A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. I don't maintain access to a computer much so I think individually contacting everyone is going to be impossible for me right now, but thank you so much. I appreciate each review a lot. A lot a lot.


I could give you one reason
Two reasons or three
I can tell you 'bout heartache
No leanness and grieve -

Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples


He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up in the most royal of ways possible. He knew he'd made a mistake the second he closed her door.

As if it wasn't obnoxious enough to be issuing ultimatums when he'd given her nothing in return in the last several months, he was making her choose between him and one of his best friends, one of her best friends. It was ridiculous to ask an already trust fragile person to let go of the tenuous hold she held on her belief in people. Especially when he wasn't exactly sure what Morgan had to offer her.

He pushed his fingers against his bridge again, trying to stymie the headache blooming from his shoulders to his neck to the back of his brain.

He knew forcing her hand had so many complications. If she chose him would it be tinged with resentment? If she chose Morgan could he live without her? Could he swallow his pride and ask her to still be in his life?

Oh, she would never fully leave. She loved and adored Judith and Carl. She would be there for them no matter what. She'd always be there, like an ex wife that quietly collected the children on the weekend with a weak wave and smile as she scurried away. Except, she would never truly be like Lori. They'd never gotten their chance at husband and wife in this world. She'd never even be like Jessie, a woman who was only coming into her own when her life ended.

Michonne didn't need him and that scared him. He'd been so used to being the completing puzzle for people who were fractured that he didn't know how to coexist romantically with someone who would be an equal partner, but Michonne made him think he was ready for that kind of relationship.

He forced himself to descend the stairs. The intense jealousy that had shot through his being earlier dulled with each movement toward the kitchen. He'd made a rash decision to blurt out pure bullshit because he'd seen the casual way she walked in, the way her body had remained unflappable coming from another man's house, from another man's bed, smelling of sweat and sex.

Of all the feelings he'd been forced to face in this end of the world, abandonment and loneliness were the ones he was most ill equipped to handle. He'd grown used to the rage and fear of death that shadowed his every step. But losing the woman he'd grown to trust and care about while she walked the Earth was too much.

Michonne wasn't the tough shell she'd been when he met her. She showered him with concern. She didn't sit back when things got tough, but marched to the front lines, her sword drawn and locs flowing as she waged into battle by his side.

He had taken her for granted. He'd just assumed his life of being selfish with her would never change. He'd foolishly assumed he could ignore the simmering tension between them and go for someone that felt like a second chance at his old life and it wouldn't impact their relationship. He foolishly thought he could ignore her needs as an equal partner and gorgeous woman and expect no one else to scoop in to offer her the things she needed to be fulfilled in this new life.

He heard the whispers, "That's Rick's woman" and strutted with swagger, knowing no one would challenge his unspoken claim. He'd told Michonne that he didn't own her. He told her that he'd never thought of her as his property. He lied. She wasn't his like a gun or his badge. She wasn't an object and he meant that, but he'd come to realize she was his like a vital organ. She was a loved one, a brilliant confidant and trusted strategist that couldn't be replaced like an old pair jeans or favorite boots. She was as precious as Judith or Carl to his life. And he was just realizing the depth of that.

Morgan forced his hand. Morgan was on a peace journey, but he was about full throttle living these days. The fact that he hated taking life meant he rushed into living with his head up and hands out. With no ring or spoken claim, he wasn't intimidated by Rick's ever presence in Michonne's periphery.

Rick trudged to the counter and pulled out a Coke from the plastic ring binding the remaining cans from their last run. He still had some whiskey left, but figured he'd made enough messes for the night. The soda still burned his throat going down. A strong tingling in his nose alerted him to how his senses had gone from consuming pop all the time to getting the rare treat.

He leaned against the counter with his thoughts. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. Too many emotions warred over his brain and the headache he tried to ward off was pounding against his temple.


She didn't avoid him. She didn't need to do that. They'd changed schedules for the week to accommodate shifts for training, guarding and building. His shift was often in the evenings and Michonne was gone before he ever cracked an eyelid to the streaming morning light filtering through his blinds, if she spent the night at their home at all. He now ran his suggestions through Maggie, Sasha and Carol. Everyone was too busy rebuilding the community to call him out on the strain permeating his former closest relationship. Although, over the last two days, he'd seen a look on Carol's face as she planted seeds and dispersed water during his watch that told him she was itching to delve into his not-so private dilemma. He figured she'd been talking to Morgan.

Despite the intense fight they'd had after the Wolves came to Alexandria and hacked their neighbors and attacked him, Morgan and Carol had grown close. Rick had often found them tucked in corners, sipping teas, their heads leaning close as they plotted together. Rick had naively thought that Daryl had missed his chance at setting down roots with her. How wrong he was.

Still, the nights proved easy. They were predictable. He finished his shift, spoke with Deanna and Spencer on any needed changes and trekked home to dinner and time alone with his kids. He was often so busy the loneliness seeping into his life was masked through his routine.

