Author's Note: Hi! I finally got around to posting chapter two. Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment under the first chapter! It's really exciting to see people be intrigued for what's to come! I'm probably gonna start replying to some reviews again in the upcoming chapters. In the meantime, hope you enjoy this one! x

Paris, France

December, 1931

Rick only has the dream when it snows. He dreads the winter ever since that fateful day when he was ten.

The dream is the same, always: there is a blur, and a girl. At the start of the dream she is the only real thing in the world, and then the world around them solidifies. It's freezing.

Rick holds his shoulder, his blood slowly coloring the snow red around him, but he doesn't focus on it. What he does focus on is the girl, who is holding his hand tight, almost too tight. She's breathing hard and it comes out in clouds.

Run, he says.

She's trembling and he wonders if she saw what happened to her father. Was she there when it happened? Surely not. He hopes for her sake that she wasn't. But if she was hiding in that room, like she was when he found her, she must have at least heard the gunshots; the screams.

She's never introduced herself but she's never needed to, everyone knows her name: Michonne, the king's only daughter. He has seen her in the palace when his father had taken him along to work in the palace for a day, and she looks exactly the same as she did when he was sneaking glances before he got dragged back to the kitchen.

Run, Rick urges again. They're coming for you, you have to go-

A noise makes them both jolt. They both whirl around to see the men, and before he can even register what might happen to him if they get to him he urges her to run away.

She kicks up snow as she goes, breath clouding out behind her.

Rick can't look away until the men storm up behind him, grab him by the arm and pull him to face them. His eyes are wide and the blood is soaking his clothes.

He looks into the eyes of the man that grabbed him, and even though he's wearing a mask he recognizes him.

"F-Father? What- What have you done? Why did you-"

He presses down on his son's wound with one hand and grippes his gun with the other, hissing at him,

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't have seen this-"

He stops and straightens, raising his gun at the girl's back as she flees.

Every time the gun goes off, Rick jolts. It's the loudest noise in the world.

He watches the girl grow smaller. Her dark hair is a drop of colour in a sea of white.

Another shot rings out. Rick watches her back and pictures her breath coming in clouds as she runs, and there's a moment where his mouth opens to say it again, to yell it: Run!

As his lips part, there's a final blast. The girl falls and hits the snow and she doesn't get up.

There's more to the memory, Rick knows- the guards showing up, his father getting captured and dragged away before he passes out.

But in the dream, this doesn't happen. In the dream, Rick's father is still and quiet as he steps out into the snow. Rick doesn't look back as he walks, following the footsteps. The hand that held Michonne's is warm.

But he never reaches her body. It seems like the distance is only growing, and he's got more and more time to imagine what her lifeless body would look like.

And then he remembers sneaking out to see her just an hour ago. She had been talking to her grandmother and fiddling with a necklace around her neck. She had been laughing. He can remember the sound of it.

As he remembers her laugh, he wakes up.

Rick's eyes open to the sight of a plain, dirty ceiling. It's the same ceiling he's looked up at upon waking for about twenty years, ever since he settled in Paris.

He runs his hand over his face and waits for the adrenaline to finish working its way out of his system. He never fails to wake up from that dream unsettled and shaky; the dead body he never saw imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

A knock on the door makes him jolt. His throat works until he has enough moisture in his mouth to say, "Yeah?"

"'S me," comes Shane's voice. "We're late."

Rick huffs a laugh as he slings his legs over the side of the bed and sets his feet on the floor. "We ain't exactly on a schedule here."

"Best selling time of the day's coming up."

Rick grunts in response as he gets dressed in the same clothes he's been wearing for a week before pulling his boots on.

As he leaves, Rick picks up the bag of stolen crap they're going to sell to the good people of Paris.

Shane is sitting on the railing of the steps when Rick opens the door, a fold-up table between his arm and his side. He nods in greeting. His tall frame is bundled up in as many clothes as he could handle.

"Ready to make another fortune today?" Shane jokes and jumpes to the ground.

Rick lets out a dry chuckle and eyes the frayed fabric of Shane's gloves. The snow had stopped last night, but there's still a layer of it on everything. Winter is always hard for them since they don't have enough money for good heating or thick clothing.

They walk several blocks to their usual spot, then start to set up. It doesn't take long- fold out the table, set their goods on top of it, and then stand back and start calling out to the public.

It's the usual stuff, convincing people they need the crap they're selling- they are still coasting off their recent haul of the palace, which has been mostly picked clean for a few years now. Still, Shane and Rick had managed to find a few nick-nacks when they'd last turned it over. Shane is just the best when it comes to foisting shit on people, selling even the stuff that Rick had been sure they would never get rid off, like that one old handkerchief, ("-genuine Valois! Stitched with the king's initials, you can't beat this price-")

It goes like that for most of the rest of the day, until the sun starts to go down and they start to pack up.

"Fuck," Shane laughs as they head through the streets towards the palace.

Rick leans sideways and knocks their shoulders together.

"Hey, don't be too proud of yourself. That money will probably last us for a week or so."

"Yeah, but it's something." he says, kicking at the snow as they walk. Rick watches him- it weighs on the both of them more than they let on. After their remaining parents had died- Shane's mother from a stray gunshot in a riot, Rick's father - well, he got what he deserved after what he did- they started out stealing to eat, then stealing to sell things, and by the time they were sixteen they had been orchestrating low-level cons.

