Nothing but a trap. He should've known she'd think ahead.

Rick hopped off the counter and rushed toward the door, but just as quickly stumbled backward. A throwing knife cut through the air and stuck into the door jamb. The sharp toss was in warning, but still left him without a chance to regain his wits fast enough. Michonne delivered a kick to the chest, propelling him backward yet again. He collided with the sink and she charged at him for another hit. This time he dodged, quicker on his feet than she anticipated.

"Nice knife trick. Using what I taught you against me." He clicked his tongue and shook his head in taunt, amused by how her nose subtly wrinkled.

Michonne spun for another kick, but Rick was onto her pattern. He caught her leg, slipping to the side and grabbing her by the ankle. He followed through with a sweep to her other leg. She crashed to the tiled floor and he knelt beside her, cuffs and pistol ready.

"You're not gonna get away," he drawled cockily. "I've never let a prisoner escape."

"So what?"

"So you're dealing with the best Marshal in the Territory."

"That doesn't mean shit to me. I'm not easily impressed," she retorted cavalierly.

Rick stared at her for a long second and then chuckled. "Neither am I. Guess where that leaves us? With me still hauling you away in cuffs. Stand up."

Michonne pushed herself onto her feet and Rick gripped her by the shoulder and forced her back to his front. He slapped one of the cuffs around her wrist. "You're gonna pay for the crimes committed by him, yanno that, right? Good ol' Clyde."

"You keep thinking I care when I don't, Grimes."

"Something tells me you'll care a whole lot more when you're behind bars."

"That's what you think is going to happen?"

Rick didn't have a chance to reply because the horses whinnied loudly. He held onto her by the elbow and dragged her with him out the bathroom and to the nearest window. The horse Michonne had stolen had taken off, scared by what looked like a flock of black birds. Goose loyally remained, though he trotted in a circle to escape the flock.

Michonne wasn't giving up. In the two seconds he took to peek out the window, she twisted and kneed him in the gut. Her fast hands snatched the keys off his belt and broke out into a sprint out the room. Rick recovered and fired another warning shot. The bullet chipped the wall as she turned the corner. In the hall, he found the keys and cuffs discarded on the floor.

He reached the doorway as she sped down the field. She was headed for the trees. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Goose obediently came from the other side of the cabin and he expertly mounted in a swift move. They were back to square one chasing after her. It was difficult to tell if being on horse or foot was the advantage. The closer they galloped to the forest, the more it dawned on him she had the leg up. She'd know when he was coming. She could disappear easier. Hide anywhere. Meanwhile Goose was too large and noisy and gave him away.

At the outskirts to the forest, she was nowhere to be found. Rick loosened his hold on Goose and the pair cantered at a light pace. He had formulated a workaround to his dilemma. He would scour the forest for hours if it meant finding her. He would rely on expert tracking skills tracing people in wilderness terrains.

For miles, he and Goose trudged on and he kept his eyes peeled. The uneventful search stretched on for hours into the afternoon. Sweat clung to his skin, slipping down his brow and nape, but he took no breaks. He drank from his canteen as necessary and rode on. She was going to tire out eventually. No matter how resilient she was, she was still only human.

Headway arrived in the form of a wet footprint. Rick half-grinned. She was growing careless hours into the chase. He slipped off Goose and walked up to the print. He recognized it immediately, comparable in pattern and size to the print he'd seen in Ashburn days ago. It was hers. She was somewhere near.

Rick walked Goose to a tree he marked with his machete and tethered him there. Now that he knew she was vaguely in the vicinity, it was time to track her by foot. He slipped into stealth mode and traveled like a ghost. He crept between the trees silent but deadly. His senses heightened. His sight drank in the toppled tree trunks and the knotted brambles ready to entangle passerby. His ears picked up on the hum of insects and the rustle of the leaves. It was the underfoot crunch of another step that stood out to him. He stopped and eased back behind the nearest tree. Camouflaged by its thick girth, he snuck the scantest glance around the bark.

There she was.

Appearing like a majestic deer wandering the forest, Michonne emerged amongst the vibrant green brush. She wore the hood of her cape up, but he could make out her expression even at a distance. One thing that hadn't changed about Michonne Felix in seventeen years was that her brows gave her away. Whatever emotion running through her reflected in how furrowed they were. Right now, she was in concentration. Likely thinking about her next move, she drifted at a pace slower than earlier as if retracing steps.

