The Light

Michonne woke up with a headache. She was in the bed alone. Her mouth was dry and her shoulders ached. She checked her phone and the bright light made her wince.

A waiting text from Rick was bittersweet. He was stuck at work, but thinking of her. He'd been burning the candle at both ends. Saddened about his best friend. Stressed about work.

In a few hours, there would be a memorial service for Deputy Shane Walsh. Michonne hoped it would give him some closure. But having been in the same situation weeks ago, she was doubtful.

She made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water, feeling rather weak. Wobbly.

Signs of life from Carl's room got her attention as she walked by his door. Michonne knocked and received no answer. "Carl. Your dad had to work late." She spoke from the hallway, respectful of his space. "Two of his guys called in sick. He had to cover for them."

She heard a faint gurgling sound and splashing. Worry seized her and she decided she'd risk the young man's objection to her entering his room.

"Carl?" His bed was empty. His room was the usual mess. Michonne started picking up discarded food scraps and wrappers when she heard him moan from the attached bathroom. "Carl?"

He was on his knees in front of the toilet. His weak voice echoed into the bowl, "Think I'm sick."

There was none of his leveled rancor or defiance. Just the puddle of congealed vomit beside him on the floor. He hadn't made it to the toilet in time. His hair was damp with sweat and he shivered constantly.

Michonne threw a towel over his accident. She pressed her palm to his cheek and forehead. He was on fire. Immediately, she rushed to get the thermometer.

"101.2," she read his temperature with concern. "That's high. Come on up here." Michonne put the toilet lid down and pulled him off the cold tiles, helping him into the shower. Carl barely reacted as the lukewarm water poured over him, clothes and all. Unable to stand under his own strength, he supported himself against the wall.

Michonne washed his face and rinsed his hair. She brought in a clean towel and clothes for him and left them folded in a pile on the top of the commode. "I'm gonna leave you to get dressed. Just leave those wet clothes in the shower."

Carl obeyed and when he was done, he crept out of the bathroom. His hair was still wet, his cheeks flushed with fever. His bed had new linens and Michonne was replacing his pillowcase with a crisp clean one.

"Feel a little better?" Carl nodded as Michonne held his blanket back to tuck him in. "I called your dad while you were in the shower. He wants you to take this." She handed him a dose of fever reducer. "Here you go."

Carl didn't hesitate. He upended the tiny plastic cup and then did a slow motion snuggle down into the cozy bedding. Michonne folded a cool washcloth and laid it on his forehead.

"Do you think I'll be better in the morning," he asked her, hopeful. "Dad said Uncle Shane's memorial isn't for kids, but I can't let him go by himself.

"I hope so, sweetie," she said, gathering up his contaminated clothes to wash. "Try to go back to sleep now, okay?" She headed for the door, eager to do the same herself.

"Michonne?"

She paused. "Hmm?"

"Did you read to your son… or… like, sing him lullabies when it was time for bed?" The effort it took to talk was like walking up a flight of stairs for Carl. But, at that moment, he felt desperate.

"Yeah." Michonne's heart pounded at the question but her face warmed with a smile. "Of course. That's like Mom 101," she joked.

It was always something Carl wanted, to create the scene he'd witnessed hundreds of times over in movies, tv shows and artist's depictions. It wasn't as if his mom had never done it. But somewhere between her infidelities, divorce, remarriage and new baby, she had stopped being a mom to him, in a way.

Carl wondered if she thought he'd gotten too big for nightly tuck-ins. But he knew Judith never got any either. Lori was asleep before both of them most nights. A glass of wine by her bed. A pill for her ulcer.

His mom always told him to grow up and he felt that maybe he was weird for still wanting to be treated like a kid. She'd make sly remarks that powerful men don't need to whine to a therapist. That was only for babies.

But right now, at this moment, he didn't care if it was weird. He wasn't a baby, but he was in a lot of pain. Emotionally and now physically. More than anything, in this moment, he wanted to just be a kid.

A kid with a mom.

His dad said Michonne was what they needed. That she was a good thing. That he was with her for Carl's sake as much as his own.

Carl had heard that before. His mom said she chose Philip to give him a better life. But, as far as he could see, his life had only gotten worse.

Then Michonne comes along and his life implodes completely. How could she be the light in the darkness that his father had promised? Carl wanted to either prove that assertion wrong and solidify his disregard for her or experience that new kind of normal that Michonne had described to him.

For her part, Michonne felt lightheaded at the poorly disguised request. Could she share the nightly routine that was exclusive to her and her only son. Her late son. Who was sweet and respectful and kind. The opposite of Carl.

She knew life was not easy for Rick's son. But at least he still has a life, she thought. And what does he do with it? Get in fights. Curse. Slam doors. Shrug off the people who want to help him.

