A/N: Thanks for all of the kind words and for reading! On to the next chapter...


"Oh my gosh," Michonne rushed forward, arms outstretched. "It's going to be ok," she came to her knees in front of the tiny figure.

She twisted in her chains, the lace on her pink, baby doll dress rustling frantically. Michonne reached for the burlap sack covering her head. She lifted it off the girl's head, her fingers catching beneath the rough fabric.

What Michonne found beneath sent her skittering back.

The thing in front of her let out an inhuman roar. Her face was largely gone, not much more than yellowing bone and peeling skin. Her hair came out in great clumps along with the sack. Michonne let it fall from her hands, seizing her katana in its place.

A child. Or what was left of one. The sight of it alone threatened to undo her. Her mind filled with questions, even as she sought to remove herself from the situation. This girl, whoever she had been, she couldn't have been more than 6 years old when she met her end. Not much older than Carl.

"Shit," the word slipped from Michonne's mouth. She scrambled to her feet, determined to run. Whatever this place was, it was evil. Michonne would burn it to the ground.

The walker child screamed at her, a piercing sound sure to bring down enemies upon her. Without a second thought, Michonne swung the sword, putting the chained girl out of her misery.

The body hit the ground in a putrid pile as footsteps sounded behind her. The door flew open and then was slammed back on the hinges. Michonne spun, sword up, ready.

"You bitch!" The Governor was there, clutching his bleeding arm and panting like a wounded animal. He reached behind him, throwing the lock. Michonne shifted her stance, steadying herself. The Governor's eyes were wild as he looked down at the body of his chained captive. He let out a bellow and rushed her.

Michonne was ready. She sidestepped, avoiding being cornered.

"You're sick," Michonne told him, narrowing her eyes.

There were no more words from her enemy, just a strained, vengeful sound. He fell on Michonne with blind rage. She danced away, arching her sword over her head, glancing behind him at the rattling door.

"Michonne!" she would know that voice anywhere.

"Rick!" she called back, breaking for the exit in a sprint.

The Governor cut her off, tossing her backwards, back towards the room filled with severed heads. Michonne threw her hands out, determined not to land on her stomach. Her katana clattered to the ground.

The air was knocked from her body as she collided with the concrete, rolling to take most of the fall to her shoulder. It gave way with a sickening pop and she cried out. She struggled to get her feet beneath her, vaguely registering the sounds of the door shaking frantically and the Governor approaching again.

His hands were on her, sticky with blood. Michonne kicked out, connecting with his thigh. He stumbled back. She moved as quickly as she could, crawling back into the trophy room. The heads were in a frenzy, snapping and snarling silently from their cold tanks.

She reached for one as the Governor seized her foot, pulling as hard as she was able while he yanked her backwards.

The water was cold, the smell nearly unbearable. She could feel the wet, rotten flesh slapping at her skin as they clattered to the ground. The glass shattered with a resounding crash.

The world around her was noise, fear, panic. Michonne gripped out for anything, kicking the heads away from her, trying to keep the Governor at bay. He groped for her, bleeding, wet, smacking heads away like tennis balls.

"You bitch," he repeated, rushing for her.

Michonne's hand closed in on a fragment of the tank. She swung as hard as she could. With a scream, she felt the skin and muscle of his eye give way. Still, she pushed the glass further in. The Governor fell back, flailing, hollering, cursing to high heaven. A sound like exploding wood echoed from down the hall.

"Michonne!" Rick's voice was closer now, followed quickly by the man himself. His face was swollen, covered in blood. He moved with a pronounced limp.

"Rick," tears streamed down her already wet face. He took one look at her, then let out a rage filled yell. His attention turned to the Governor, bleeding out on the floor.

Rick raised the machete in his hand, swinging it down at the Governor. The Governor raised his good arm, attempting to protect himself.

The shot took them all by surprise.

Rick's machete ripped out of his hand, spiraling across the room. Michonne and Rick turned as one, eyes on the door.

"Step back!" a woman's voice demanded.

Michonne felt the air get sucked from her lungs. "Andrea?"

-l-l-l-l-

The world had turned into a fever dream. Every inch of his body was in burning pain, his muscles screaming in protest. It was nothing compared to the sight of his soaking wet wife, laying among severed walker heads in a puddle, bleeding and panting, her arm at an odd angle.

He would kill this man. Even if it killed him in the process.

Rick scarcely heard the shot, but he felt it's effects, the tremors ripping up his arm and yanking his weapon from his hand. He turned his head, now positive that he was in a living nightmare. How else to explain seeing the ghost of a woman who died months ago?

"Andrea?" Michonne echoed his thoughts.

"Back up!" her shout was panicky. Rick's eyes widened, even as her gun swung towards him.

"You're dead," the words hurt as they left him, his lungs straining after nearly being strangled to death.

Andrea laughed, a wry, desperate sound. "I thought so. After you left me—"

"We didn't leave," Rick protested, memories rushing back.

"We looked for you, 'Drea. For weeks, we went out looking. Daryl had a track and then it disappeared. We thought—" Michonne struggled to her feet.

"We thought you died," Rick finished for her. "That was months ago."

"Well, I didn't die," Andrea shook her head, hands still shaking around the pistol. "Phillip saved me."

"Phillip?" the word left both Rick and Michonne's mouths with equal distaste.

"I can't let you kill him," Andrea was crying now. Michonne felt her temper flare.

"Don't you see what he is?" she demanded. "Look at this room, Andrea. Go look in the other room, tell me what you find. He's a psychopath."

"He's not!" Andrea protested. The Governor wiggled towards her like some grotesque slug, seeking shelter behind her legs. Rick took a menacing step forward. Andrea pulled the trigger again. The bullet hit one of the walker heads.

