A/N: Thanks for all of the messages I've been getting about this. I appreciate all of your feedback. It's a delicate time period to write about, but I'm hoping I'm doing it some justice.

Enjoy!

"Mama!" Michonne lost all semblance of self-preservation, rushing across the field towards the woman she loved more than anyone in this world.

Her screams were silenced by the roar of battle, the clash of union and rebel soldiers, the sounds of cannons. She'd lost her hat somewhere and her hair was streaming behind her as she ran, fighting her way through. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized her cover was blown, that people could see her now, see her for a woman. It didn't matter.

Her mama looked up at her, smiling serenely as she met her eyes across the carnage of the battlefield. Michonne could make out her face, so much like her own, her lips as she shaped words that Michonne could not hear but knew by heart.

"I love you," it echoed across the field towards her as the horse reared up in pain, as her mother crumpled beneath it.

There, in the middle of it all, Michonne had screamed, her rage and pain terrible. Enemies fell at her sword, crumpling by the dozens, but none of it brought her mama back.

"Rick!" his name ripped from her throat, the sound raw and harsh. The dead surged around her, the stench overpowering, their rotting bodies jostling hers. She could scarcely feel them; scarcely hear the sounds of the heavy oak door being thrown open, the panicked shouts. She swung wildly, arching her sword over and over until her arms felt likely to simply fall limp, fighting her way towards the man who had saved her life.

Five seconds stretched into an eternity as she reached him, flipping her blade like a surgeon, severing the head from the shoulders of the dead walker that had attacked him. There was an explosion of gore, a sickening rattle, and then Rick was visible to her, eyes closed, body convulsing, his hatchet caught between the ribs of his attacker.

She shoved the remains off of him, crying out to God, pleading for him. Her thoughts raced to the two children in his home, already without a mother.

"Rick!" she yelled in his face, scared to touch him. Fumbling, she shoved aside puddles of blood to reach for his throat. She thought it was a trick of her mind, but there it was, the faint thrum of his pulse beneath her fingers. She let out a dry, anguished sob, relief flooding her.

Rick sputtered beneath her, attempting to clear the fluids from his face. Michonne bunched her skirt in her hands, wiping away at him.

"Hold still," she instructed. After a few passes, she could see him, his blue eyes blinking open at her.

"Michonne," he looked startled by her presence. His eyes fell to the dead, still around them. He gripped for his hatchet, trying to sit up and shove her behind him. She nearly fell, tugging at his shirt to steady herself. All the while, the dead circled them, heading for the church walls, but none attacked. She sat frozen, still atop him, heart hammering.

"What…" Rick voiced the shock she felt, looking wildly around.

Michonne glanced down at herself, then Rick. They were covered in what remained of the dead, nearly drenched. The pieces clicked into place.

"We're disguised," she gestured to their outfits. She was no stranger to the concept. Freedom runs required an ingenuity that put spies to shame. "They must not be able to smell us, or tell we're alive…" she trailed off, moving cautiously to stand. Rick hurriedly rose to his feet alongside her, still trying to shield her. "They only attack the living," she said, sword up. "We must not seem like the living to them now."

Rick glanced around, rightfully skeptical. He seized her around the waist, dragging her back towards the door. The dead did not make a way for them, but neither were they attacked. They simply bounced around them, like salmon swimming upstream.

"Camouflage," Rick announced, in awe.

"I think so," Michonne laughed, endorphins filling her so quickly that she nearly collapsed. Rick was alive. They had not perished. He looked at her, confused, unsure what to make of her. She wasn't quite sure what to make of herself.

"Michonne," he ventured, peering at her, his eyes startlingly clear against his blood-streaked face. "Are you all right?"

"Are you?" her laughter transformed into a sob, the sound mortifying her. A few of the dead turned towards it. Rick hastened to comfort her.

"I am," he nodded, wrapping his arm around her waist again, steadying her.

"Rick! Michonne!" Daryl was in the doorway, now open, yelling for them. An arrow whizzed past, leveling one of the walkers that got too close.

