WARNING: Potentially triggering violence ahead.

This is another long one.

Lots to get through, lots to come. Enjoy!

Written to the musical score of...

'The 2nd Law: Isolated System', Muse

"Where's the boy?"

Michonne's eyes darted all around her under the dim pinkish light, desperate for something - anything - to grasp hold of. She saw shelves, walls, a glimpse of his terrifying mask, but nothing to fight with yet.

The menace in the mask chuckled softly when she didn't answer, tightening his grip around her throat and pressing the serrated blade further into her flesh. Michonne was struggling, trying to pull air into her lungs, desperately fighting not to lose consciousness. He let her struggle for a moment before finally pressing so hard against her with the knife's edge that she felt sure he'd punctured skin. She growled in pain, going still as her eyes rolled around the shelves, searching.

"Oh you don't wanna tussle with me, sweetheart." He drawled lazily. "I could end you any number o'ways. Cut you." He pressed deeper. Michonne felt a tear sprout in her eye and roll down her cheek at the sensation of the searing pinpoint of pain growing wider and deeper. He was going to reach bone if he pressed any more. "Snap your pretty neck." He squeezed her neck, his strong arm pressing into her throat, completely cutting off her airway. "You name it, darlin'. Now…" And he squeezed harder, causing her to go limp. "Where might you be keepin' that sweet little boy of yours, huh?"

He was asking about Andre. Fuck, fuck, fuck - FUCK. Negan knew about Andre.

The masked kid suddenly hoisted her up in his grip, lifting her feet from the ground. Michonne's mind reeled. She caught sight of a syringe in a canister full of them on the shelf in front of her. One of the big ones they used for spinal taps. Her air was gone. Spots danced across her vision. She was gonna black out any moment. She needed that syringe.

"Answer me. And I'll play nice, I promise." He loosened his grip on her throat as a good faith gesture, and Michonne found herself on her feet again, gulping in huge intakes of air to the sound of his quiet chuckling. "Better?"

"F-fuck you!" She managed to elbow him hard in the stomach, catching him off guard so he released her throat. Michonne wasted no time kicking him as hard as she could in his shin - then she heaved with all her might and lunged for the shelf, grabbing hold of the syringe and twisting her body around to attack him with it when she'd caught hold of it.

Michonne managed to twist enough in the tight space to face him, her feet tangling with his, and she jabbed the needle downward without a second thought. It stabbed through the plastic sealant and landed into his mask, sticking there. He growled, lifting his rigged bowie knife and lunging it at her, but Michonne ducked in time to avoid it puncturing her skull clean through.

Instead it landed in a loud crash among the shelves of medical supplies - sending them raining down on them both as they 'tussled' in the small closet space.

He lunged at her with the knife a few times more, and she swore he was trying to take her head off. Each time, Michonne threw whatever she could grab from the shelves at him, dodging his attacks. Bottles of pills, oxygen masks, plastic-wrapped valves and intubator tubes, gauze rolls, a bedpan - anything. He stumbled back against the objects flying toward him, but he was still blocking her way. When she tried to pound the syringe further into his mask with the bedpan, he stabbed through it with his bowie knife, again narrowly missing her face. Michonne slipped down to the floor, scrambling to crawl through his legs to the door.

He ripped the syringe from his mask and grabbed her by the locs, slamming her back against a shelf before she made it. She hit her back, neck, and skull against the hard steel shelving. The pain ricocheted through her like a bomb and she finally blacked out.

The kid in the mask stood above her, cracking his neck, breathing hard. His bowie knife slid back into its rig with a soft click. And then he heard:

"Michonne…?"

He straightened up like an arrow, tensing. Listening. Someone was coming.

He'd bet anything it was the steely-eyed cowboy his target walked in here with earlier. And the big tree stump F.B.I. agent probably wasn't far behind him. He could take them both, easy. Then come back for his feisty little playmate. He wasn't nearly done with her yet.

The kid grinned beneath his mask. This was gonna be fun.

Rick watched Michonne's blinking ellipses on the text message screen linger without resolving itself into a reply.

He stood in the hallway near the nurses' station, staring down at his phone screen, waiting.

It had only been a couple of minutes, but for Rick it was far too long an interval without a reply. And that ellipses just kept blinking.

"What's taking her so long…?" He muttered to himself, just as Dr. Weaver came limping back into his view, followed by a gurney with a very bloody patient on it and a couple of paramedics, including Sasha. But no Michonne.

Maggie rushed over to help while Rick continued to watch out for any signs of Michonne. He tucked his phone back into his jeans as his eyes scanned the hallway. On a slightly uneasy hunch, he took a few steps in the direction he'd seen her going with Dr. Weaver earlier. The same direction as the kid with the hoodie.

"Heads up." Tobin said solemnly to Rick, also eyeing Dr. Weaver curiously as she followed the melee headed toward a trauma room in the opposite direction.

"She's there, so where's Michonne?" Rick exchanged looks with him.

"'Hoodie' hasn't come back this way yet, either." Tobin confirmed.

"There's a medical stockroom down that hallway there," supplied an LPN who'd been picking up some blood work (but also curiously observing the stabby neighbor he'd heard so much about). "Michonne's usually in there when she's not on the floor. Oh, and cell reception is kinda crappy in this part of the hospital. You might not get that text for an hour. Sorry."

"Thanks." Rick immediately headed for the hallway where both Michonne and the hooded kid had disappeared earlier, Tobin close on his heels.

He craned his head this way and that, checking rooms for signs of Michonne - or the kid. They passed a few occupied beds with intubated or sleeping patients and then more empty hallway. Still no sign of either of them.

They rounded a corner, and found the hall deserted down here too. There was something in the air.

Something was wrong.

"I'm on your point." Tobin muttered quietly, his eyes scanning the hallway shrewdly. He moved into position to back Rick up should anything go down.