"You know us," Michonne would not relent. She reached Rick's side. He quickly angled himself in front of her, teetering precariously, but facing Andrea down nonetheless. Michonne braced him with a hand to his back. The feeling was immediately calming, even in the midst of this chaos. "You've known us for years."

"This man," Rick spat, "he attacked home. Kidnapped Michonne. Your friend. He tried to kill us." He couldn't believe that they were even talking about this. Andrea had been one of the Haven. Now she was one of them.

"Look what you did to him," Andrea insisted, glancing down at the Governor in tears.

"Let me finish it," Rick took a step forward. He'd go through the pair of them if he needed to.

"No," Andrea's tone was harsh. Without moving the gun, still pointed at Michonne, she bent down, helping her man to his feet. He retreated behind her. "You leave, or I'm shooting you both."

Rick's hand flew to his Colt, the blood making his grip loose, but he still managed to get off a shot. It grazed the Governor's leg before embedding itself in the concrete. Andrea turned tail and fled, dragging the Governor with her. Rick set off to chase them, slipping in the blood and fluid flooding the room. Michonne stumbled after him, nearly falling herself. She let out a cry of pain that stopped Rick in his tracks.

"Let them go," she called to him, reaching for his arm. "They won't make it far. The others…" talking now was costing her a great effort. Rick began to panic.

"I have to kill him, Michonne," he helped her move out of the room, back into the office with the shattered door. Michonne leaned heavily against the desk, studiously keeping her eyes away from the body of the child walker.

"Rick, please," she plead with him. "I can't lose you. Let Daryl do it. Or Glenn."

In answer, he kissed her, ignoring the pain. He forced himself to leave his wife, his gun by her side, his machete in his hand.

It was difficult to run, but he managed, each gasp for air sending a shot of agony through him. Still, he could hear Andrea and The Governor up ahead, struggling.

They'd made it back outside, to the back of the compound, away from the war. Rick pursued. Andrea had a car ready, the engine running. She was loading the Governor into the backseat, tears streaming down her face. Rick swung again, the metal of his blade digging into the car's exterior.

Andrea let out a terrified scream and pulled the trigger. Rick just managed to avoid a bullet in the side. Andrea dove for the car door, tearing off without even closing it. He chased them for a long as he was able.

He was no match for a car.

Rick collapsed, his expression murderous but his body utterly shot.

"Rick!"

He turned at the sound of his own name, watching Michonne rushing towards him. She was dragging her katana over her good shoulder, clutching his Colt in her other hand.

"They got away," it was painful to admit, even as he watched their car disappear in the distance.

Michonne fell to her knees beside him. She pressed her forehead to his.

"It's going to be ok," she promised him, even as she shook against him.

Her words did little to assuage Rick's worry.

-l-l-l-l-

"We've got two dozen prisoners," Glenn reported. He was sitting just next to Rick, watching with careful eyes as the medics bandaged Rick and Michonne up.

Sasha stood beside them, clutching her gun. "I should have gone around the back," she lamented.

"You couldn't have known," Michonne moved quickly to reassure her friend.

"We should have been watching the back," Daryl grumbled, standing behind Sasha. "Can't believe the bastard got away."

"You said it was Andrea?" Glenn asked in disbelief.

"She said he saved her," Michonne scoffed around the words.

"Guess we found our spy," Sasha huffed.

Rick was silent, his eyes far off in the distance. "We need to hunt them down."

Michonne's head whipped around. She met his eyes, confused.

Daryl, by contrast, was thrilled. "My thoughts exactly."

"We'll go out until we find him," Rick nodded, worrying his brows together.

"What about Andrea?" Michonne kept her eyes on her husband as she spoke her piece. "She's in love with him. She won't let you kill him."

"Then she's made her choice," it was Daryl who answered.

Reluctantly, Rick nodded. "We start tonight."

"Hell," we can start right now. Daryl leaned forward eagerly.

"No," Michonne touched Rick's arm. "You're in no shape."

"He's tough," Daryl argued.

"Rick," Michonne ignored their friends, leveling a look at her partner.

"Ya'll act like you can't be apart for a minute," Daryl's frustrations made themselves known.

"And you act like you're the one who makes decisions around here," Michonne snapped back.

Sasha stepped forward. "Daryl," she warned her boyfriend in a low voice.

"Everyone just calm down," Glenn attempted to step in. "The Governor could be dead already, for all we know. Michonne stabbed him in the eye. Rick damn near cut off his arm."

"There's only one way to be sure," Daryl said. "We go find him and make sure he's dead."

"You go then," Rick seemed to be reconsidering. His bright eyes found Michonne's. She was sitting, one hand covering her stomach, the other on his own palm. He gave her a comforting squeeze.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Ain't no time to be getting sentimental, Rick."

"Michonne's pregnant," Rick didn't take his eyes off of his wife. "I'm not leaving her."

Michonne looked at her friend. Sasha's demeanor had gone oddly stiff. Daryl remained silent.

"Congratulations," Glenn spoke up, mustering a smile. Michonne smiled gratefully back at him. He looked to Daryl. "You and I will go after him now. We can re-strategize tomorrow." With a nod, he picked his gun back up.

"You stay," Sasha spoke at last. "Maggie's got to be worried sick. Daryl and I will go." She moved off before anyone could protest. Daryl followed after her without a word.

Rick squinted at the pair. "What's going on with them?"

Michonne sighed, beyond exhausted. "You should talk to him," she told Rick.

"Tomorrow," Rick hopped up, helping her down. "Glenn, let the Hilltop know what happened. Make sure they're ready if the Governor shows up. Tell them we need a council meeting. We've got prisoners of war to deal with."

Glenn moved off, looking eager to complete the task at hand. Michonne and Rick watched him go.

"Let's go home," Rick told his wife.

Michonne took his hand.