A/N: I'm so sorry for updating so late! I had no time to do a final read-through and upload at work. I hope the chapter makes up for it!

TheNextPage, you guessed correctly! In addition to Merle and Ed, there was also Daryl early on, and the guys who wanted to rape Carl and Michonne. And don't forget Pete! Humanity's ugliness didn't disappear with the apocalypse, but I'll let him cook.

Thank you for reading and reviewing, everyone!


To Stay

After they dug out all of the subsoil, Rick directed her to mix up the grass, leaves, dirt, and other undesirables on the other tarps with the subsoil while he mixed them with the topsoil. He said that the undesirables were going to serve as organic fertilizer.

When they'd resumed shoveling the subsoil, she'd purposely kept the conversation light. They'd shot the shit, their conversational topics ridiculous, silly, and funny. She wasn't sure if it was because of the recent loss in his life, but he had a very dry, very dark humor. It cracked her up. On the other hand, her potty mouth seemed to both scandalize him and excite him.

They eventually quieted down, and she retreated into her mind.

Now, she finished mixing the fertilizer with the subsoil and straightened to ask him what came next. That was when she saw that he wasn't done and that he'd stopped working.

"What?" she asked.

"I think we're done for today," he drawled.

She frowned, only to discover that she was already frowning. "I can keep going," she stated.

"So can I, and I really...I really want to. I kept waiting for you to say you were done, but you never did, but...I think this is all good for today. Sun's gettin' higher."

"Rick, I can keep going," she insisted.

He observed her a moment.

"What?" she asked a bit tightly.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You've been frownin' for the past ten minutes. You're thinkin' about somethin' again. Wanna tell me?"

Michonne rolled her eyes at herself. "Are we really done?" she asked.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

She lowered her eyes and shook her head.

"I keep a bucket of water out here. We can wash our hands," he said.

She took her gloves off and followed him to the small office, which he'd turned into a shed, and they stored the gloves and shovels. She then followed him to the bucket, bent at the waist and scooped out water to rinse her hands.

"I'll give Scout a wash for you before you head out next," Rick said.

Michonne looked at him, and she let him catch her doing it.

"What? Don't want a clean horse?" he joked.

She shook her head. "I'm just wondering something for the hundredth time." How he could hit on what she was thinking with such accuracy.

She straightened and waited for him to start heading for the prison. Instead, he asked, "You're not gonna tell me what's going on? You're still frowning, you know."

She inhaled, released it, and relaxed her forehead in the process. She began heading back to the prison, and he fell into step beside her. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"Leaving."

"I was hoping to be more interesting than the Governor," he joked affably, earning him a sideways look from her.

"Three days," he said, speaking of the length of time before she left.

"Yeah, and I'm thinking about cutting it shorter. The more I stay here, the more distance he puts between us."

"It has to make sense for you to come back here," he pointed out.

"Right, coming back for two or three days doesn't make sense. It's not worth the trek back. So maybe I should just stay out, stay out until I find him."

He stopped walking, so she turned to face him.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said, and she detected an edge in his tone. "Are you serious?"

"It's worth considering."

"No, it isn't, because then you're just out there. Then you're just looking for him with nothing to come back to."

Her heart sped up nervously at that. Nothing to come back to.

"What's going on? Where is this coming from? Is this something you've been thinking about this whole time?"

"No, Rick," she said, holding her hands up to stop his barrage of questions, which were overwhelming her. "I'm just thinking about what's best, wondering if I've been going about this the wrong way."

His eyes bore into her, and she grew uncomfortable.

"I feel like I'm missin' somethin'," he said, his eyes narrowed. "I feel like you're lyin' to me."

She shook her head and left him.

"Stop," he ordered.

She stopped immediately, her stomach fluttering. She turned and said, "I'm protecting us, remember?"

"You know what I wish? I wish you'd stick around long enough to get to know what it is you're protectin'. Every time you come back, there's at least one new face. Do you even know half these people?"

That gave her pause. Then she said, "I know the ones I need to," and she turned to leave again.

"Stop, Michonne," he gruffly ordered again.

She did, and she asked herself why the hell she did. "Stop telling me that," she countered as she faced him.

He exhaled, obviously composing himself. "I shouldn't have said that about not knowing the new ones," he said as he lessened the space between them. "I meant it, but...the truth is that every time I see you all driven and convinced and focused, it makes me wonder if I'm not makin' a mistake by not bein' out there with you."