The fingers of his good hand itching to wrap around his gun handle, Rick nodded and kept his keen eyes peeled.

There was a pinkish glow coming from a doorway that was ajar at the end of the hall. There were...sounds coming from it, he could make out as they got closer and closer. Sounds of struggle.

Rick froze, immediately signaling Tobin, who had noticed it too, and reached for his weapon.

The two men split the hall, one on either side, and began to slowly approach the door where the sounds were coming from. "Michonne…?" Rick called warily, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

Nothing. The noises had stopped.

The sudden silence caused Rick's heart to jump into his throat. He raised his Python and turned his head slightly to give Tobin a meaningful glare. The tall agent was ready. He and Tobin began moving swiftly, but carefully, toward the door, fearing what they'd find.

Out came the kid in the hoodie before they even reached the supply closet, bathed in pinkish light.

"Stop!" Tobin barked. "Don't move!"

"Where's Michonne?" Rick growled, not surprised in the least, anger pumping through his veins.

The kid turned his head to look at them, breathing hard.

Rick narrowed his eyes at the stiff, white mask he was now wearing, complete with cut out 'X's for eyes and a slit the width of a knife's blade for a mouth. And a hole in the cheek the size of a large needle point.

At first, they all stood stone still in the empty hallway.

Then the tinny sound of squeaky wheels approached them as a janitor pushed a large garbage can around the corner behind the kid. The disruption pulled Rick's eye's from the terrifying white mask for a mere second - enough time for the kid to begin pulling something out of the inside of his hoodie.

His movements were so fast they blurred as he used both hands to throw whatever it was right at them.

"What the fuck…!?" The janitor ducked, bewildered and suddenly terrified even though he wasn't in the line of fire. Yet.

Whatever the hooded kid was throwing at them - quick as lightning - were spiked, sharp, and deadly. They glinted under the dim florescents as they sailed through the air, one after the other, and landed near Rick's skull - then Tobin's. One of them took out a light fixture, sending it swinging with an electrified crash into the wall. Another dinged off a cluster of chairs in the hallway. The last one caught Tobin in the thigh and he buckled to his knees with a surprised, pain-filled grunt.

Rick had no time to register the disbelief he felt at what he'd just seen - he ducked and shot.

His bullet ricocheted off the janitor's garbage can and hit the wall. The janitor dove for cover. Cries of alarm rang out in the halls behind them. Rick shot again, running and ducking as the steel throwing stars kept coming, trying to get close enough to tackle the hooded fucker.

Tobin laid down cover fire as Rick dove for the kid. He was met with a swift kick to the chest, throwing him back against the wall.

From this vantage point, his chest feeling as though it had exploded, he could see into the medicine closet.

Michonne was sunk onto her butt on the floor, slumped against a shelf, knocked out cold. At first he was gutted - fearing she could be dead - until he saw her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

He had no time to get closer. Tobin had gotten to his feet and was sparring now with the kid, doing his best to hold his own as they ping-ponged off the walls with each other.

Tobin was strong and skilled, but the kid was slippery, nimble, and quick. He jabbed Tobin in the ribs and stomach, switched footing, and kicked him in the chin before he could recover, sending him flying back again.

The kid kept attacking.

Rick blocked another kick to the face, his gun falling to the floor. He was then kicked in the stomach, but he recovered and dodged another lunge to the face - this time with a huge, serrated bowie knife that also seemed like it came out of nowhere. The knife plunged into the wall as Rick ducked out of the way and grabbed one of the chairs to his left.

He swung it around hard, knocking the kid back into the wall at the end of the hall by the janitor.

A sweating, kneeling Tobin fired again, bullets blowing big holes into the wall around the kid's head. One of the shots nicked the kid in the shoulder and he stumbled backward again. But within seconds he'd shaken off the pain enough to get to his feet, dashing away out of sight as the janitor cowered behind the garbage can.

"Oh my god! They're shooting! Get security…!" Someone was shouting. "Call the police!"

Rick tore his eyes from Michonne and got up, stalking over to retrieve his gun. "Call for backup and stay with her!" He ordered Tobin, who had reached the closet where Michonne was slowly rising from her painful head bump.

"Andre…" she muttered as Tobin tended to her, her eyes flickering open frantically. Rick had no time to pause, as badly as he wanted to. He had to get that fuckin' kid.

He heard the heavy footfalls of security guards headed his way as he followed the kid around the corner. He spotted the black, hooded figure zig-zagging around confused, terrified staff members and patients to his left. He couldn't get a clean shot at this angle with how fast the kid was darting around.

Rick took off after him, following the same maze of scattering bystanders until he slipped around a corner and saw an exit door clicking shut. No other sign of the kid in sight.

Rick held his weapon at the ready and slipped through the exit door after him. He was in a stairwell now, with soft fluorescent light making shadows everywhere. He heard footsteps above him and stepped out to look upward - the black hooded figure in the formless white mask streaked into his view and he followed after him as fast as his booted feet would carry him.

"Stop now or I'll blow your goddamned head off!"

Rick aimed and fired when he got a clear enough shot just as another throwing star came slicing through the air toward him. He ducked out of the way, shot again, and kept running, his chest pounding, sweat sprouting and collecting at his hairline.

You're gonna run outta those fuckin' stars, soon, asshole...he thought angrily as he forced his legs to keep climbing, ignoring the pain in his lungs from the workout. He hoped that would happen before he ran out of bullets, which would also be very soon.

He began to see streaks of blood splattering the wall as he ascended, probably from that gunshot of Tobin's to the shoulder earlier.

Rick paused, breathing hard, listening. The footsteps had stopped, but he didn't hear a door opening. He estimated the kid was now just one floor above him, and above that was the exit to the roof. Wondering if he'd managed to wound the motherfucker after all, the ex cop waited in the silence.