The mornings, however, were proving to be hell. He missed Michonne. And he didn't just miss her presence, but he missed what could be between them. Her bold statement announcing that he'd maybe lost his chance sparked something in him he'd tried tamping down since he met her at the prison. Out on the road he forced himself to put her in a "strictly friend" box, afraid that anything else would make the cramped nights bundled against each other awkward and uncomfortable. But now, he woke hot and hard from hazy dreams of her riding him with nothing on but her headband and a smirk planted on her face. He visualized her full lips engulfing his cock, and he jacked off more than he had since he'd been a teenager. He'd stand in the shower, a stream of lukewarm water and cum dripping down the drain as he leaned his head against the foggy glass. No one had made him cum as hard in ages. Not even the sweet smile of Jessie's could bring the heat that just the thought of Michonne's being gave him.

"Him or me," he'd hear as the water flashed to cold. And he would groan and rub the skin above where his ring used to set.

If only he'd been more open. If only he had let Michonne in.

But he had been afraid. When Carl almost died for the second time, Rick had pushed people away. The closer the person, the more he pushed. Michonne had been his closest friend and the easiest one to take out his frustration on. She didn't press him until irritation like Carol, and she didn't defy him like Daryl. She tried to stick with him, but he'd slowly said less and less, afraid his guilt and anger and fear would bleed onto her and stain her with the black tar of his life. He was a curse and she didn't need any more troubles in her life. And then Carl had woken up and Rick's every waking moment was awash with making his boy's life comfortable. Michonne stepped up and helped, but she no longer attempted to get Rick to open up. He didn't know it was because she'd turned to someone else. He didn't know it was because she'd turned to Morgan.

He should have opened up to her. He knew she wouldn't let him drown. She would keep him above water. They would buoy each other through any storm. Instead of trusting her to handle her share of the burden while he lifted some of hers, he'd disappeared on her, left her treading water in an ocean of fear and hurt. He'd left her to process how she felt about Carl while he turned into himself. It was almost cruel. Rick knew Michonne loved Carl like he was her own and leaving her to sort through what she felt was like taking her back emotionally to that prison gate, her face full of anguish as her bloody fingers grasped onto to something that wouldn't leave her vulnerable to the world.

This whole situation was his fault and he'd gone and made it worse with his demand.


He stood at the door, one hand rested on the wooden frame of the opening while the other dangled to his side. He watched as she stuffed a few tank tops and an extra pair of skin-tight jeans into a small duffle bag perched on her bed.

"So you were just going to leave? No notice? No nothing?"

With the change in schedules, they hadn't had time to talk, but he didn't think she would take off before they had hashed some things out. Well, they wouldn't have in the past, when Rick was sure of his footing and where he stood with her. Apparently, too many things had changed.

She didn't look up at him, but continued to jam her few essentials into the rugged pack.

"Carl," his voice came out strangled. What would his boy say? What had he done to his son? So many bad things had happened to him and Carl didn't deserve to have any more pain in this world. Michonne was an anchor in Carl's life, a person who held onto him tight when death tried to yank him away.

"Carl knows." She looked up then. "We had a talk, and he knows I'm not leaving him or Judith. We'll continue being friends and hanging out. Nothing has changed for us." He heard the unspoken implications of, "But they have changed between you and me."

He wanted to feel relief, but he couldn't. "But you won't be here," he said.

She nodded and zipped up her bag. She didn't have many things. None of them did. They'd all been living on the outside too long to start acquiring new knickknacks just for the pure joy of owning things. They knew something or someone could come by and they'd be out again just like they were in the prison. They'd fight, they'd do what they could to hold on to things in Alexandria, but they were realistic about life, even more so after Carl's accident and recovery.

"But I won't be here." She repeated his words firmly and with a determination he'd not seen since she'd convinced the group to give Aaron's proposal to check out Alexandria a chance.

He scratched the stubble of his beard. "Look, when I said him or me, I didn't mean you needed to move out, if you chose him, Michonne."

"Didn't you? Didn't you, Rick? Because that's exactly what it sounded like. I'm not some naïve girl from this town. I know you."

She hefted the bag over her shoulder and took a look around the room. He could tell she would miss it by the look that drifted over her face. Even though the room was lightly furnished, there was something about the spaciousness of it. It had the allure of nature with a view of the sunrise and sunset painting its walls every morning and evening.

"I didn't mean it." He felt very foolish. His heart beat faster and a fear he hadn't prepared himself for surged through his body. She was leaving. She was really leaving him.

She stepped closer to him. "You said what you said."

"So," he began. He hated to ask it, but he needed to know. "Are you choosing him?"

She shook her head at him and her voice became soft and melancholy. "No, Rick, I'm not choosing him. I'm choosing me now. I haven't done enough of that lately."

He edged nearer to her and brushed his hands across her shoulders. "Is there still a chance for us, Michonne? In the future?"

She looked away briefly, but soon found his eyes again. "I don't know. What I have with Morgan is…something."

"Is it enough?" he pressed. He had to know if he had any shot whatsoever.

She shrugged. "It may be."

"But it might not be either."

"No, maybe it's not. I'll make the change then. It won't be a jealous ultimatum that makes me choose."

"No," he agreed. He let the regret seep into his voice. She deserved so much more than he'd given her lately. His hands drifted up her neck and cupped her face. Her skin was soft and smooth and his thumbs caressed her cheeks. He waited to see if she'd push him away. When she didn't, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

He stood still with his eyes closed as she gave his fingers a final squeeze, lifted them from her body, and walked out of the door of the house they'd shared.


A/N: Thank you for sticking with me. The next chapter will have some much needed action in it.