Rick hung back and watched her for a second longer than he probably should've. The most sense of it he could make was that it was the first time in a long time he had the chance to observe her uninterrupted. For that lone moment his intense frustration faded and curiosity won out. Question after question flittered into his head. One's that he hadn't let himself think too much on over the past two days.

What had happened that November day so many years ago? Where had she been all this time? How had she gotten mixed up on the wrong side of the law? Why did she look at him with vehement hatred in her eyes?

His gut told him she was the lone survivor of her family. That she had lost them and that shaped her into the scornful woman she now was, but he couldn't rationalize the behavior. The reality was they had all lost family and people in their lives over the last twenty years. Half the population alone had been wiped out when the world first ended. He couldn't understand how one would lose their family to senseless violence and then seek revenge with more senseless violence. Not when there was law now—order to how the world worked again.

The brief interlude faded and he snapped into Marshal mode. His muscles tensed as he edged from behind the tree and forward like a shadow about to overtake her. She had reset course for the clearing between the trees. He struck swiftly and suddenly. Bursting forth he speared into her before she could brandish her katana. The result was a surprise collision that knocked them both off their feet.

Rick and Michonne tumbled to the grass like old times. But instead of being ten and eleven-year-olds playful and innocently troublesome, they were locked in a spiteful battle of wills. They rolled several times over across the green until momentum died out and Rick pinned her. First thing he did as she landed on her back and he landed on top was stretch his leg out and kick her discarded katana even further away. He also kept himself at enough of a distance that she couldn't pull another headbutt stunt. Holding her down with her arms against the grass and his thighs pressed into her side, he glared at her and gave heed.

"You lie still or you're done for," he threatened in a growl. He hoped not to have to follow through with his warning, but he withdrew a hand and let it hover over his gun belt anyway. "Now I'm gonna cuff you. Then we're gonna continue our trip to Woodbury. You ain't gonna attempt to escape again, right?"

Michonne didn't struggle, unapologetic as she met his gaze. He wasn't going to get much out of her. Something told him she had figured out how much her pointed silence irritated him. She derived a joy out of it.

"What do we got going on over here?"

Rick's shock played out as a cold jolt down his spine. He glanced up, forgetting about his battle with Michonne. From through the trees, four men walked out wearing identical cow-hide vests patterned with vulture wings on the back. He didn't need to know their names to recognize who they were. He slowly rose, on guard with his hand back to hovering over his gun belt.

Everything pieced together at once. Michonne's abrupt slow down. How she seemed confused and started retracing her steps. He hadn't realized they'd gone so far out, but he had chased her for miles. In their hide-and-seek game through the forest they had crossed territory lines. They were in Savior Territory now.

At his side, Michonne jumped to her feet with a heavy breath. She didn't move any further, standing next to him and shooting the men venom with her eyes. Rick thought fast staring at their greasy faces and the sneer on the one in the front. He had a couple different options how to handle the encounter.

Marshals were usually respected regardless of territory affiliation. He could identify himself as a Blake Territory Marshal out seeking a fugitive. The Saviors couldn't do much to him. Michonne was another story. Outlaws were bargaining chips. It wouldn't be the first time the Saviors wound up keeping an outlaw only to try and sell them back for resources. If he gave himself up as Marshal and Michonne as his prisoner, there was a good chance she was going with them. He didn't know what would happen to her after that.

Rick glanced down at her hand and saw the weathered gold band on her ring finger. That must've been the engagement ring from her assignment to Mike. He couldn't waste time pondering why she bothered to wear it if she didn't believe in society rules, but instead he connected the dots to his own ring. The ring tucked away in his boot that, like hers, paired him with Lorraine Claire. He was supposed to marry her years ago and escaped the societal tradition by the skin of his teeth thanks to his busy Marshal work.

A plan began to hatch in his head as the lead Savior gestured to Michonne.
"Not often I see a man and woman out alone like this," he said, brow raised. "What's the occasion? She's your assigned?"

Rick forced his eyes away from Michonne. He didn't want to see the look on her face. He swallowed hard as he made his choice. "Yeah, she is. Newly wed."

"Where's your ring?" a husky man behind the leader blurted.

The leader nodded. "Fair point, Huck. Where's your ring?"

"In my boot. Wanna see?"