Below him, the door to the floor he'd been on with Michonne banged open and two security guards poured through it, giving the kid the chance to make a run for it.

"STOP!" Rick shouted, firing twice more at the streak of black he caught sight of through the spaces between the stairs. His gun clicked. Shit.

"Hey! Grady Security, hold your fire!"

Rick ignored the guards as he dashed up the concrete stairs two at a time, his heart pounding, his anger boiling. Adrenaline pumped through him as he threw open the door to the top floor.

He was met with the bright sun and oppressive Georgia heat - then another kick, this time to the throat.

He buckled over, feeling like he'd been stabbed there, coughing and wheezing, gasping for breath.

The attacks came like lightning bolts. A fist to the ribs, then the ear, then a swift kick across the legs and he was swept off his feet - landing him on his back. The air rushed out of him as his eyes blinked up to register the rapidly approaching, black bug body of a helicopter in the sky above him. And then Rick's injured ear clicked and his head was filled with the loud drumming of the propeller blades chopping at the air, just before the kid's boot came down toward his face.

He got his fists up and blocked the attack before the boot could break his nose.

The mele swelled all at once.

Giant swirls of air beat around them from the landing helicopter. The clamoring footsteps of the two security guards chasing them crescendoed and they were now spilling through the doorway.

The hooded kid took off toward the edge of the roof, away from everyone.

Rick heard the unmistakable sound of Carol's voice calling from the deafening whir of the helicopter as it landed on the roof: "Federal agents - freeze or we'll shoot!"

The kid ignored them, raising his arm and firing something from another hideaway gadget. Whatever it was shot a black rope across the divide between their roof and the roof of the next building in the cluster of hospital wards along this stretch of city block.

It anchored into a wall in the distance - the kid kept running at full pelt.

Inside the helicopter, wearing mic'd headphones, glaring through the windshield at the escaping assailant, Carol nodded sharply at Daryl.

Daryl stepped out of the helicopter just as the kid jumped - using the rope to propel himself to the next building. The stoic special agent raised his giant sniper rifle in his hands, anchored against his shoulder, and looked calmly through the scope. He caught the kid in his sights and aimed. Then he fired.

The kid went down like a sack of potatoes just as he was preparing to slip through the exit door of the next building.

"Got 'im." Daryl confirmed, spitting to the ground and lowering his weapon while the helicopter was powering down.

Rick fell back again on the landing pad, aching all over, relief flooding through him. He closed his eyes and breathed, listening to the sounds of chaos all around him as Carol identified herself and shouted orders to the security guards.

Some seconds later, a shadow loomed over him. Rick opened his eyes to find her there with her partner, blocking out the glaring sunlight, squinting down at him seriously.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Grimes. Where's Michonne?"

Michonne winced as Maggie pressed the cold compress to her skull. "Ouch. Your bedside manner sucks."

"Bite me." Maggie retorted, allowing her to take it herself and gently tending to Michonne's small cut on the left side of her ribcage. "You're lucky you don't have a concussion. You scared the shit out of us, Michonne…"

"I'm fine. Where's Rick?" Michonne had been carted off and quarantined in a small examination room by a wounded but still standing Tobin. Now he was nowhere to be found. She hadn't seen Rick since she came to in the supply closet. He had glared at her with alarm and worry before charging after the guy with the mask. She winced again as Maggie cleaned her cut, her ribs aching and her head pounding. There was a lump developing back there. Great.

"Outside, surrounded by vultures…" Maggie replied absentmindedly as she swabbed Michonne's skin.

"Be more specific, Maggie."

She was sitting on a bed, her shirt had been removed and she was wearing nothing but her bra to cover the top of her. Her cell phone was gone. Probably still on the floor in the supply closet. The room was empty but for her and Maggie. No Tobin. No Carol. No Rick.

The pretty young brunette sighed hard and paused her work, blowing a lock of short brown hair out of her eyes. She was hiding the worry churning inside her for her best friend behind ragged stoicism. Finally, she softened, answering Michonne's question honestly.

"The Chief of Police is here, there's a bunch of cops and F.B.I. agents everywhere, Dr. Weaver is furious - and some guy in a mask got wheeled in here with a pretty nasty G.S.W. to the back. Now will you let me fix up this cut? And you have some answers to give of your own, you know..."

"Fuck." Michonne grunted, ignoring Maggie's demands, impatient to get out of this room. She needed to know what the hell was going on out there. Everything had happened so fast - and Andre. That guy was after Andre. She needed to tell Carol. She needed to find Rick. She needed to call her son. "I gotta get out of here."

"Not before I suture this cut, Michonne." Maggie's green eyes were laser-focused on the deep cut in Michonne's ribcage. "Please? You'll get your answers soon, just let me do this…" Michonne paused to see that tears were glistening in Maggie's eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to hide her face from her friend behind her mop of brown hair. She had been really worried - and there was probably some modicum of guilt swirling around in there.

"Maggie...look at me." Michonne sighed slowly and waited until Maggie's eyes met hers again. "I'm fine. Really. I'm just worried about my son. He's in danger. He's more important than me right now."

Maggie nodded, wiping her face and taking a deep breath. "I'll be faster than in nursin' school, promise."

Michonne nodded patiently, and allowed Maggie to treat her wound. She tapped her foot against the railing of the hospital bed as the seconds ticked by - but Maggie kept her promise and got finished fast.

When she was patched up, Maggie helped her into her shirt and took a deep breath as Michonne gave her a quick, appreciative kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm okay…"

"I know. You always are. Go on. That guy Rick is worried sick about you." She squeezed Michonne's hands and let her go, tucking her hair behind her ears as she followed.

Michonne rushed from the room, her ribs aching but her focus aimed solely on finding Rick and Carol.