She softened at that. "You have to make sure we can sustain ourselves here. That's your job. I'm serious," she said when he scoffed. "I think what you're doing is important, despite my jokes. And I know that as soon as I find him, you'll be leading the charge. If I can't kill him myself, that is."

"What would make you...stop?" he asked.

Michonne observed him for a beat. "You think I'm chasing a ghost?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you think it."

"I'm not sure," he said emphatically.

"And Daryl calling it quits probably doesn't help my case. It's a feeling, Rick," she argued. "I can't bring myself to believe that a man like the Governor just disappears."

"He might be dead," Rick said.

"It feels dangerous to believe that," she responded.

Rick nodded. "I can't argue with you wantin' to protect us. I know what it it is to have a gut feeling, good and bad."

Michonne nodded. She admired the fact that he could understand even though he apparently disagreed.

She looked beyond him, at the work they'd just done. The soil was dark. It looked so rich. She'd taken her gloves off at one point and pressed her palms against it, to feel what she was working on.

She looked around them. They were surrounded by light green grass of various heights. Healthy grass.

"Why is the grass so green?" she asked, her eyes on the subject.

"A drip irrigation system runs through most of the soil. Hershel had a hunch about it, and then he found them. It's like a sprinkler, but the water seeps right into the soil. The timer kept running after everything went down, but once the prison lost power…"

"Right. It'd be a shame for them to die."

"They won't," he promised. "No dead things near the garden. 'Xcept for them," he said, gesturing at the walkers pushing up on the fence.

Michonne watched them. They kept doing the same thing, not realizing that it wasn't working, not even realizing that there was an obstacle in their way, really.

She hoped that that wasn't what she was doing with the Governor. But she knew that something wasn't working.

"Give me a tour," she said, her eyes settling on Rick.

"Of what?"

"The prison. I honestly don't know it. You're right. I've only been to the places I needed to, but I don't know everything that we have here. I don't know what this place was or is. So show me."

He nodded. His lips twitched into a smile as he walked to her, and she smiled, too.


Rick was sure that they looked silly. He'd offered his arm to her like a gentleman, and she'd taken it, pursing her lips in an attempt to control her smile.

He started outside. He walked the perimeter with her, showed her the delivery area, and then he took her to the exercise yard. During this time, he told her how long it'd taken them to find the prison and the concerted effort it had taken to clear it out and make it livable.

Next, they went inside. He showed her all of the offices, the staff breakroom, the infirmary, and the library, where she took time to browse the books while telling him about how she'd once racked up a fifty-dollar library fine. He showed her the quarters for the overnight staff, the former armory, the warden's office, and the laundry room.

They toured the visiting area where the prisoners once interacted with friends and family, the security room, and all of the available cell blocks.

They came upon people and passed them by. The only one who didn't look confused was Hershel. Hershel smiled. Daryl signaled him to ask what the hell was going on, but he acted like he didn't see him. Carl joined them for part of the tour, although he didn't ask why it was happening.

"What do you think about helping me out in the garden once I get it going?" Rick asked him.

Walking next to Michonne, Carl answered, "Uh, I don't? I don't think about it."

Rick watched Michonne twist her mouth to keep from smiling. "Well, I want you to," he said.

Carl sighed and gave his father a long sideways look. "I was hoping you wouldn't."

"It'll be good for you," Rick said. "It'll teach you some responsibility."

Carl stopped walking. "I'm already responsible, dad."

"I meant a different kind of responsibility," Rick elaborated as he and Michonne stopped, hoping that his careless words weren't going to incite yet another tense moment between him and his son. "Michonne helped me this morning, and she liked it," he said, looking to her for some assistance.

Michonne gave Carl a sideways look. "It was aight."

Carl smiled.

"It wasn't easy, but it was fun," she said with a shrug. "It was definitely worthwhile. I think he's doing a good thing," she said, looking at Rick. "It's hard work," she said to Carl. "But we finished, and I really feel like I did something. Protecting the prison isn't just about guns and fighting. You can do both. And your dad's good company."

Rick watched his son contemplate what Michonne said.

"I was still hoping you wouldn't ask me," Carl muttered to him, and Rick smiled. "But I'll help you."

"Thank you," Rick said.

"I'm leaving now, though," Carl said. "Patrick's writing a play, and he wants me to read what he has."