Could she scrounge up that motherly instinct for this boy?

She closed his door and went to start the laundry.

And Carl felt vindicated. Michonne wasn't any kind of light. She wasn't this glowing queen of good his dad believed her to be. She was just some lady that needed help. Some lady with nowhere to go.

He'd been wrong. This wasn't different. This was just his dad being his dad. Coming to the rescue, trying to help everyone. Which is impossible, like his mother always said.

And as Carl thought about ways to get Michonne out of their lives for good, his door creaked open.

"These books were in your dad's office. I've never heard of this one before," she said perusing the cover, "but it looks exciting. You can't go wrong with John Grisham." She turned the other book to his view. "Now, Treasure Island, I read in school. But it's still a classic…"

"The Grisham," Carl interrupted.

"Grisham it is." Michonne gave him a genuine but tired smile and perched herself beside him on the edge of his bed.

Carl didn't make it past the first page but he went to sleep not feeling weird and a little closer to the light.

...

When Rick came home at the crack of dawn, he went straight to his son's room. He didn't realize until he walked in and saw Michonne snoring on her back at the foot of the bed that he hadn't been worried. He knew Carl was in good hands.

Michonne was not only a mother because she had given birth. She was responsible, reliable and caring. It was just in her nature. When he sat with her on Sasha's couch, her warm-hearted concern for Shane and Merle convinced Rick early on that if his wildest dreams came true and he could be with her, it would be life-changing for him and his son.

Carl was sleeping peacefully. A little clammy to the touch but he was no longer burning with fever. Rick pushed a hand gently through his son's hair.

Rick loved the boy. His heart broke for him and everything he was going through. Guilt about it all brought tears to his eyes as he watched him sleep soundly.

So many of Carl's problems were his fault. If he could have kept himself together… maybe he could have kept his marriage together… maybe he could have kept his son's life from being upended.

If I had been a better man. A stronger man. Strong enough to keep work away from my family. Instead of bringing all the ugliness I was trying to protect them from right into my home.

Rick swore he'd never let that happen again. He propped himself on a lean against Carl's dresser and watched them breathe peacefully under his roof. Pulling in a deep breath, Rick tried to forget his earlier conversation with Deanna Monroe. He fought back tears in a mix of emotions. Dark thoughts that crowded his mind on his car ride home were now dripping off him like melting snow.

"How was your night?"

Rick's mouth curled into a smile at the sound of her soft voice. He crossed the room, speaking just as quietly, "Not bad, all things considered. I didn't have to clean up any puke." He stood over her and caressed her bare foot with his fingertips.

"Poor thing," she spoke of Carl sympathetically. Michonne sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes through a miserable moan.

Rick didn't like the way she looked. "How you feelin'? You okay?"

"I might be getting sick too."

Rick pulled her up from the bed and braced her swaying body under his arm against his chest. He walked her to their room. "It's okay, baby. Thank you for everything. Let's lay you down."

...

A few hours of sleep later, Rick stepped out of the shower to see Michonne in a black velour dress she'd borrowed from Maggie. She was pinning her hair up with her eyes closed.

Her head ached whenever she opened them.

"Michonne, what do you think you're doin'?"

"Rick… don't start. You're not going to your best friend's funeral alone."

"Honey, you're sick."

"I feel a lot better." She walked out of the bathroom and came back in with his suit on a hanger. "I took some medicine. Had a bit of ginger tea." She hung it on the bathroom door hook and pushed his underwear and a t-shirt into his chest. "I'm going."

"No. You're not."

"My mother is already here."

"What?" Rick grabbed his towel and craned his neck to look for Gayle.

"She's already in the kitchen making tea for Carl. She's gonna sit with him while we're gone."

"When did you call her?"

"This morning. She rushed right over. She really wants to help us out. I talked to Carl. He's upset he can't go, but the kid can barely lift his head. He doesn't want you going by yourself either. And you're not."

Before Rick could protest more sternly, Gayle rapped gently on the cocked door, her eyes averted to the ceiling. "Coffee."

Michonne stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door on Rick mid-objection.

"I'm going," she whispered to him definitively as the door clicked.

"You need any help getting ready?" Gayle handed over the serving tray of full coffee and muffins.

"Thanks, mom. Mmm…" Michonne beamed. "Are these your peach vanilla muffins?"

"Of course. I know you love them. I didn't want you two leaving without breakfast. You'll need a little fuel to get you through the morning." Gayle sat Michonne down. Undoing the messy bun her daughter was attempting, her mother began a single french braid. She hummed out a gloomy kind of chuckle to herself.

"What's wrong, momma?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing's wrong. This hair of yours grows too fast." She stopped for a moment to reflect and changed the subject on a dime, "Isn't life like a recipe sometimes? You can never really ruin a dish... unless you burn it. Balance fixes everything. Life will add some joy to pain. Always a little salt to sugar." Gayle switched to a whisper, "You needed Rick and now he needs you."