She was met with a mob of people, all turning to watch as she emerged with Maggie on her heels. The chaos had calmed but things were still buzzing, and it seemed that everyone had been waiting for her.

There was half the nursing staff, a handful of cops, Sasha looking tense and pensive, biting her thumbnail. Daryl, Tobin and a few other agents. A squat, bullish-looking man with tortoiseshell eye glasses and a stern face standing with Carol, Dr. Weaver - and Rick.

At the sight of his intense blue eyes and grim, handsome face, Michonne felt relief flood her from her scalp to her feet. They both paused and stared at each other across the sea of faces. Michonne let her worry and overwhelming fear for Andre show in her eyes. Rick took a step toward her, but Sasha got to her first.

"Michonne! Oh my god, you scared the hell out of me." Sasha wrapped Michonne in a tight embrace that sent pain shooting through her, but she returned the hug. "Are you okay? They wouldn't tell us what happened."

Michonne allowed Sasha to release her, her eyes still on a hesitating Rick. "I'm fine, Sash. It all happened pretty fast. I'm still not sure...what that was."

"You were fuckin' attacked under the F.B.I.'s watch, that's what happened." Sasha hissed, her eyes darting to Tobin. Tobin swallowed hard and stood up straighter, frowning but not remarking on her harsh accusation.

"Hey. It's okay. I went off by myself, it was no one's fault. Now, I'll fill you in later, I promise." Michonne tore her eyes away from Rick for long enough to reassure her other best friend quietly. "But right now I need to talk to Rick and Carol."

Sasha clenched her jaw but nodded tersely. Her radio buzzed. She had a call, but she didn't want to go. She gave Michonne another pensive hug, stroking her face and looking into her eyes. "Do what you gotta do. I love you, okay? I'll be back." Finally, she began to back away, mouthing to Maggie and Michonne that they would talk later.

Michonne gave her a grim, appreciative smile and finally began making her way toward Rick.

He'd been hesitating, not wishing to intrude on her moment with her friend, but he'd been burning to get to her across the floor full of people. She looked shaken up, but her eyes held a fiery urgency in them that alarmed him. He'd been replaying that moment she uttered her son's name in that closet (looking as though she'd just fought for her life) in his head since he saw her there.

Rick and Michonne stepped toward each other, ignoring everyone else, and he immediately wrapped his strong arms around her in the middle of the floor by the nurses' station.

Michonne reached up to clutch at his shirt, melting against him, so relieved that he'd been there.

He reached up to take her gently by the cheek, his thumb stroking her lips as he leaned his forehead against hers. He gripped her belt just above her ass with his other hand, heart thundering in his sore chest.

"I shouldn'ta let you outta my sight." He whispered hoarsely, his throat still sore from that kick on the roof.

Michonne found his lips and kissed him, his scent and strong presence comforting her. Rick clutched at her and she responded in kind, digging her nails into the fabric of his shirt. His hold on her caused her a little pain in her side, but she ignored it, simply glad that he'd survived the fight with yet another man who tried to kill her. "You saved my life again, cowboy…" she told him softly.

She'd wanted him to smile, but Rick only stared at her with hard, cold determination darkening his crystal blue eyes. "He was after Andre."

Michonne nodded, releasing him. "Yes. Carol…"

She stepped back and reluctantly left Rick's embrace, heading for Carol. Carol reached out for her, still standing among Dr. Weaver and the squat man with the spiky, greying hair and stern eyes obscured by his spectacles. Michonne recognized him as the Chief of Police, Chief Jefferson Hatfield.

She refocused on Carol, who took her hand and pulled her into the fold. Rick stood behind them, listening.

So did most of the people around. Though they went about their business - the cops questioning witnesses, the F.B.I. standing like mute sentinels guarding the area, the staff transporting patients to another ward while trying to eavesdrop at the same time.

"Michonne. Listen to me. Hey. Andre is safe." Carol cut her off before she could let everything she'd heard from the masked man spill from her mouth like a waterfall. Lowering her voice so that her next words were just for Michonne, she reported quietly: "He's tucked away, surrounded by an entire team. Eyes everywhere. No one knows where but us. No one goes in or out. You can call him as soon as we're done here."

Michonne stood shaking for a beat, her hands secured firmly in Carol's, before nodding mutely. She blew out a slow, calming breath. "He asked me about 'the boy', Carol." She whispered to her friend and federal agent.

"I know. He's upstairs. Daryl shot him. He might not make it." Carol informed her stoically. "We're searching this place for any others. It's not great, but it's not as bad as it could've been."

"Ah - that is not exactly comforting, Agent Peletier." Dr. Weaver's high-pitched voice interrupted sternly. "The Lone Ranger here and that...masked...ninja assassin scared the pants off my entire trauma ward!" She jabbed her chin in Rick's direction. "There are bullet holes all over my halls, near my patients. Someone could've gotten seriously injured, or worse." She rambled angrily, now turning her ire on both Carol and the chief. "I've had six calls from the board in the last thirty minutes, worried that family members and press are gonna start picketing the place, and none of you have the gall to tell me what the hell is going on here."

"Dr. Weaver - " Carol began, but Kerry cut her off.

"Unless you have answers as to why my best surgeon is operating on a knife-wielding assassin, Agent Peletier, we're done talking. Chief?" Kerry turned her sharp gaze on Chief Hatfield, who had been rocking on his feet with his hands in his pockets, looking angrier and angrier at Rick by the second. "Are you going to tell me what I'm supposed to report to my superiors? My staff? The fucking press?"

"Kerry…" Michonne muttered, preparing to pull her to the side and explain everything. She felt Rick's fingers sliding into hers until their palms met. He was suddenly standing beside her, protectively pulling her closer.

Dr. Weaver shook her head tersely at Michonne. "How about you, Michonne? Do you have any answers for me? I'm really sorry about what happened to you, but you gotta throw me a bone, here."