Rick moved them quickly, pushing Michonne ahead of him into safety. "What happened?" his voice was murderous, even as he lowered her to the ground and went back to force the door closed. Michonne took a moment to look around. The signs of a scuffle were everywhere. Chairs were overturned, linens tugged from the windows and sullied beneath dirty feet. Worst of all, she saw several pools of blood, including one that streaked off, as though someone had been dragged.

"Ed and his posse of idiots," Daryl growled as well. "They came for Hershel first, nearly knocked him out cold. He had the good sense to scream so I came running. It was 5 or 6 of 'em causing trouble." Daryl shook his head. "One of em, he got bit or something, but got away. Tyreese, the big guy, he's got 'em. But we need to get in there." He was hurrying already for the main hall. Michonne paused, processing. She wasn't sure that she had much more strength left in her. She felt like laying down, letting someone else handle it for a change.

Rick stayed a few steps behind Daryl. He paused to look to her. "You coming?" he asked.

"Yes," Michonne stood up, still shaky. Rick helped her up. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to let him carry her, to grab him and escape, back to the farm, back to his children, back where things had been good, if only for a moment.

"It's going to be ok," he soothed. He stared, that intense gaze burning into her, like he had a book full of things in his head that he wanted to say but couldn't. He took her hand instead, lacing his fingers with hers and squeezing. The gesture anchored her to reality. "What are we going to do about this?" he asked her, hatchet in his other hand.

"We're getting out," Michonne said, her voice oddly calm, even to herself, "with the people who want to cooperate."

"Good," something in Rick's eyes shifted. "Daryl, you grab Tyreese, Sasha, Hershel and his girls. Wait for us in the backroom."

Daryl paused at that. "What are you going to do?"

Rick looked at Michonne expectantly. Michonne lifted her sword. "We're going to leave," she said.

-l-l-l-l-

Michonne was shaken up. Rick knew this, saw the fear on her face when she looked at him. She was exhausted, drained, and he couldn't blame her. He didn't have much left either. Seeing her like this, normally so strong but now so small, it did something to him, awakened something. He wanted to hold her right then, to assure her that he was fine, that they were fine, that he would take care of it all. There would be time for that later. First, he needed to get them both out.

"Ed!" his voice ricocheted off the church walls, echoing. The clergy jumped, fear written plain as day on their faces.

The man in question shook, the smug expression vanished. Tyreese had done a number on him, Rick saw with a certain satisfaction. He was bleeding, his round face even redder and more swollen than usual. A few other men were gathered up around him. One of them was dripping blood all over the tile beneath, holding his arm. He looked worse for the wear than the whole bunch put together. Rick realized with a start that Sasha and Maggie had the whole group at gunpoint. The younger girl's hands were shaking a bit, but her chin was high, her mouth set in a stubborn tilt. Nearby, her sister, Beth, was huddled against their father. Hershel was bleeding, disheveled.

"I'm sorry, Rick," he muttered as Rick past him. Rick touched his arm reassuringly, leaving a crimson stain.

"Ed Peletier," he repeated. "You and me already talked about this." Rick had half a mind to open those church doors right now.

Tyreese, perhaps noticing the look in Rick's eye, released the captive at his feet. "He's not going anywhere," he assured Rick in a low voice. Rick gave him a grateful nod.

"You were going to lock us out?" Rick's question was low, his tone laced with poison. He could feel Michonne at his back, could see the terrified expressions of the rest of the room. He knew he looked like death, blood soaked and covered in the remains of the walkers. "You were going to kill me and this woman here?" Rick straightened up, catching Michonne's eye. She was impassive, her sword still brandished.

Ed shivered. "You were gonna bring those things down on us. You and her," Ed still spat the word, glowering at Michonne. Rick's anger flared even hotter.

"Here's what's going to happen," Rick announced, turning to the group. All eyes landed on him at once. "Those of you who fell in line, you're leaving with us," he fixed his gaze on a small group. "The rest of you, you're fending for yourselves."

"You can't leave us," Ed sputtered. "My wife, she's pregnant."

Rick laughed, the hypocrisy of it all amusing him. "Don't worry about your wife, Ed." Rick began to walk away, gesturing for Maggie, Sasha and the rest to follow him. "She's coming with us."