"I really don't know what I would've done without him."

"And he wouldn't know what to do without you, sweet child. He's like your father in that way."

"Rick is nothing like daddy."

"Your father is a soldier. A fighter," Gayle answered back quickly. "Hugh is an intelligent man. He's a genius according to his IQ. But being a fighter, inspiring fear, is all he knows how to do well."

Michonne continued her argument quietly in her head as her mother continued.

"Rick is more than that. He's a man who's had to win an election... to win the love of the people he serves. You think your daddy could've done that?"

Michonne scoffed, trying to imagine her father keeping his cool during a heated debate with rival candidates or smiling for photo ops. Impossible...

"In fact, when snarling and barking doesn't work, the only reason he gets anything done is because I'm there to smooth things over for him."

Michonne didn't understand. "So... how is Rick like him? I think I'm missing the point."

Gayle laid an expertly crafted braid on Michonne's shoulder and stood in front of her. Mother looked into daughter's brown eyes and held her warm cheeks in her hands. Her baby was special and Rick was one lucky son of a bitch.

"The point is Rick needs you. No matter how stable, capable or powerful a man may be, he needs the other half of him... and he's found that in you."

Rick stepped out of the bathroom into his bedroom to find Michonne and her mother talking in whispers. As soon as Gayle laid her eyes on him, dressed in his suit, she excused herself.

"I'll get out of your way, Rick. I was just helping Michonne with her hair."

"You're not in my way," he offered with a genuineness that made Gayle such a fan of his from the moment they met. "I appreciate you comin' and you're welcome to stay but Michonne isn't feelin' well. She should stay here and rest. Don't you think?"

"Really, Rick?" Michonne scoffed at his attempt to get her mother to side with him.

"Actually, Rick, that's what I told her. But as you can see," Gayle waved a hand over her ready daughter, "she disagrees. I learned a long time ago… and I guess it's what you'll learn today... When my sweet child makes up her mind I can either help her or get out of her way. I've been out of her way long enough."

With the same dogged delivery that Michonne had given him his underwear, Gayle lifted his upturned palm and sat his breakfast in his hand with a condescending smile. "So here I am with muffins."

He couldn't deny how badly he wanted… no, needed her there with him today. Her mother being there with Carl was an unexpected godsend. His chivalrous nature lost to their maternal instinct.

The smirk on Michonne's face was adorable wrapped around a cheek full of muffin. Defeated, he bit into his own and sighed. "Thanks for breakfast, Gayle." He deadpanned, "Okay, Michonne. Let's go."

...

Michonne had never been to a send off like Shane's.

In the days after seeing Andre's mother face to face, the deputy made up his mind that he would end his life and be done with it. No longer a disappointment to anyone. No longer able to hurt the people he wanted to protect most. He was at peace with that decision.

Shane orchestrated every detail of his final farewell. No church service. No clergy. Just midday drinks at Pard's, their favorite watering hole.

No hymns. Just the bar's brand of classic rock that often inspired a drunken two-step and slurred rendition of Aerosmith. The bartop displayed a picture of Shane in uniform. Pre-poured shots of the bartender's best were covered with white square envelopes bearing the names of all in attendance.

An exclusive affair, Shane made a short list of those he regretted leaving. He wrote them all letters. Handwritten letters of apology, letters of thanks, letters to reminisce. All of them saying goodbye.

Maggie sat in a corner booth. Her letter facedown, she wept on Glenn's shoulder. When Rick walked in, his sister's heart broke all over again for her brother's pain.

Many of the attendees were in uniform. Not only King County, but neighboring jurisdictions as well. Even Capt. Dawn Lerner showed up. Though she couldn't bring herself to look Rick or Michonne in the face.

Rosita approached them, tears in her eyes. She gave a sorrowful smile to Michonne. She handed Rick a long necked bottle. He declined with a hand.

"It's non-alcoholic. Must be for you. I didn't see a letter with your name on it, though."

"I got mine already," Rick said thinking of the box he'd found in Shane's closet.

Rosita looked back at the bar. It would help her not to cry if she didn't have to look at Rick when she said, "Sorry about your friend, sheriff. He was a good man." She was upset for another reason though. She turned back to Rick. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Rick could see she needed to speak with him in private. He asked his girlfriend to excuse him and walked to a secluded spot by the bathrooms.

"What's going on with Backwoods?" Rosita got right to the point. "I'm worried about him. At first, I could tell he was upset about the whole situation, but now he's just acting weird… and I'm not even talking about what happened with T-Dog."

"Weird how?"

"I can't really put it into words but I can tell, he's hiding something from me." She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling forced to speak her truth out loud for the first time. "A woman can always tell when the man she loves is hiding something," she barely mumbled.