"With all due respect, Dr. Weaver…" Chief Hatfield spoke up finally, his genteel southern accent causing the petite, crutched woman to grimace and turn to him sharply. Michonne felt Rick bristle as the chief's cold grey eyes rose to meet his. "Perhaps we oughtta turn to our friend Mr. Grimes here for those answers we all need so badly. He's such a...keen investigator. Trouble finds you no matter where you are, I'm startin' to take it personally, Mr. Grimes."

"What?" Michonne scoffed. "Rick had nothing to do with this. He saved my life - again."

"It's all right, Michonne…" Rick rasped quietly, glaring coldly at the police chief.

"No, 'with all due respect', what the hell are you talking about, Chief?" Michonne ignored him, also glaring at the chief.

The austere man shrugged, still eyeing Rick. "Mr. Grimes has a bit of a reputation downtown, maybe you weren't aware. He's been a thorn in the Atlanta P.D.'s side since he arrived here in our fair city. Well outside of anyone's good graces, I might add. If I were you, Miss Williamson...I'd steer far clear."

Carol sighed hard, fed up with this territorial bullshit.

She pulled rank, stepping into the fold to take over the conversation. "Chief Hatfield, Dr. Weaver - with me, please." She jerked her head toward the sealed off, battered hallway without waiting for their responses. "Michonne, stay put. I'll be right back."

Michonne tried to protest, but Carol didn't wait for her to speak again. Rick's hand held fast to hers and he whispered: "It's okay. She's got it."

Together they watched the trio of officials duck the yellow caution tape sealing off the hallway and disappear to 'chat' about their fate. Daryl sauntered over after them, sticking close to his partner.

Michonne was still annoyed with the chief (and Kerry) and she did not like being ordered around one bit, by anybody. Not when her son's safety was in serious question. She needed her cell phone, but there was no telling who had it, now that the scene of her attack had been quarantined.

She turned to look up at Rick. "What do we do, now? Did anyone talk to Andre?"

Rick nodded, holding her close, rubbing her arm soothingly. He was buzzing with worry and residual anger, but he kept his focus on Michonne. She had been attacked, but she didn't seem to notice. He would watch and wait, though he was prepared to believe her when she said she was alright - for now. He didn't want to relive the raging fear he'd felt when he couldn't find her, and when he saw her slumped over in that supply closet.

"They made it to the lake house in Fresno. There are six guys watchin' 'em. Sabine knows you're okay but she didn't wanna tell him what happened." Rick sighed hard, now massaging tiny circles into her hip. He put a little pressure there, his serious blue eyes trained on her pensive brown ones, trying to ascertain what she was thinking. "What do you need, Michonne?"

Michonne swallowed, processing this new information for a beat. Andre was safe. Sabine was watching him, and he was still under the impression that his mother was okay back home. Good. She and Sabine butted heads constantly, but on this they agreed finally. Michonne didn't want to frighten or worry her innocent little boy any more than was strictly necessary.

Fighting off a surge of guilt and anger, Michonne looked into Rick's safe blue eyes again.

"What happened to the fucker that attacked me?"

He hesitated, watching her, not sure he liked where she was going with this. "Daryl shot him in the back, like Carol said. She's been keepin' everything else close to the vest - that was the most she's said about anythin' since she got here. I've been followin' her lead."

Michonne nodded, thinking. No wonder Dr. Weaver was furious. She remembered what Kerry had said about her best surgeon operating on the masked attacker. That meant he was upstairs on the O.R. floor, and she knew exactly what surgeon Kerry was talking about.

"I need to know if he'll survive, Rick. If he can answer any questions. I need to know what the fuck Negan wants." She gripped his shirt, searching his eyes for support.

Rick considered her, his jaw clenching. He didn't like this. But he was curious himself. And he was just as angry.

Besides - he wasn't about to make the mistake of letting Michonne wander out of his line of sight again now that she was back at his side.

He figured he'd deal with the chief when they were done. He knew no amount of smooth-talking by Carol would pluck out the thorn Rick had apparently deposited into the man's side by moving here.

"Alright." He gave in with a short nod. "Let's make this quick."

"There won't be any press conferences, or police investigation on this one." Carol informed Dr. Weaver and Chief Hatfield while Daryl oversaw their team documenting the scene of the attack.

Kerry scoffed and shook her head in disbelief as the chief turned sharply from watching one of the agents bag a cell phone he found on the floor of the closet. "I beg pardon?" He demanded.

Carol regarded them both coolly.

"You heard me. This is not a public facing case, nor is it an excuse for you to exorcise some bullshit personal vendetta, Chief." His face turned beet red and he fumed, but she ignored him, now shifting her cool focus on Dr. Weaver. "If we agree that the safety of your staff and patients is our number one priority, then you'll be happy to know that once my team is done here - we're done here. Michonne is on an indefinite leave of absence. We'll be out of you and your board's hair."

Kerry stared at her with steely-eyed resistance for a moment. "And what about the thug upstairs in my O.R.?"

Carol gave her an equally steely smile. "We'll have him transferred as soon as your Dr. Romano gives us the go ahead. Easy-peasy."

Kerry limped an inch forward, her height and Carol's only off by a hair's breadth. "I don't know what the hell Michonne is involved in, but you people had better get your shit together. If that guy on that operating table upstairs can get to her so easily here, who's to say a leave of absence will do her any good?"

Carol nodded slowly, thinking that Dr. Weaver was starting to sound like Sabine. And she agreed, but she had a contingency plan for that. One with a particularly thick southern accent and a pair of intense blue eyes. Michonne had been right about Carol - she knew an asset when she saw one.