"I believe you. 'Course you do got your papers on you?"

"Forgot 'em. Anything else?"

"Newlyweds out this way," the leader went on in a chastising tone. He shared glances with his three men. "We saw y'all tussling in the grass. What was that about?"

"I reckon they were play fighting, Jared," Huck supplied. "Didn't hear no arguing."

"Where y'all from?"

"Ellenwood."

"You're mighty far from there."

"We're on our allotted honeymoon. Tryna make our way to Oceanside and got lost," Rick explained.

"Me and mine didn't take ours. Had a work assignment from the Big Guy. Y'all hopping straight into kiddos?" Huck asked, clueless to the ruse.

"That's right. Right, babe?" Rick tried out his acting chops by referring to her with a half-grin.

For a worrisome split second, it looked like Michonne wouldn't play along. She hesitated and, even beside her, he could feel how stiff she was. Her reply was through clenched teeth.

"Right. Babe."

The men's suspicion layered thick in the air. Jared most of all, studying them. He hadn't lowered his brow and Rick waited for his reaction. It'd be easier if he bought their story, but in case he didn't, in dire circumstance, he readied for a quick draw. Neither happened and Jared opted for a third outcome.

"Dusk's coming. It'll be dark soon. Y'all are far and away from both Oceanside and Ellenwood. Our town's a mile up the road there. Huck's wife runs a nice little inn for Saviors who are traveling. I'll escort y'all and set you up with a room for the night."

"No. We'll stay on the move. Might make it if we go fast enough."

"Nonsense. You don't want your bride out at night, do you? It ain't safe."

Rick saw the humor glinting in Jared's eyes. His feigned kindness made him an even worse actor than Michonne. But Rick weighed his odds between a four-to-one shootout and turning over Michonne, and playing into the charade seemed the safest bet. Maybe they could sneak out come the middle of the night…

"Alright," he agreed at last. He chanced another peek at Michonne and felt her sharp but quiet inhale. He ignored her. "That might work out best. So long as we can grab my horse. He's a couple yards off. Then you can show us the way."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jared brought them to a slummy town on the Savior's turf. Called Cordele, the small settlement was poor even by new world standards. Tumble weeds scuttled across the pockmarked road and the dry manure stench in the air eliminated any chance at an appetite. Rick surveyed the eyesore surroundings on the back of Goose. Behind him sat Michonne, reluctant to join him on the steed regardless if it messed with their ruse. Together they trailed behind the Saviors in a leisure trot.

Outside a building simplistically marked INN, they stopped. The horses whinnied left tied to the posts as Jared led them inside. The immediate flurry of dust bunnies tickled their noses and encompassed them in a battle against sneezes. Rick's nose wrinkled, but his focus on the room overrode the urge. As he did in any new environment, he immediately identified the exits, sized up the people in the vicinity, and checked for weapons.

Huck's wife Kimmy waited for them with a smile. The stout woman matched her even stouter husband. She vigorously nodded her head as Jared explained the situation. Her eyes lit up at the word newlyweds and she clapped her hands as if there was anything remotely romantic about arranged marriage.

"Guess I should expect a noisy night, eh?" she teased.

Huck yucked up his wife's joke with a snorted laugh. Jared and the other two men waited for Rick and Michonne's reaction. Rick forced a grin and busied his hands clutching his gun belt.

"Something like that," he answered mysteriously. He hoped no matter how poor his acting was that it made up for Michonne's palpable standoffish energy.

Apparently, Kimmy sensed it as she wiped the smile from her face and cleared her throat. "Well, suppose I'll show y'all to your room."

They followed the innkeeper up a rickety staircase and down the hall. The dust bunnies continued to assail their senses with zero mercy. She pushed open the door to a room barely bigger than a closet. The clunky furniture, generic oil paintings and horrid floral wallpaper matched the rest of the dated, dusty inn.

"Here you go. The linens should be mostly fresh. You got us on a good day, two days after wash. Think there's only been one visitor since," she explained graciously. "I laid out some of my daughter's clothes for you, honey. She's left the nest with her own assigned, starting a family. Those blood torn jeans need to go. We might be poor as dirt, but we still have to look like ladies, don't we?"

Kimmy waited for Michonne to humor her with a giggle or a smile. Michonne's answer was a frosty glare. Kimmy's cheeks pinkened.