Rick's mind instantly went to Michonne and his own secrets. He spied her consoling Maggie as his sister attempted a brave face. "But you don't have a clue what that somethin' might be?"

It pained her to admit it. "No. I don't." Still she persisted. "You've got to keep an eye on him, sheriff. I know there's a lot on your plate right now. House gossip is, you got a call from Monroe last night."

Rick tensed and lied, "Just a routine chewin' out. You know how she gets."

Rosita didn't seem convinced. "Did you know, I knew my great grandmother, Rick? She prayed the rosary day in and day out. Once Guadalupe granted her a vision while she babysat me. I didn't see the Holy Virgin, only a bright light. But since then, I know things. My bisabuela says I was touched by her light… Guadalupe's. So I know when something ain't right." She doubled back to her main focus, voice cracking from worry, "Please protect Daryl. He is a good man too… and we're losing too many."

Rosita stomped away full of emotions. Unable to tell her anything comforting, Rick let her go. He did an about-face to rejoin Michonne but she was already on her way to him.

"Is she okay?" Michonne asked after Deputy Espinoza as she swept a stray curl behind Rick's ear.

"Yeah. She'll be okay." He grabbed her attending hand and brought it to his lips. "What about you? How are you feelin'?"

"I'm still feeling pretty decent. I don't know what my mother puts in that tea…"

"No," he said, pulling her into his arms. He rocked her as he closed his eyes and spoke into her cheek, "How are you feelin'?"

"I was just having a chat with Glenn. He was telling me how close you and Shane were. I want you to know that I love you, Rick. I know there's gonna be a void in your life now and I know I can't fill it. But Hershel says…"

"We can squeeze the void." Rick finished her sentence, having heard that wisdom from Hershel before.

She lifted her head off his chest and looked into his eyes. "Yeah. Squeeze the void. Build around it." She smiled cupping his masculine jaw in her hands. "There's nothing I want more than for us to heal and build together."

Rick couldn't help himself. He delivered a slow, chaste kiss to her lips. "I've been keepin' somethin' from you. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to take it the wrong way." He paused and mirrored her smiling face.

"Tell me anything, baby. Anything."

"In the letter Shane left me, he said… he said he worried about me all the time. I used to always think of him as my baby brother. A little clumsy, reckless, hard-headed baby brother. But here he was worrying about me. He said that he saw me and you together and he knew I was in good hands. He said seeing us together made him realize that he didn't have to hold my hand anymore." Rick laughed, "He specified 'not in a gay way'."

Michonne laughed too. "So that's what he got from that beat down I gave him," she said shamefully, still mortified by her actions..

"I think that was the major realization. Shane said, there it was, a heavy day. But he could tell there was a lightness to me that he'd never seen."

Michonne studied Rick's clean cut face. Tracing his jawline with her index finger, his lips with her thumb. She was overcome hearing Shane's observation. And though they were in the midst of another heavy day, she witnessed the very lightness he'd described, settled over her man like the glimmer in snow.

She kissed him now. Another small innocent peck that made him feel like there was no one else there.

So many times in that very place, Shane had cheered for Rick to go home with some random woman. The few times Rick took his advice for a one night stand, Shane had mixed feelings.

He wanted his friend to live a little. Find a little happiness. But he also knew Rick deserved more than a little happiness. Or to just be invited into some woman's bed.

He deserved to be invited into someone's life, someone's heart. Unfortunately, none of those women deserved a heart as open as his. It was something Shane always admired about his best friend.

Rick was brave enough to love and love hard. Brave enough to acknowledge what he felt for Michonne even in the worst circumstances. Brave enough to hold the hand of a mother in pain, weathering it all until she invited him into her life.

And Rick was brave enough to see how weak he was without her. "The first time I saw you, I thought I was gonna be the one to help you. Take care of you."

"We're taking care of each other, Rick."

He smiled at her humble naivete. She had no idea the force she was. "I have something else to tell you too," he sighed. "Monroe called me last night. Asked for my resignation."

Michonne was taken aback. "What! Rick, no! Can you fight her? This isn't fair."

"She said that Shane's suicide makes a terrible PR situation a hundred times worse for the department. And she's right."

"But none of this is your fault."

"It's okay, Michonne. First thing, come new year, Carol is gonna replace me. That was my only stipulation. She'll get the opportunity to do a better job than I could've ever done. It's an opportunity she'd never get by election."

Rick looked over at Carol reading her letter from Shane, wiping away a stream of tears. "She'll impress everyone and by the time there's another election, she'll win by a landslide no matter who her opponent is."

"But what about you, Rick? You love what you do."

"I love you more. Much more. I love Carl more than any badge, too. So I'm gonna focus on us and my son."