"Now wait," the protests came hot and fast now, from both Ed and his compatriots. They fell on deaf ears. Michonne led the chosen few towards the back, hastening them into the small back room. Ed's wife didn't even spare him a glance as she all but ran behind Michonne, crying quietly. Rick watched them leave before stepping into the doorway himself.

"You're so smart?" he turned back to Ed, for the last time. "Then you find your way out of here."

With that, Rick closed the door, locking it tight.

"I would have thrown his ass right outside," Daryl griped. Beside him, Tyreese nodded in agreement.

"He ain't worth having the blood on my hands," Rick wiped his palms on his pants. He caught Michonne's eye, needing to see her reaction. She smiled just the slightest at him.

"What now?" the question came from Sasha. She'd perked up considerably since he had seen her last, looking right at home with that rifle in her hands. "Do we fight our way out?"

"I can fight," Maggie announced, looking almost eager.

"We ain't fighting," Rick hastened to assure them. "If we do this right, I don't think we'll need to. Tyreese," he turned to his new friend, "I need you to help me open that door. Daryl," Rick pointed, "Once it's open, you shoot the closest of those walkers, and you drag him in here. Maggie, Beth, grab those linens. Everybody needs one. Cut a hole in the top, like those ponchos they wear out west."

If people were confused by his instructions, they didn't show it, instead springing into action. In minutes, Daryl had secure, not one, but two of the dead. The smell immediately saturated the room they were in. The pregnant woman covered her face, looking sick, but her eyes stayed on the situation.

"What's your name?" Rick asked her.

"Carol," she responded, her voice shaking.

"Carol, you and Beth are going to take these here," Rick pointed, "and make us some camouflage."

"How?" Beth spoke up.

In answer, Rick brought his hatchet down, opening the walkers up like bags of seed. Maggie gagged, Tyreese took a step back, but Hershel was incensed.

"Desecrating the dead!" he protested, his eyes wide.

"The dead are walking again, Hershel," Rick had no more time for his friend's hesitancy. "The rules are different. You want to live, you follow our lead." He looked at Michonne again. She was already handing out the linens.

"Ready?" she asked, dragging people forward. "The quicker we do this, the quicker it's done."

-l-l-l-l-

"Just hold still," his voice was gentle, as though he hadn't burned with red-hot rage just moments before.

Michonne raised her hands above her head, letting Rick slip the linen poncho over her. He tugged her locs beneath it, and then bent to his task, smothering the putrid remains all over her.

"Can't be too careful," he smiled at her like he was asking her to wear a jacket outside when it was raining, not preparing her to flee for her life.

"They're all ready to go?" she asked quietly. She glanced at the group. They were standing by the backdoor, in various states of nervousness. Of them, Sasha, Tyreese, and surprisingly the preacher's eldest daughter looked the most composed. Daryl had barely flinched through the whole process, and was now pacing, eager to get it on with.

"As ready as they're going to be," Rick chuckled once. "Are you ok?" he asked her, tilting his head.

"I am," she assured him. "When we get home though, I'm jumping in the biggest tub you have."

He laughed outright then. "You can go first," he promised her. "We've got an hour or two left of light. We need to get moving."

As though the universe sensed their predicament and wanted to provide motivation, a ruckus suddenly exploded from beyond the door, back from the main hall of the church. The men inside began to scream, hollering to high heaven.

Michonne looked quickly to the door, her eyes finding Carol immediately. The woman swallowed, gripping her baby bump from beneath her poncho, but did not protest.

"Let's go," Rick tore his eyes from the door, heading instead to the oak one at the back. Tyreese quickly stepped in to help him move it. "Everyone stay close. Stay quiet. Once we get to the end of the tunnel, we run until we hit the forest."

Without another word, he led them all outside. Michonne exited last, making sure that no one was left behind. She paused at the door, curiosity calling her back. Cursing under her breath, she stole back to the other door, dropping to her knees to look through the skeleton key lock. What she saw nearly turned her stomach.

Gasping, she bounded up, turning and running for the group at a flat sprint. The dead were distracted by the sounds inside the church, redoubling their efforts to get inside. Michonne dipped past them unnoticed. She reached them in record time, rushing right towards Rick. He was waiting for her.