"Errr, anyway, think we're having a sit-down supper tonight. So, we expect you down by six. Lanterns out at eight. That's a territory-wide rule. Lemme know if you need anything."

The door closed and the avalanche of tension suffocated them immediately. The silence filled the four corners as Michonne looked left and Rick looked right. The tight-sized room didn't leave much space to avoid each other, as the furniture had been crammed in wall-to-wall. Rick strode to the window and peeked between the curtains. The intention was two-fold; he got to observe more of their surroundings outside. He also got to give himself something to do and distract himself.

Michonne didn't need to utter a word to tell him how much she wished he had gone with the truth. He should've told Jared and the other Saviors he was a Marshall and she was a prisoner and got on with it. For better or worse. She was that stubborn. She frustrated him just as much as seventeen years ago. Only for different reasons now.

But it didn't matter what she wanted. She was a prisoner. She had no say in the decisions he made. He had faced a spur of the moment judgment call and he had gone with his gut. Shane would've given her up and not lost a wink of sleep. That could've been the smarter call. Quite possibly it was what the Governor would've preferred. It wasn't what sat right with him, though. The more he thought on it, the more he was certain he had made the right choice.

Rick would reconcile how that played into his stringent black-and-white, wrong-or-right view of the world and the society they lived in at a later date. He had gone so long without gray areas and middle grounds that Michonne in general presented something else entirely by mere existence alone. He rubbed his brow and decided it was time to break the heavy silence. He needed to take the lead and establish ground rules.

He spoke from the window, shooting her a stern look. "Let's get one thing straight. You're still under arrest. You're still headed to Woodbury. You'll see your day in court. The Governor will decide your fate. Only reason why we're doing this is 'cuz it's them. And I don't agree with how they handle things," he said coldly. "Soon as we're back in Blake Territory, you're cuffed. So, enjoy this while it lasts."

"Is that what you want me to do? Play along? Be a good little wife?" she asked, unfolding her arms from her chest. Her eyes dark like earthy stones met his for the first time since he'd pinned her to the grass. She was livid. "Alright, Rick. I'll bite. For the next twelve hours, I'll laugh and smile at everything you do. I'll be the best little wife I can be."

Michonne's turn on her heel was sharp. She snatched what looked like the folded clothes Kimmy set out for her off the bed and stormed into the washroom. Rick opened and closed his mouth for a retort, but lost out being too slow. His cheeks heated up and he seethed silently at the missed opportunity to get another word in. Was this what marriage felt like?

It was certainly frustrating. He kicked the bedpost to let off steam. The mere reality that this woman slipped under his skin as a prisoner was unfathomable. He was the Marshal. He was the authority, the one entirely in control. So why the hell did it feel like she was still doing whatever the fuck she wanted even when she listened?

Another mystery for him to puzzle, he closed his eyes and sighed.

Fifteen minutes later, Michonne emerged from the washroom. He was still at the window, checking the perimeter below. He tossed her a quick, throwaway glance and then abruptly did a double take. The outfit Kimmy laid out for her was a simple one, but it was form-fitted and much more feminine than the cape and jeans she'd been wearing the last two days. She walked out in a sage green button-down dress that hit her mid-calf, but somehow the modest fabric looked noticeably more enticing when on her.

Rick promptly cut his eyes back to the window pane. For the briefest second, he was eleven again. He was tossing Rhett's baseball into the air at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Felix was baking her best imitation cake for Michonne's eleventh birthday. He tossed the ball high and snatched it midair, eyes trained on the white and red until a small figure stood out in his peripheral vision. He had looked up the long staircase and there the birthday girl was in her special birthday dress. Her aunt had done her hair, braiding it into a crown, and Michonne smiled as soon as she saw him. He couldn't think much, kind of speechless, but Rhett's teases about his crush rushed to the forefront of his mind. He shook them away and focused on her. He half-expected her to talk about the party or the parents. Instead she hopped down the stairs two at a time and demanded they play catch and he toss her the ball.

He shook that memory away and sulked at the scenery below. As far as he was concerned, tonight couldn't go by fast enough. Michonne certainly felt the same.

At six, they headed down for supper. She kept her promise, surprising him with a different vibe. Her brows rose as she waited for him to offer her his arm. He didn't catch on for a long second, but when he did, he tensed at the strange premise. They walked downstairs linked like a loving couple, slightly more convincing than earlier.