These people had no idea what she was working with. That she was partially bluffing. Her boss was an asshole, and her entire department still held her drastic tactics to extract Michonne and bring Negan's empire down five years ago against her. They were all counting on her to fail, or to bungle this up so badly that some asshole ten years her junior would get his chance to step in and show her up. It was no accident, her and Daryl being banished to the purgatory of bullshit investment fraud cases before this. She was short staffed, short budgeted, and short of patience. She needed to get something to nail Negan or figure out his real plans before it was too late, and she was running out of time. She could feel it.

But she endured, jumping in for one more round with Atlanta's 'finest'.

"We have our ways."

"You can't just make a mess all over my city without a goddamned warrant, Peletier." Hatfield growled. "And as for my 'bullshit personal vendetta', well this jurisdiction thing works both ways. Gimme one good reason I shouldn't haul Grimes' ass downtown and make this a public facing case!"

Carol scoffed, frowning at him patiently. "Sure, I'll give you two: one, he's with me. And two...just how many missing girls did your boys lose track of in the last few years?" He glared at her, blinking hard, looking as though he wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. But she could tell he didn't like it. "You really want my department looking any deeper there? I think you're lucky Rick Grimes requires sleep at night, or you'd be up shit's creek with picketing family members, yourself, chief."

Kerry's eyebrows rose to the top of her spectacles but she only regarded the chief and the F.B.I. agent's silent standoff with keen interest.

Chief Hatfield finally relented. "You've got twenty-four hours to bring me a warrant, agent. And then I think I will put in a call to your dear boss at the bureau."

Daryl finally interrupted them to show Carol the bagged cell phone. "Hey. Think this is Michonne's."

Carol nodded her thanks and took the bag. Dr. Weaver was being paged over the all-call system suddenly, and they were asking her to the O.R. floor.

They all looked up to listen, and then turned to Kerry. "Well...looks like your perp is out of surgery. Let's go see Dr. Romano, shall we?"

She began to limp toward the elevators on this side of the floor and the three of them followed her.

Michonne and Rick stood in a back corner of the south side of the O.R. wing, watching Dr. Romano operate through a window set into the blue brick wall.

She stood rigidly, her arms folded across her chest, glaring through the window at the unconscious kid who'd attacked her. Whispered teasingly in her ear about cutting her and snapping her neck. She could blame him, but this was Negan. He was toying with her, and now he knew about their son. Michonne felt sick with dread. She had no idea what was going to happen next.

Rick stood silently beside her, his strong presence radiating protectiveness, watchfulness. He observed her reflection in the window from the harsh operating lamp as the doctor's cap and mask covered face bent over his patient in concentration.

He turned his eyes from her reflection to land on her real face. "He might not wake up for days, Michonne." He told her gently. She nodded silently, still staring at him, her eyes glistening. "If he even does at all."

He had a sudden flash of memory from the last (and one of the only) time he got shot in the line of fire. He'd been in a coma for two months. It had been recovering from that coma, and the monumental stress Lori had been under while Rick had been slipping on and off the spectrum for weeks, that initially put a strain on their marriage.

"I know." She finally answered, sighing. "I don't know why I came up here. I guess I just had to see."

But now she suddenly didn't want to. She wanted to hear her son's voice. She needed her cell phone. Rick watched as she turned from the window and drifted aimlessly out into the main hall again, feeling sick and hollow in her stomach. It was a familiar feeling...one she used to get when she was with Negan.

Dread, fear, anxiety. It was all rushing back. She had sacrificed to keep her child out of that man's reach, and now, he was using Andre to ensnare her in some twisted, sick scheme again. God, this was too much.

"I'm scared, Rick." She admitted, whispering to no one, her back turned to Rick as she faced the empty, bleak hall of the O.R. floor.

Rick stepped up to her quickly, turning her around and pulling her close.

"I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere." She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing her eyes and listening to his low, firm voice. Letting it ease away the hollow ache in her stomach. "Let's go get your cell phone and call your son. You need to hear his voice."

Rick had been a parent, once upon a time. He knew how she was probably feeling, and he knew the only cure was contact - even if it could only be over the phone for now. He and Carol were on the same page; it was dangerous for Michonne to go charging to Fresno, potentially leading Negan's people right to Andre.

"Okay. You're right. I do." Michonne nodded, stepping back and allowing him to take her hand so she could follow him to the elevator and back downstairs.

They heard the all-call as they were walking, and Michonne stopped in her tracks. She turned to see Dr. Romano wiping his hands on a sterile towel, his mask now off as he stood by the nurses' desk at the end of the hall.

"Dr. Romano!" She called, letting Rick's hand go and rushing toward him. He followed after her with a frown.

Dr. Robert Romano turned his bald head underneath his surgical cap and sighed hard, crossing his arms and fixing Michonne with an unaffected look as she made her way over to him. "Miiiiss Williamsoooon…" the short, freckled surgeon sang blandly, as though he was the most unentertained game show announcer that ever lived. "How good of you to harass us. I see you've recovered from that nasty bump. What can I do for you? Make it quick, I'm a busy man."

Michonne took a deep breath, ignoring his usually bad-tempered 'sense of humor'. He was a brilliant surgeon, but he was a downright asshole, and he was less cordial the lower you were on the totem pole here at Grady. Nurses didn't have it as terribly as the orderlies and security guards. Michonne had set his attitude with her straight a couple of times, so he wasn't ever quite as mean to her as he could be. Still...he could never help himself and was usually registering at a steady 'Oscar The Grouch'. It seemed that today's events caused absolutely no change on that front.

"The man who attacked me," Michonne wasted no time mincing words. "Will he recover?"