"What happened?" he asked, worried.

She squeezed past him, into the tunnels. "I promise I'll tell you," she was still shaking. "But can we go home?" She needed this day to end.

He looked as though he wanted to protest, but accepted this. With a mighty tug, he slammed the gate behind them shut.

Rick scarcely left her side as they left the church behind them, rushing from the tunnel and into the forest. The silence was deafening as they made their way to the farm two by two. At some point, he reached for her arm, holding onto her elbow as a man would for a lady taking a stroll in the park.

"Southern manners?" she chanced asking a question, her voice breaking the quiet for the first time in an hour.

He smiled, his lips just tilting up. "Something like that," he said. "I never thanked you for saving me."

"No need," she assured him. "We're square now."

Rick digested this, his face creasing in sudden worry. "I hope that don't mean you're going to run off now that we're even."

That the idea of her leaving distressed him startled her. "Rick," she reached for him as well, squeezing his arm. "I'm not going anywhere."

Though he tried to hide it, a smile played on his lips for the rest of their walk home. It grew wider when his house came into view. He jumped the fence, pausing only to help the ladies over, before he took the rest of the distance at a flat sprint. Michonne watched as the door to his house flew open, watched as Carl let out an impassioned cry, as Rick tossed his poncho away, falling to his knees at the sight of his son. She could hear Judith sobbing, calling out for her father. Glenn appeared as well, bruised, but alive. He spotted her.

"Michonne!" he didn't bother with the stairs, instead just leaping the barrier. Michonne ran at him.

"You're alive," he didn't seem to care that she was covered in filth, but hugged her tightly.

"So are you," she found herself sobbing, the emotion finally breaking free.

"Theodore, Morgan, Duane, we all made it." Glenn pulled back, inspecting her. Michonne fumbled with the poncho, pulling herself free. "We looked for you," he looked so distressed. "But the town, no one was alive. We had to get to the kids."

Michonne silenced him with another hug. "You did the right thing," she turned, directing his line of sight to where Rick had collapsed, holding onto his children like a lifeline.

Glenn watched them, then turned back to her, his clever eyes unmoving from her face. "We're staying here, aren't we?" he asked.

She met his eyes, ready to plead if necessary. "We need a group," she told him. "We can't keep running."

Glenn grinned. "Good. I'm tired," he exhaled shakily, seeming to notice the rest of the group for the first time. They were standing in a huddle, looking uncertain.

"Come meet the rest," Michonne told him. She turned to look back one last time. Rick was staring back at her.

She smiled, happy to be home.

-l-l-l-l-

It took the better part of three hours to get the whole household settled. Maggie and Beth had taken a room with Carol; Tyreese agreed to join Morgan, Glenn, Daryl, and Duane in one room, and Sasha, at her brother's encouragement, had decided to stay with Michonne. Rick was to spend the night with his children. First though, he had to pry them away from their new favorite person.

She was seated on the floor in the living room, drying her hair in front of the fire. Though most of the house had retired, utterly exhausted, Carl and Judith had refused to move from her side. Rick paused in the doorway, watching as she spoke quietly with the two of them. Judith was asleep in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist. Carl was leaning against her leg, struggling to stay awake.

She looked like their mother. The realization startled him a bit. He'd been prepared to go through this world alone, in no hurry to open his home, or his heart, to another woman. In the world before this, Michonne would not have even been an option.

But this was a new world.

She noticed him at last. "Sorry I stole your children," she apologized quietly, looking almost bashful.

Rick hushed her, bending over to lift his daughter into his arms, helping Carl off the ground. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he assured her. He wanted to kiss her head, the way he had with Lori, take her upstairs with him. He calmed himself. They had more ground to cover in this new thing, whatever it was. He would not rush it and ruin it prematurely.

"I have to tell you what I saw," she sounded regretful. "I wish I could wait, but-"

"Hush," he instructed, hoping it came off as kindly as he meant it. "I'm going to put them down, then I'll be back."

"All right," she settled back down, leaning in towards the fire. "I'll be here."

The words were enough to make Rick look forward to it, just a little bit.