Jared and another woman surprised them in the inn's dining room. They expected to walk in and be joined by Huck and Kimmy only. To see Jared's sneering face waiting on them unsettled Rick and placed him on guard again. He played it off with a nod to everybody in the room. The three couples took their seats around the table except for Kimmy, who served.

"Pig liver and green beans," she announced proudly. "Been saving each part of our last hog for special occasions. Huck said tonight was fine enough. Eat up!"

The plate slid under Rick's nose and he lowered his eyes to stare at the slithery organ and bland veggies. He normally wasn't much of a picky eater, living on the road most nights thanks to his life as a Marshal, but the dish was the farthest thing from appetizing. Still, he picked up his fork and dug in with the rest.

"Kimmy's a good lil' cook, ain't she?" Huck asked. He nudged his wife to her girlish giggle.

"Huck, stop. Any ol' wife can whip this up."
"Alicia can't," Jared chimed in with a glance to the mousy woman beside him. "She's the first one to tell you she ain't much of a cook."

"I try! That's what counts." Alicia bore a southern accent almost too thick on the ears.

"What about y'all?" Kimmy watched Rick and Michonne across the table. "I bet you're still figuring things out. How long did you say you've been married?"

Rick opened his mouth, but Michonne stunned him by answering. He listened to her sudden meek tone and marveled at how good of an actress she was after all.

"Two weeks," she said with a sheepish smile. She gave Rick goo-goo eyes to please their audience. "I'm nervous about being a good wife. I hope I can make Rick happy."

Kimmy reached across the table and patted her arm. "Oh, honey, we all worry the same. I had barely spoken a word to Huck Speers before I was assigned to marry him. Talk about not knowing what to expect. Luckily I got a good one."

Huck nodded several times over with a big grin. "And then there's folks like Jared and Alicia who couldn't stand each other, but were arranged anyway."

"We're fine now, thank you very much, Huck Speers," Alicia snapped. She snuck her husband a small smile. "Besides, who wouldn't wanna be a wife to one of Negan's lieutenants? My husband is working his way up the food chain. It couldn't have worked out better."

Rick observed the two other couples around the table and picked up on more than they probably wanted him to. Huck clearly ran things and needed his ego stroked by how he reacted to Kimmy. Alicia seemed more interested in Jared's job than in the man himself. Their body language confirmed both assessments as his eyes dipped to take in the frigid hand holding between Jared and Alicia and the way Kimmy eagerly wiped Huck's chin with a dinner cloth. He then looked between himself and Michonne and couldn't help wondering what the others thought of them.

Michonne had given into the charade and begun to play along, but they were hardly affectionate. In fact, they hadn't addressed each other at all throughout the dinner. They hadn't even met each other's gaze or touched one another. As if reading his mind, the silky-smooth touch of Michonne surprised him. Her hand sought his and his heart jumped into a frenzied beat. Once again, he managed to keep composure and play it off, shooting her an orchestrated smile.

"How about you two?" Huck didn't care that liver and green beans filled his mouth.

"Yeah, why don't y'all share with the class?" Jared piled on. "How did you newlyweds first meet?"

Rick inhaled a breath and started. "Well, we—"

"We were young," Michonne interrupted in another masterful display of her acting chops. She crafted a soft smile to flash around the table. "Still kids. It was before we were even assigned. I was playing out in my papa's field, picking wildflowers, and then I heard voices. I looked up and there he was—a boy with the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I didn't know what to think. I forgot about skipping in puddles and hanging off trees and went over to say hello. We've been glued to the hip ever since."

"That's right outta a storybook," Kimmy breathed, awestruck. The others nodded along.

Rick sat speechless. He didn't know what to think. Michonne's smile and the flicker in her eye told him she was pretending, but the words? The words somehow packed a punch. They were startlingly real.

In fact, he remembered that day to a T. He and Pa and Rhett arrived on the Felix Farm with skin smudged with grime and eyes widened by trauma. They were war-torn, weathered by the harsh life style required when on the road in a post-apocalyptic world. He idled on the sidelines as Pa talked to Mr. Felix, and he squinted his eyes staring against the sun. Then, amongst the bright sky and even brighter grass, a little girl appeared and piqued his curiosity. It'd been so long since he'd seen another kid, his heart started to race. She smiled hello, seemingly as excited to see him as he was to see her, and he was certain he'd found a friend at last…

Supper went on until they cleaned their plates. The windows reflected the inky darkness outside by the time they stood and stretched. Alicia hung on Jared's arm and laid her head on his chest and the couple spoke about his next couple days off. Huck and Kimmy rubbed noses and shared in a peck. As the other two couples canoodled, Rick noticed the implication. Jared's eyes shot to his and he didn't need the Savior to spell it out for him to understand his suspicion.