Dr. Romano's demeanor softened a bit when she confronted him head on with his arrogance toward a victim of an attack. He gazed at her sympathetically, blinking back his sarcasm. "I think we ought to wait for Dr. Weaver, Miss Williamson, okay? She'll be up in a sec. I'll fill you in on all the gory details in due time, promise. And...hey, I'm sorry you got attacked on my turf, kiddo." He added genuinely, to her surprise, giving her an awkward wink. "But I heard you've got some moves…" his eyes drifted over to Rick and he scoffed in amusement at the other man's rigid demeanor. "Annnd a personal bodyguard. Does Officer Friendly have a name?"

Michonne glared, impatient. Rick simply watched Dr. Romano coolly. He had a name, but he wasn't going to be giving it to this asshole. Officer Friendly it would be, until the doc gave Rick a reason to make his name something he'd never forget.

"Officer Friendly's with Michonne - what do you have for me, Robert?" Dr. Weaver's voice sounded from behind them. She was limping toward them from the elevators down the hall, closely followed by the chief, Carol, and Daryl.

"Jesus, you brought a studio audience?" Dr. Romano barked, rubbing his brows irritably. "You know what, Kerry? I don't have time for this circus freakshow."

"We'll be glad to move the circus out of town as soon as you tell us what we want to hear, Doctor." Carol replied, stepping up to stand close to Michonne. She gave Rick an appreciative nod and her longtime friend a gentle hand squeeze of support. "Can he be transferred?"

His audience waiting, Dr. Romano eyed Carol stonily for a beat before turning to Dr. Weaver. Kerry merely nodded for him to go on. "Sure. Be my guest. But not anytime soon. He's got a pretty nasty fluid buildup in his spinal canal, from whatever genius shot him on the roof."

Carol frowned at Daryl, who rolled his eyes but said nothing as he listened to the doc.

"I extracted the bullet fragments and did what I could to repair the damage, but there's a lot of pressure from all the swelling, and there will be some scarring...but you guys could give a crap, right? You wanna know if he'll wake up and start talking."

He gave them a grim smile as he shook his head, just as some surgical assistants were wheeling the patient in question out of the operating room to transport him to a private, secured room.

The short, bald man sighed, and his eyes found Michonne's.

"The answer is not likely - not right now, maybe not ever. I don't know. He's slipping into a state of unconsciousness that won't wear off with the anesthesia. This kid seems pretty strong, so I'm optimistic, but honestly? He's lucky to be alive." He took stock of the testy expressions facing him. "Or...maybe not so lucky. None of my bee's wax. If you'll excuse me, I have a patient to attend to and a golf lesson to reschedule. Chief. Good to see ya. Love to Maddie and the boys."

"Obliged, Doctor." The chief acknowledged thoughtfully, observing the perp on the gurney curiously.

Michonne couldn't help her eyes drifting to land on the attacker's face as he lay there, unconscious. Without his hoodie, his knife or his terrifying mask - the kid looked like a fucking cherub, as most murderous, psycho white boys did apparently, his wispy blond facial hair hardly doing a thing to dispel that notion. There was a cut in his cheek where her needle had got him in the closet. At the same time as she wanted to torture him until he gave up every nasty surprise Negan had in store for her, she hoped he would never wake from that coma.

Dr. Romano walked away, turning to take over wheeling the gurney toward the room around the corner. Again, his eyes met Michonne's with something like empathy as he left the group alone to ponder his prognosis.

Dr. Weaver sighed, checking her watch. She too was ready to get the show on the road. She was behind on everything, and the stress of this entire mess was something she'd be glad to get off her plate, at least temporarily. "Listen, I'm sure your team is going to do whatever it wants with this guy once he leaves here," she addressed Carol. "But while he's under my roof, we treat him humanely and watch him around the clock, are we understood?"

"Of course." Carol assured her. "We'll be in touch."

"Yeah, I'll bet you will." Kerry nodded with an acerbic grin before limping over to Michonne. "Hey. My offer still stands. Call me. Any time. Me and Sandy will be waiting if you need anything." She gave Rick a quick, silent assessment and then a conciliatory nod. "Thanks for looking out for her. Good day, folks. Get out of my hospital. You and your boys too, chief."

With that she limped away, her white lab coat flying backward in the wind of her quick movement.

The chief stepped up to Rick without waiting for anyone else. Rick shifted on his feet, his jaw clenching as a steady stream of patience escaped his nostrils. They stared each other down.

"I am sorry that you were so brutally attacked, Miss Williamson, I truly am." He offered in his soft-spoken Southern twang. "But if you're gonna be associated with men like this, well just consider yourself warned: Stay out of the kitchen, boys and girls. The Atlanta Police Department is not in the business of turnin' a blind eye to vigilantes." He was speaking to Michonne, but they both knew he meant every word for Rick. "Y'all enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Twenty-four hours, agent Peletier."

Rick watched the man go, knowing that he was going to have to be very, very careful from here on out. He couldn't say for sure at all right now, but he wouldn't put it past the chief to have something to hide. Maybe something that connected him to the case his 'boys' had bungled so badly.

Michonne turned to find Carol handing over a plastic evidence bag with her cell phone in it.

She took the bag, tears flooding her eyes, and leaned in for a long, safe hug from her friend. "Carol. Thank you…"

Rick and Daryl watched empathetically as the two women embraced.

Michonne allowed her nerves to calm down again and took a deep breath before stepping back. Carol looked her in the eyes, reaching up to wipe away a tear from her soft cheek. "Look at me, Michonne." She began a familiar routine, one she hadn't had to employ for almost six years.

Michonne finally looked at her.

"It's not gonna be like last time." She paused, aware of their audience but knowing that the two men could be trusted. "We're close. We know more about what he's after, now. Do you believe me?"

Carol always asked Michonne that, and Michonne always said yes. It had been hard to at times, but ultimately the older, wiser woman always kept her promises. So, she nodded this time - like all those times before in their long, storied friendship.

"Good. Stick close to Rick. Call your son. I'll be in touch as soon as I know more."