"Who's Patrick?" Michonne asked.

"He's one of the new people. He's cool, I guess," he shrugged. "He likes medieval stuff. The play's really good so far. I gotta go," he said to his dad and Michonne.

"Bye," Michonne said as Rick nodded.

Carl backed away, then turned and left.

Michonne slipped her hand from Rick's arm and crossed them as she faced him. "I didn't know he had a new friend."

"He won't replace you," Rick teased.

She rolled her eyes. She looked down the hall as Carl put more distance between them. "You're right. I don't know the people here."

"We brought Patrick's group in while you were gone this last round. Hey, thanks for helping," he said as he nodded his head in Carl's direction.

"I know he's serious, and he's going through a lot, but his little squint is too cute. That hat is almost wearing him."

"I feel like most of what I say to him comes out wrong. Or he just takes it wrong. Wait until I tell him I want him to put his gun away."

Michonne cringed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, he...he's too reliant on it. That's why I'm glad you said guns aren't the only way to protect the prison."

He'd told Michonne about his fears for Carl, stemming from, among other things, Hershel's account of him shooting down a teenager from Woodbury.

"You want me to be there for that conversation?" she asked.

He smiled and was almost distracted by how beautiful she looked. "No, I can handle it."

"You're going through the same loss," she said. "That can make talking a little difficult."

"Things weren't great between him and Lori before she died either. He had some anger. I...I actually don't know where it came from."

"Maybe that's something you can talk to him about when you're both gardening. Kids aren't...as oblivious as we tend to think they are."

Rick nodded, his thoughts on Carl. They'd had a conversation after Carl had shot Shane. Rick hadn't explained everything, that Shane had very purposely wanted to kill him, because, he hadn't wanted to sully Carl's image of Shane. He hadn't known what to say. He wasn't sure that he did now. But maybe they could talk about Lori. That should be safe enough ground.

He focused on Michonne and said, "I'm glad he can talk to you. Really. I'm glad he has an outlet. You've got the whole stranger thing working for you, but I'm glad for it."

She smiled. "I didn't wanna say anything while he was with us, but...I've seen things while I've been out there. Well, not things, but-"

Rick burst into laughter, which caused her to break down laughing. "Do you think there's something wrong with us for laughing about this?" he asked as he tried to sober up.

"You know what? If there is, then let it be. At least we're not laughing by ourselves."

Adopting a serious facade, he said, "Mmm, yeah, yeah that wouldn't be good."

"Hey, laughter is its own medicine," she said.

And he liked taking that medicine with her.

"What I mean is that I like to read while I'm out there. Find a book, grab a book. I've developed an affinity for, ahem, comic books?"

Rick raised his eyebrows.

"They tell great stories," she said, pointing a stern finger at him. "Anyways, I've thought about bringing him some back, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries. He seems to be excited about Patrick's story."

"Bring them to him," Rick said. "Please. He's a reader. He was. I mean, he hasn't been paying the library any mind since we got here, but between you and Patrick, maybe he can start back up."

"I have a stash in my cell. I've been bringing them with me. I can show them to him and let him pick out the ones he likes."

He didn't know how to thank her. "That would be great. Thank you."

She nodded.

They continued with the tour, her hand back on his arm.

He didn't care about the looks from the people they passed. She was leaving in three days, and this was an opportunity to spend more time with her, to be in her presence. He still felt that there was something she was not telling him. Her frown earlier told him that something was weighing heavily on her mind.

They rejoined Carl, and Judith, in the cafeteria for lunch, and then she told him that she wanted to go back to the garden.


Michonne took it upon herself to wrap her hand around his bicep again when they stepped outside. She looked at him to see if he perhaps objected to being touched in such a manner now that the tour was officially over, only to find him turning his head to look at her.

She quickly looked away. She smiled, because he'd quickly looked away, too, and that made her wonder what he'd been thinking about. She furtively glanced at him again. Although he'd suddenly found something interesting in the opposite direction of her face, she could tell by the indentation of his chiseled cheeks that he was smiling.

She really liked spending time with him. It was official now. She didn't even try to understand it. But of all the things she hasn't understood in the past year: animated corpses, Mike's betrayal, her son's death, her fucking life turning into a nightmare, Andrea's betrayal, not understanding why she liked spending time with Rick at least felt good.

Spending time with him was the gift that kept giving.