Rick tilted his head to glance at Michonne and he made a snap decision. His arm slipped around her waist and he pulled her flush against him. He saw the shock in her big, brown eyes, framed by her long lashes, but it was too late to turn back now. He kissed her. His mouth slid against her lips as soft as clouds. What was supposed to be a simple chaste kiss transcended beyond his initial intention. His fingers dug into her waist to hold her in place. Michonne's hands rested on his chest and where he expected her to shove him away, she didn't. She ran her hands down his chest in a feminine stroke that sent his pulse sky-rocketing. The second his lips left hers, a hidden part of him he'd never admit to mourned its ending.

The faux newlyweds separated with eyes heavy on each other. Somewhere in the back of his brain he recognized that the others watched, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes from hers. They stood like that for a second or two longer than necessary and then Michonne worked up the willpower to look away first. She eased out of his arms and sought Kimmy and Alicia, thanking them for a great dinner. Rick hung back more confused than he had been since this Four Horseman mission began.

Formalities were exchanged as Jared and Alicia wished the other four good night. Kimmy insisted they let her know if they needed anything. Huck hauled her away, joking that she should leave the newlyweds alone to enjoy their night. Rick and Michonne disappeared into their cramped room both relieved for the private reprieve from their charade.

It weighed on Rick the second they crossed the threshold and closed the door. He forgot how to act, confused about the overstepped boundaries downstairs. The blurred lines effected Michonne too as she shot across the room without eye contact and sat in the armchair on the far end. She studied the cottony fabric to her dress without a word. He squared his jaw and inhaled a deep breath, urging himself to forget the ruse and live in reality now.

Unfortunately, the reality daunted him a lot more than their charade had. Reality was that he was Marshal Rick Grimes and he was tasked with the explicit mission to apprehend the Four Horsemen and bring them to the Blake courthouse, where the Governor would decide their fate. Michonne was apparently one of the four, and she was in his custody. As a trusted point of authority, no matter the life or death situation, he had to abide by the rules. That was the point of a lawful society—there was zero room for leeway. It was the only way.

Rick unbuckled his gun belt and set it on the table. "They'll be asleep in a few hours. We'll wait 'til dead of night and then we're sneaking out. Goose is outside. Territory lines are five miles away. They'll wake and we'll already be gone."

She ignored him, still staring into her lap. Her face was blank, body tensed.

After two days spent dealing with her, the lack of response agitated him. He grimaced and tried to cool off by exhaling a breath, but the frustration relentlessly poked away at him. It worked as he smoothed his eyebrow and released a sardonic chuckle.

"You don't ever let up, do you?"

No answer.

"It's a mistake," he drawled in warning. "I've told you before what you're doing is dumb. I thought you were smarter than that."

"Smart people can play dumb. Dumb people can't play smart," Michonne parried.

"Yeah? Well, I don't need to be a genius to figure out you lost your family. That's what's got you acting like this. You're reckless. You're angry. You're doing anything you think'll make it better. Right? I get it."

Her gaze lifted from her lap to his. "No, Rick. You don't get it."

"Then tell me!" he yelled several octaves louder than planned.

He had to stop himself there for fear of losing more control. His hand slicked back his wavy locks and he squeezed his eyes shut, too frustrated to care if she saw his visible reaction. Michonne never answered. She brushed him off and reverted to the scrutiny of the sage green fabric. Knuckles tapped at the door.

It was Kimmy. She peered nosily into the room, standing on tip-toe to see beyond Rick's shoulder. "Everything alright in there? I heard some yelling."

"Everything's fine. We're 'bout to snuff the lights. Thanks."

Rick was aware it might've been rude to close the door in her face, but he had little patience for pleasantries. He walked up to the first lantern resting on the mantle and he turned off any feeling outside his rampant agitation.

"We leave at four. Get any sleep you can before then."

