Thanks to everyone who took the time for the review ^_^

Rick's blood was warm and sticky on her fingers; on her palms, creeping up her arms. She could feel it on her knees, seeping through the material of her leggings. She was right by his side in the ambulance, as the paramedics dressed his wound, fitting his slack face with an oxygen mask. She stared at him, holding his hand, willing him to wake up.

And then he did.

His eyes fluttered a bit, and he looked right at her. As soon as they opened, they fell closed, and the sound of a piercing beep filled the air.

"He's flat lining. Get the paddles. Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to let him go."

"Let him go?"

I can't. I can't. No. No. No…

Michonne held her hands to her mouth as the paramedic rubbed the paddles together.

"Clear!"

She couldn't catch her breath as the electrical currents traveled through his limp body, making it jump. Once. Twice.

"Please, Rick, come back," she wept. They shocked him a third time. "Rick!" she yelled.

A fourth time, and—

The beeps resumed. "We got a pulse."

Michonne shut her eyes tight, tears steadily streaming down her face.

. . . . .

She stared at him as she followed behind the gurney. She couldn't believe how deathly pale he was; how quiet; how still.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," a nurse said, halting her. "Family only."

"It's okay—" the paramedic interrupted. "That's his wife.".

The nurse nodded. "Okay, come with me."

Michonne followed quietly behind her.

"We need to take him into surgery to get the bullet out. He's had significant blood loss, but…we're hopeful. Do we have your consent?"

Michonne stared hard at the nurse. "Save him. Whatever it takes."

. . . . .

She sat in the waiting room, staring at her hands, the blood now dry, but still a brilliant red.

"I am family. He's my brother and beside me on the blue line!"

Michonne looked up to see the door shoved open.

"Relax, man," a man said to the cop. She recognized him—he was with Rick at the funeral. At her house… Michonne looked back at the other man and figured he knew Rick as well, but that he wasn't a cop.

The cop looked at her, staring for a minute.

"It's you. You were there?" he asked, confused.

"I…I was."

"What happened?" he demanded more than asked.

"Shane, man—"

"How did this happen? The man goes to get a pack of cigarettes and then…" Shane turned away, his face twisted in anger and fear. He looked back at her, pointing. "You saw what went down, right?"

"I did," Michonne said. "The gunman…Rick tried to stop him."

"Goddamn it," Shane muttered, rubbing his head.

The other man sat down heavily next to her, dropping his head in his hands. "It's my fault," she heard him mutter. "Couldn't go one fucking night without smokes…"

"It ain't your fault, man," Shane said. "But I tell you what—that son of a bitch is gonna pay," Shane said, walking over to the window. "And that lousy fucking clerk…more concerned about a window than the cop that saved his sorry ass. How did he manage to shoot Rick?" he mused aloud. "He was disarmed."

"I…" Michonne paused, gathering her thoughts. "He fought him, and they went through the window. Rick was shot before I could…But I stopped him. I stopped the gunman."

Shane turned and looked at her, stunned. "You stopped him?"

Michonne looked away. "I just wish I'd been faster."

Shane sighed heavily, then abruptly punched the wall, breaking through the plaster. The other man and Michonne, while startled, looked at him without comment. Shane ignored them, breaking down crying, hiding his face. "I can't lose him. I can't…"

"Shit. Have you gotten in contact with Lori yet?" Daryl asked, shrinking down into his seat, wanting to hide.

Shane shook his head, wiping his face, his knuckles bloody. "No. She won't pick up. And I can't text something like…"

"Lori?" Michonne asked.

"Rick's wife," the man said to her.

"Oh," Michonne muttered. "And what's your name?"

"Daryl," he said, turning to her. "Rick's like my brother. Shane, too. We've been friends since high school."

Michonne looked down, then over to Shane. "Text her—Lori—that it's an emergency," she said.

Shane looked over at her. "At least we're here for him," Shane said. "At least we're here." Shane's eyes narrowed. "Speaking of, how'd you get in here?"

"What?" she asked, startled.

Daryl stood up, placing his hand on Shane's shoulder. "Hey, come on, man."

Shane shrugged him off, walking closer to Michonne. "We practically had to barge our way in here, convincing this simple staff we're family. Why'd they let you in?"

Michonne's eyes darted to the left, then back. "I was on the scene. I demanded to go with him." She swallowed. "Saw him flat line…they thought I was his wife. I didn't correct them. I gave my consent for his surgery."

Shane cocked his head to the side. "Well shit, lady. That was mighty ballsy. Good on you. That surgery…it's gonna save his life. You getting him help…thank you." Shane stuck out his hand. Michonne hesitated, but held hers out as well. Shane nearly broke down at the sight of the blood. Michonne put her hand down, standing quickly.

"Gonna…bathroom," she mumbled, walking briskly out of the room.

Standing at the bathroom sink, she scrubbed and scrubbed, flecks of red stubbornly staying in her cuticles, under her nails…it's like it didn't want to come off; a reminder of her failure to act more swiftly.

She braced her hands on the sides of the sink, tinged pink from the remnants of Rick's blood. She looked at herself in the mirror, then quietly broke down, bowing her head, her mind plagued with what ifs and should've beens.

Silently, she made a promise to herself: that he would make it through this, and that she would be there to make sure of it.

Michonne was not leaving his side.