"What about him?" Michonne jerked her chin in the direction that the masked menace had been wheeled.

"We have no choice. We wait. See if we can dig up something to interrogate him with when he finally does come to." Carol informed her matter-of-factly. Then her keen silver-blue eyes rose to Rick. "Mr. Grimes. Got a minute? We haven't had our chat yet."

Rick did not want to leave Michonne.

Carol saw the look of protectiveness - and with it, if they 'stopped being polite and started getting real', possessiveness - swirling deep in those electric blue storm clouds of his. She wasn't a stranger to those feelings at all. Especially not when it came to Michonne Williamson. More than just valuable assets, Special Agent Carol Peletier knew a kindred spirit when she saw one. Man or woman.

She told him what he wanted to hear: "We'll drop Michonne off with Tobin - and Aaron. They have their orders. Let's talk on the roof, my chopper's waiting. We're headed to Riker's next. This has been quite the detour."

"Never a dull fuckn' moment in this town…" Daryl deadpanned as they headed for the elevators.

Tobin and his partner Aaron reported that their team had found no other assailants in their search of the entire hospital block, including a further four-block radius around the cluster of buildings.

Carol told them to stay with Michonne and took Rick up to the roof. She had disappeared into the same empty examination room, now guarded by two federal agents, to call Andre in privacy.

Rick nodded to a wounded but still standing Tobin, now having established a professional rapport with the man when they teamed up to defend Michonne. He could now say he'd survived being assaulted by throwing stars with the man, if nothing else.

On the roof, where the sunlight had only gotten stronger and the heat more oppressive, Carol stood at the edge staring down at the spot where Daryl had tagged the would-be assassin.

She held her hands in her pockets as Rick stared with her, waiting for her to get whatever it was she wanted from him off her chest.

Finally, she turned to look at him under the bright sun. "I need your help, Rick."

He nodded, squinting over into her wintery eyes. "I had a feelin'. If it's to do with Michonne, you don't have to ask."

Carol smirked. Of course she didn't. She called 'em like she saw 'em. "I've read up on you." She continued seriously. He knew 'read up' meant she had done some digging, likely into his past - into everything he'd been doing since he arrived in Atlanta, too. "I'm sorry about what happened to your family. I lost a daughter myself. That's a special kind of...terrible pain."

Rick swallowed thickly, accepting her empathy, filing away her confession about her past. He was beginning to understand - and trust - Carol a lot more. He was also starting to get the feeling she cared about Michonne a lot more than was expressly apparent to most people. Rick wasn't most people. Neither was Michonne.

"And I find it pretty impressive that you've managed to channel all that pain into a cause, sort of. Your work with those missing girls cases our good friend Chief Hatfield screwed up has largely gone unrewarded, but it doesn't have to stay that way." Rick shifted on his feet, turning to face her fully, squinting against the sun, his ribs aching a bit. "You're smart. You're good. And you and I both know that Negan isn't finished yet. I find this whole thing a bit distracting, don't you?"

He tilted his head, thinking he was onto what she was getting at. "Yeah. A bit. What's on your mind?"

"He may be angry with Michonne." Carol shrugged and looked off into the distance again. Her cool demeanor never failed to impress Rick. "He may even be trying to take his son back. But with Negan, there is always something big and ugly at the bottom of the well. So."

She turned back to him, smiling somewhat casually.

"Daryl and I are going to find the monster and kill it. In the meantime, I need someone like you to do what you do best: Find the bad guys he's got lined up to terrorize his ex. Find out his next move. Give me the time I need to stop him for good. He knows Michonne, but he has no idea about you. Let's keep it that way. Tag team from both ends, see what we come up with. And don't take your eyes off of Michonne. Think you can handle that?"

She suspected he had already gotten started. The stoic widower stood contemplating her request for a beat.

"Why me?" He hedged.

Carol fixed him with a look. "I think I'd be able to recognize the look in your eyes whenever they're on Michonne from space, Mr. Grimes…" she told him, causing him to swallow uneasily. "I know that look. And I know you've probably had your eyes on Michonne for quite a while, now. That's reason enough to make trouble for you. But you're useful to me and you're someone she needs right now." Her steely smile grew wider. "Whether she realizes that or not. Michonne has...an affect on people. She's an alluring, strong, incredible woman. What they call 'a dame to kill for' in old black and white movies. Let's hope we don't have to on this one, huh? Been there. Done that."

"I will. If I have to." Rick declared. Carol nodded, but said nothing. She knew that already. Her new ally sighed and began to walk with her to the helicopter, where Daryl was shouting instructions to their pilot, readying them for takeoff. "But I need your help on somethin', too."

Carol paused, hearing him out.

"There's a case I'm workin' on right now. Missing girl, Amy Jones. I think she's connected to the ones I was investigating back in King County," he told her, knowing she'd done her research and would recognize the cases he was referring to. She nodded, confirming his hope. "I think I can find her - alive, possibly. Maybe find out what happened to the others. But I need backup."

Carol thought about it for a beat, then gave him her word. "You bring me hard proof, and a suspect, and I'll give you all the resources I can. In the meantime, let's keep in touch."

They shook on it, and Carol ducked into the helicopter. Daryl and Rick exchanged their by now customary nods and the big redneck climbed into the chopper after his partner.

Rick stepped back up to the door and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh beams of sunlight caught in the propellor blades as he watched them lift off.

He stood on the rooftop, watching the chopper disappear in the distance, and found determination welling up inside of him. He was going to do things the right way this time.

Michonne was waiting. It was time to get to work.

Next up:

Amy, The Master, Shade/The Beast..

Rick and Michonne engage in a little buddy cop adventure to visit The Bullet Man...

Carol comes face to face with Negan Wolfe, and he reminds her what protecting Michonne costs the people she cares about...

BONUS: This isn't the last you've seen of The Kid. ;)