He blew on the flickering flame and it was lights out.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A couple minutes past four, they crept from the inn. The night cast cumbersome shadows, allowing them to creep spot to spot. Rick went first and Michonne followed up the rear. He toed his way down the rickety staircase, careful not to press too hard on any board. Michonne proved to be skilled at such a task, slinking like a cat until they reached the ground floor.

Rick checked on her and should've known better. Even in the dark, he could tell the ease with which she kept up. She didn't need any help and she wasn't scared. She wasn't a damsel waiting for instruction. If she had her say, she'd leave him in the dust. Little had changed since their childhood, where she beat him to the mulberry tree. A funny feeling that bordered on amusement fluttered through his stomach, but it was no time for laughs.

He worked the door open, holding it for her to pass. In the dark, he crept up to her before they broached a sleeping Goose. He had held onto her katana in their descent from their room.

"I'm giving you this back 'til we reach territory lines. If anyone catches us, we'll have to be ready," he whispered. "Don't make me regret it."

Michonne regarded him severely but gave a scant nod. He shoved the sword into her hands. They untied Goose, who woke and miraculously seemed to understand the covert operation. The buckskin horse waited obediently for them to mount, and then they were off down the cratered road. The moon shone midpoint in the ink blotted sky, serving as their own light along the way. In another hour it'd begin to dip in place of the stirring sun.

Their pace was slow. Goose's hooves clacked on the gravel with as much grace as he could considering his hefty weight. Any faster and they would risk waking someone in Cordele. Rick counted down the mileage. Five, four, three in his brain as they traversed the backwoods terrain.

The deep sky lightened some as a signal dawn was near. Humidity already began to set in as a late-summer reminder to the time of year. He held tight on the reins and their trot continued uninterrupted but on edge. They had left Cordele behind and now bypassed the woodland leading up to the slummy town. Rick occupied himself with the thoughts he'd stored for later.

Once back on Blake Territory, there was no reason to stall any further. His objective was real. It was a road to Woodbury after this. There he'd turn in Michonne and collect his six-month's worth of rations. He'd probably see Lori again. She'd want to know what was going on with their engagement. He didn't know himself. Maybe he'd accept another job out of town…

And then there was Michonne. He had no doubt—at least he told himself—that he was going to give her up. She had broken the law and as a Four Horsemen, she was as wanted as her male counterparts. There were no if's, and's or but's about it. She was guilty. She had committed crimes. If the society they had established, the law and order set forth to bring civility into society again was ever going to work, it had to apply to everyone.

He was a lawman for a reason. His charge was to seek out wrongdoers and haul them in for their day in court. The Governor and his closest allies handled things from there. He had never paid too much attention to that part. He'd pursued law enforcement out of a long-grown interest thanks to Pa.

First and foremost, he cared about helping citizens adjust to a law and ordered society again. That alone trumped any personal feelings or hesitation on what to do.

Rick's mind continued to buzz until they were about a mile out from Blake terrain. He had lost sight of paying attention to his surroundings until the last second, and then he sensed it. Like a dog, his ears picked up on the subtle change to the scene. The slight shuffle in the distance caught his ear and his gut interpreted that sound at once, both working together as a well-oiled machine. His grip tightened on the reins and he gritted his teeth.

"Stay down," he muttered to Michonne. He drew on the reins and they were off at a speed triple the pace as before. Her arms slipped around his middle to hold on in order to keep from falling off. He kept his gaze focused on the road ahead, but he prepared himself for anything that would come their way. In its leather hoister, his pistol smacked in eager wait against his thigh.

His gut had been correct.

As Goose galloped at full stride, a stranger in the midst opened fire. He held his breath as he barred down on his grip on the reins and Goose rushed to max speed. At this point he dipped with every deep stride of his trusted horse and Michonne's arms tightened about his stomach, bouncing behind him.

What started out as one rifle escalated to three or four. Soon multiple shots were fired their way, from left and right. Smoke hazed in the air as they narrowly avoided each bullet, but their time was limited. Rick twisted the reins and steered Goose toward the trees. Less than a mile now, if they could just stretch it a while longer…

Goose's halt was sloppy, but it didn't matter. Rick and Michonne staggered to their feet and dashed toward the trees at an impromptu escape attempt.

It didn't work as well as hoped.

