A/N: It's been forever since I posted. I can only say I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a streamlined story and now, well, it's not. But I do know where it is going to it's not just floating out on the sea.

I can tell you a story

Tell it simple and plain

Tell you life is a candle

It flickers and I'm a flame-

Your Good Fortune by Mavis Staples

"I was supposed to go to the planetarium the day my dad got shot."

Michonne took a bite of the oat bar that Denise packed. It was no peanut butter protein snack and it was ugly; it was a hunk of food melded together that looked like actual shit. But it tasted okay and somehow Denise had infused it with something that assuaged Michonne's sweet tooth.

Michonne watched Carl sit back from the red telescope he had gazed into. His uninjured eye glanced at her as he rolled the leather chair away from the window.

She remained silent to let his thoughts catch up with him. Carl was a bright child who had been through so much. At times, in certain angles and in certain lights, he reminded her of Andre. No, they didn't look alike, but there was a similar mischievous air to him that pricked her heart. Carl wasn't her boy, but she couldn't help but love him more as the days passed. Sometimes her brain carried her down the path she didn't want to venture and gave her glimpses of an older Andre and in those moments, she found herself thinking those glimpses might be a lot like Carl: fierce, funny, independent with a determined streak that needed a firm hand.

"Mom came and got me. At first I was mad when the principal called me into the office. Then I thought it was the worst day of my life." Carl huffed. "Could you believe that?"

"I can," she answered. She stood from her spot and bent over the telescope to look at the twinkling stars. She hadn't been stargazing in years. Still, she gently swung the metal sphere to each side to eye more of the sky.

Plastic wrap crinkled in the lull and she knew Carl was taking his own bite of Denise's concoction.

"It's miserable without you." He muffled the words because of the food jammed into his mouth.

She said nothing again.

"He's miserable without you."

She turned around then, her gloved hands braced behind her against the wood. She tilted her head. Her dreads shifted to the side. Her eyes widened a little at him.

He sighed. "I know. I know. It's not my business."

She stifled her own sigh and scanned the room they were in. Carl had come to her after he'd had a nasty fight with Rick. She'd heard from Maggie that there had been yelling.

"I need to get out of here," Carl had said in a voice so angry that it startled Michonne. She rarely saw him like that these days and especially not after he'd lost his eye. There was a weight, a burden in his step that worried her so she'd agreed to go on an adventure with him.

And now they were holed up in a house just a couple of miles from the safe zone. After the Wolves had come, they'd taken a giant brick house and Morganfied it, equipped it with axe booby traps and carved out spaces in the ground that would keep it walker and people free. It turned into a great place to scope out people coming and going into the vicinity and Daryl used it to bring squirrels and deer to skin and chop up before carting them back to Alexandria. The faint smell of rotted meat and old blood soaked through the building. Had it been in the before, Michonne would have wretched, but they'd all gotten used to the unforgiveable smell of dead flesh and the familiar metallic tang that covered everything.

Michonne plopped down on the bed behind them. She smoothed a hand across the blue comforter decorated in baseballs and bats. A child's room. There were still hand painted pictures on the wall and an old television in the corner. She wondered about the people who had been here. There were no corpses when they swept the house, no walkers dragging through rooms they'd lived through as humans. Whatever happened to the people who were here, they'd left their house in pristine condition, probably grabbing the barest of necessities.

"It's not that it's not your business, but," she trailed off. She couldn't look at him in the face for a moment.

"I get it. It's complicated."

Her eyes zoomed to his. She smiled. "Carl…"

"It is and it probably has something to do with my dad being an idiot, but what else is new?"

Michonne sighed and yanked on the arm of his rolling chair so they would be closer. She leaned into him and ran a hand against his long locks. "We've all made some mistakes here. We're human. Sometimes we do that."

Carl rolled his eye at her. "I'm a kid. I get that too. But you didn't move out because you made a mistake. I know it was dad. And I'm not even angry about his mistake because you're right he's human, but he's being a total asshole about everything since you left. That's not a mistake. That's a pattern."

Michonne laughed then. "You are too smart for your own good, but be kind to him, okay?"

Michonne almost frowned at that. Even now, when she had her own issues with Rick, she found herself fighting for him, defending him. But she also knew that anger made one stupid and no one had any time for stupidity. That's what got you killed.

He moved out of her embrace and rolled his chair across the room to a bookshelf.

"We should take some of these books to Judy. We need to make sure she's cultured."

Michonne didn't question his subject change. She just nodded her approval.

"That's a good idea."

"Yeah." Carl drank some of the water in his canteen. "Thanks for coming, Michonne."

"You knew I would," she remarked.

He shrugged and turned back to the shelf, his fingers resting against the dusty titles as he shifted the books while trying to decide which ones to remove. "I still appreciate it."

His voice became small and Michonne could hear the little boy echoed in it instead of the young man he was rapidly becoming. Her throat grew thick with unshed tears.