It was past noon, so the prison grounds were alive with people walking, talking, and kids playing. "So, you want me to believe that you know each and everyone of these people?" she asked Rick.

"Between Hershel, Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and Carol, yes," he said, and she laughed. "It was my idea for them to get to know new arrivals, so it counts. I couldn't cover all of these people. And I trust their judgment. Besides, I'm not runnin' things anymore, remember?"

"Sounds like a long-winded way of saying you're not Mr. Friendly," she teased.

"You don't think I'm friendly? I'm friendly."

"Maybe. You're not an extrovert."

"I'm not," he confirmed. "You were?"

She appreciated his use of the past tense. "I was. I'm the girl who'd come up and talk to you."

"I'd come up and talk to you. Hold on a second now, we're talking about a group of people, fine folks, I've heard, versus you. I'd talk to you. Introvert doesn't mean-"

She raised her eyebrows at him cutting himself off. "Doesn't mean what?"

"Nothing."

"Don't do that. Come on," she plead, bumping him with her shoulder.

"No, it's nothing. Trust me."

"I don't," she said, the pout in her voice.

"The point is: I got manners," he said.

"I disagree. Manners means pleasing your audience."

"No comment," he said after a beat.

He was looking straight ahead and smiling, and she dared wonder if his mind had gotten to the gutter before hers did. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and resumed walking in step with him.

"You know, that tour only made me more determined to protect this place," she said when the fresh green grass surrounding their baby garden were within sight. "Or stay away from it," she admitted quietly with a sigh.

"What?" Rick asked.

She slowed her steps until she stopped, and he followed suit and came around to face her.

"What do you think it looks like if I stay?" she asked him rhetorically. "What will it feel like? To stay, and be here every day, and get to know these people? Not that I wanna hear their life stories or anything. I like being back, Rick. And I hate that. I came back two days ago, and I was relieved. Relieved to see this place, relieved to see everyone still here, relieved to see-You know," she faltered, "Everyone. I'm starting to feel a difference between being here and being out there, and I can see it making being out there harder."

She sighed. "That's what I was thinking about earlier," she confessed quietly, her eyes downcast. "Honestly, after that tour, I'm now wondering if I come back here to reset to what I should be, or if I leave here to reset to what I know," she said as she looked at the ground.

"Navel-gazing shit?" he asked, making her smile and nod with a roll of her eyes. "What you're doing is important," he said. "It is. As long as you feel that he's out there, then you keep looking. I'll stage an intervention if it gets to be too much."

She laughed quietly, her shoulders shaking.

"I'm serious. I'm ready."

She raised her eyes to look at him. His warm eyes, his handsome face.

"At the risk of…" He sighed and gathered his thoughts. "I just...I think it's important for you to know that...I like it when you're back. And earlier," he said, gesturing at the garden behind him, "Asking you to help me with this, well, I guess I hoped that you being back could feel like it lasts just as long as when you're gone. Because the days drag when you're gone," he said, chuckling nervously.

Michonne smiled. Between him and Carl, her time was monopolized when she was back, and she liked it that way.

"It'll be okay," he promised, nodding. "It'll be fine."

Settling down. She wondered if she could try that. Being part of a camp of people seemed like a lifetime ago. A camp hadn't prevented her child from getting killed.

There was Rick, though. He was, quite frankly, the main attraction. The camper she was interested in. She wondered what would happen between them if she stayed, if she became...a regular part of the group. Being in his presence was exhilarating enough with a timer, she didn't dare imagine what it would be like to be near him every day.

"Come on," he said, indicating the path behind him with his head.

Michonne stepped forward and kissed him, placing her hand on the back of his head to make sure she got him at a good angle, because this may be her only chance.

The contact, this contact, was electrifying. It zapped her senses to life. She felt his lips push back against hers, and her belly fell into disarray.

It was one second, two at most, and then she stepped back, shocked at what she'd done but unable to feel any regrets.

"Let's go," she breathed and stepped around him.

"No," he said, stepping in her way.

He closed in on her, grabbed her waist, and kissed her.

He opened his lips to caress hers, and she could've melted. Sweet, sweet contact. This, she could try. She wanted to.

He teased her lips with his tongue, and she opened up for him. Her head swam even as she matched his passion. She was aware of the strong grip of his hands on her waist as he held her in place, the friction of his sturdy chest against hers, and the softness of his hair in her hand. All of it was a perfect augmentation of the magic of his tongue.