The Saviors after them galloped to a stop not far off and slid off their horses. Rick and Michonne found themselves dodging between trees, chased by a small group of four to five. They fell into a wordless agreement, synced naturally as they swerved in and out of the trees. Rick diverted left and Michonne diverted right, splitting up the group after them.

Rick sprinted with ease over the grass and tree stumps, keeping those in pursuit on their toes. At a sizeable lead, he dipped behind a tree and counted a few seconds. He surprised them by an abrupt return fire, popping out and pulling his trigger. His bullets landed hits on one of the three following him. He ducked behind the tree and narrowly avoided bulleted retaliation. The second charged forward and he dodged him. The burly man he recognized as one of the four Jared had been with, though he never got a name.

The man stumbled on his missed tackle. Rick plucked his red-handled machete from his gun belt and stuck it straight into the man's spine. His howl of pain scared the birds. They fled their nests and took flight at the guttural noise he emitted. Rick couldn't stop to admire his handiwork. The third Savior after him aimed and opened fire.

Rick dived out of the way in the nick of time. He crawled amongst the mud and hid behind the closet shrubs. He cradled his Colt Python and bid his time, waiting for the bastard to step forth in search of him. The split second he moved in his line of vision, ignorantly scanning the area to find him, Rick pulled the trigger. He dropped to the ground without a chance.

He rose to his feet, thoughts back on Michonne. Besides the fact that she was his prisoner to be in his possession at all times, she also might have needed help. He jogged between the trees and searched for his old friend and the two Savior's that had followed her. It didn't take long to find the trio.

At first, he was gung-ho about throwing himself into the fray. Then he saw how easily she handled the double attack and he stopped. Rick posed as spectator for a second, mesmerized by the swift shine of her gliding sword. He had yet to see her in proper action using it, but she surpassed any expectation he held. She moved like water, a stream flowing down a river, light but fast on her feet. The first man could hardly keep up, kicked in the chin by a sweep of her leg and then abrupt twist of her katana.

The next man thought he had a leg up on her. He was wrong as he swung his axe and she managed to maneuver half a step ahead from where Rick stood. He swiped wildly at her, hoping any would stick. Michonne jumped back each time, on the defensive against the blunt blade, sometimes a narrow miss. The Savior became too cocky, though, as he leaned forth for a big swing and Michonne held up her sword in defense. The two blades bounced off each other and he doubled on his attempt, rushing forward.

Unfortunately, she was quicker. The razor-sharp blade of her katana stuck him in the chest before he could strike a second time. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. He collapsed to the ground dead on arrival. Michonne stood above him and observed her handiwork.

Rick emerged between the bushes and her eyes shot to him. That moment was hard to explain, but they shared a sense of camaraderie however short-lived. It shone in her brown eyes and reflected in his blues. Together they had taken out five Savior's. They had hardly broken a sweat.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," she mumbled, looking up at him.

His grin was slow as he surveyed the wreckage and then her, breathless and full of as much exhilaration as him. The moment called for smartass banter. He knew just what to say. He said in fully southern twang, "Eh, I'm not easily impressed."

He thought he saw the faintest curl of her lip until it hit her and she froze. Something in the air changed, turned darker as her eyes slowly lowered. His gaze followed and the hairs on his neck spiked. She was bleeding. The blood stained her midsection, bleeding through her top and the cape. Her face softened as dizziness took root, eyes losing their usual hardened luster, and her legs weakened to jelly. She began to fall and so did Rick's heart.

He desperately reached out and caught her midfall.

"Michonne," he croaked. Panic was like a bomb detonating inside out. He laid her down in the grass and gave her a slight shake. "Open your eyes."

Rick tore off his button-down shirt and lifted her top to expose her stomach. He pressed the fabric against the gash on her side and hoped for the best. Her blood quickly soaked through his shirt and he paled. She had lost total consciousness, lying limp on the grass. He forced himself to think and he came up with only one answer. His arms slipped under her and he lifted her wilted body off the ground.

On the cusp of the Blake Territory again, there was only one friend nearby that could possibly help.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author's Note: Next chapter is a low-key break from the action. Who is Rick taking her to see? She's pretty much stuck with him now more than ever thanks to her injury. She may or may not hate being this vulnerable and reliant on him. Knowing this Michonne, it's probably the latter. LOL. :)

We'll also find out a bit about what happened to her after the cave rescue.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are always awesome!