"Anytime," she whispered, unable to catch all the traces of emotion from emerging in her tone.

They were up early. Adventures were fun, but they lived in a world where safety often came in numbers. Also, Michonne hadn't realized just how much she had come to consider Alexandria home. The ache in her bones that used to send her outside of the prison gates for weeks on end was the same ache driving her back to the walls of their shelter.

Michonne looked over at Carl and struggled to keep the grin off her face. He had decided on nearly every book in that little library and was now hunched under the weight of his backpack. He shifted and shrugged to maintain his composure.

"Maybe you could have saved some for next time." Her voice was playful and light. She knew not to offer him assistance. Carl was touchy about getting help these days.

"Maybe. But who knows how fast Judy is going to go through these."

Michonne scuffed a studded boot across a rock in their path. She snorted at that. "Judy or you?"

"Hey, these are kids' books," Carl exclaimed. He turned to face her and pulled hair from his face.

"The classics are the classics," Michonne argued. But she wouldn't be too hard on him. They hadn't come across any new comic books in awhile. Daryl had mentioned a store a few miles out, but it wasn't a risk any of them wanted to take just to catch up on the last issues penned before the apocalypse. Michonne wondered if any of the artists and writers had lives to tell the story of this world.

"You should consider writing Judy some stories."

Carl stopped and his lack of movement halted hers. It was clear he'd never thought of that idea. "Really? I'm not a writer or anything."

Michonne shrugged. "Don't think you need to be in this world. You tell good stories and I'm sure Judy would appreciate them."

They started moving again and they drifted further into the woods, coming closer to their destination. Michonne kept a watchful eye as they ducked under tree limbs and avoided the thick mud. One thing she wasn't a fan of was the red Virginia mud that built from a heavy downpour. It left ugly red stains. And if one wasn't careful, they found themselves mired ankle deep in it.

Their journey was pleasant until there was distinct rustling in the distance coming their way.

Michonne stopped in place and held an arm out in front of Carl, a protective stance she'd never outgrown from attempting to shield Andre. Her brow wrinkled and she held a finger to her lips to make sure Carl didn't say anything. He nodded.

The rustling was coming faster. A whooshing sound followed.

Michonne reached for her sword and Carl grabbed his gun.

Whoever or whatever was headed straight for them. They knew it was better to meet it head on instead of trying to hide. It was nearly impossible to sneak through the recently falling leaves that floated downward in preparation for autumn.

Michonne's body tensed and she raised the sword. It could be nothing. It could be a wayward fawn crashing through to get to its mother.

A body whipped under a tree and came into view. It was not a fawn. She had two seconds to see it. She knew immediately what she should do. Her legs dropped further into a lunge and she swung, her motion lopping off the head attached to the man making a wild dash around the trees.

Carl raised his gun. He took out a woman coming from the same direction.

Michonne glided left and waited a few more seconds before slashing straight into a chest. Blood gushed out with the wound and she turned in balletic grace to stab the man through the brain.

They listened for more noise, but there was none.

Michonne glanced over to Carl and they both were heaving. Their win in the woods was not the cause for their catching breaths. The people, the Wolves, were running to them from the direction of Alexandria.

They both took off as fast as they could. Carl still labored under his heavy pack, but she imagined the same adrenaline and fear pushed him forward as it did her and he kept up with Michonne as they expertly dodged hanging tree limbs, pushed over fallen logs, leaped over mud pits all while checking for potential walkers in their way.

Sweat poured down from Michonne's scalp and into her headband. Alexandria could not fall.

The door to the gate was open and Carl and Michonne rushed to enter. Michonne didn't know who was on duty, but she and Carl took time to yank the door shut. It wouldn't do to have any more threats enter while whatever was being taken care of inside.

A gunshot rang out.

It was close to Rick's house.

They raced toward the sound.

Once they rounded the corner, Michonne pulled up short. There was a crowd. There was a completely silent crowd.

She shoved her way through the congregation.

There were one, two, five Wolves on the ground. Next to them was a walker she was sure used to be Spencer. And next to Spencer was the freshly deceased body of Deanna out in the street. Morgan was knocked out beside them. His chest was rising and falling, but a red gash marred his forehead.

Michonne gasped.

"Rick?" she called.

He turned around. His hair was slick with sweat and the lower half of his jaw was caked with fresh blood. His hands were trembling yet sure as he aimed the gun toward the people gathered.

"What?" he snarled, his head tilted in the unusual way that was so him. His eyes were dark and tumultuous.

This was vicious Rick. This was "do not fuck with me" Rick, and Michonne had no idea what the hell had happened to unleash this him.

I wanted some Carchonne. I love their friend/parental-like bond. Also, there's a reason Rick is standing in the street acting like ooc season 5 Rick and it's not because he's ooc season 5 Rick lol. He's more Hilltop not putting up with shit Rick and I hope that comes through. I had hoped for more action, but I realized this is kind of a calmer story by its nature.