Recently, Shane had been desperately trying to talk Rick into a con that was far more dangerous than the ones they had been used to before. It would be their most elaborate con yet- finding a girl to play the role of the lost french heir to the throne. Rick went through all the dangers in his head. A lot of officials around the city would be right on their heels if they found out about a rumor concerning the possible survival of the lost princess. And if they were lucky enough to really make it out the country there was still the possibility of this whole charade being unmasked, which would set them up to get shot.

At the same time, Shane had repeated over and over again what was at stake for them. If they succeeded, if they convinced the Empress that they had brought her her lost granddaughter, they'd be rewarded with riches beyond belief.

It's nothing more than a fantasy, and he believes Shane would eventually realize that, too. They had a few auditions here and there and he'd stopped talking about it after they couldn't seem to find the right girl to play the part.

"Oh-"

A woman bumps into Rick hard enough that she stumbles, and he reaches out to steady her.

"I'm so sorry," she says, hunched and covered in dirty shawls, eyes downcast. Her face is hidden behind a hood.

"It's fine, miss," he assures her.

Rick can see enough of her face to catch the smile of thanks, and then she continues walking. Shane turnes slightly to watch her leave.

Without taking his eyes from her retreating back, Rick says "Did we know her from somewhere?"

Shane consideres. "I don't think so. Why, she sound familiar?"

"Yeah, kinda. I-" Halfway through turning to him, Rick freezes. He'd gone to put his hand in his coat pockets and instead of brushing the corner of his wallet, his fingers touched bare fabric. He shoves his hand deeper into it, groping, but his pocket is empty.

He whirles around to face the woman again, who is now walking fast down the street. "Hey! Stop!"

The woman doesn't look behind her, but she does start to run.

"What-"

"She stole my wallet," Rick spits out as he breaks into a sprint, with Shane right behind him.

He tears around the corner she had turned around, almost slipping on a patch of ice, and spots her halfway down the street running almost as fast as him. They both shout again, but the woman doesn't even glance over her shoulder.

Rick grits his teeth and runs faster. There is another corner, and Rick nearly loses her in the mill of people which is rapidly becoming a crowd. He stops running and turns around, craning his neck to see over everyone's heads. Where-?

He spots a familiar crop of shawls and pushes through the crowd towards it. She isn't running now, just walking and trying to blend in with the crowd.

The first thing Shane does after catching up with her is grab her wrist. "Gotcha. Now, I think you have something of-"

She twists out of his grip like it's nothing, then used that momentum to slam her palm right into his chin, jolting his head backwards and causing him to fall. For a moment Rick is too surprised to do anything, but then she starts ducking in between the crowd, getting away again, and Rick follows.

This time he only catches up to her because the crowd was blocking her path- she is trying to run now, but she can't He reaches for her, but she whirls around and decks him in the cheek. It's hard enough to send him stumbling, and Rick knocks into a good few people before he can right himself.

"Je-sus," he slurs, dazed. He lurches his way back to her. "Hey, come ON-"

He grabs her hood and wrenched it back, then pauses.

She is- well, beautiful, but that's not it. There is something eerily striking about her: brown eyes, long locks, smooth dark skin streaked in dirt. Her lips, nose, cheekbones- he'd seen those exact features before.

She bares her teeth at him. "Finder's keepers."

"Uh." Rick shakes his head. This isn't the time to get distracted by a pretty face. "Not how this works, sweetheart. Give it back."

Her gaze darts around. He supposes she's considering if it's worth it trying to beat him up in the middle of a crowd. Her odds aren't good - she can't exactly run away, not unless she beats him hard enough that he either can't get up or lets her go.

Before she can decide, Rick lets her go and holds up his hands. "Look, I don't want this to turn into a fight."

"It wouldn't be much of a fight," she says after a moment.

He eyes her. "I've seen you around here, huh?"

She pushes her hair from her face. "You might have. You sell nick-nacks, yes? Valois knockoffs."

"Hey, those are the real deal."

She raises an eyebrow and Rick has a flash of wanting to just let her have the damn wallet.

"That's what everyone claims," she says, then she straightens.

"Well, it doesn't look like you're really one to talk about good, honest work, now are you? What's your deal? You ran away from home? Got kicked out?"

Her mouth twitches. Rick tries again: "Or is it more complicated? Are you in the conning business?"

The more he lookes at her, the more he sees features that reminded him of-

She brings up her knee and gets him right in the balls.

Christ. Rick can only grunt, sinking to his knees on the cobblestones, the snow that's dark from so many dirty boots. He watches helplessly as the woman pushes her way through the crowd and disappears.

"Fuck," he chokes out when he can form words. "Piece of shit-" he trails off into a groan. His head drifts sideways until it lies on the ground, the muddy slush dampening his hair.

He closes his eyes and listens to everyone walking around him. One asshole even steps over him, but he doesn't blame them. Everyone has to watch out for themselves. Sometimes it's better not to ask why someone is lying on the ground clutching their groin in their hands.

Is this the country you fought for, father, Rick thinks as he lies on the cobblestones. He is mad at the girl, sure, but he understands. He's been in the same situation more than twice. There is not a citizen in Paris who can't at least sympathise with a pickpocket who filches their money, even when they're still fuming over the loss. They live in a country where almost nobody could get by without dipping into the illegal side of things.

"Jesus. You alright, Buddy?"

Rick cracks his eyes open. Shane stands over him, biting back a grin.

"'M great," Rick says. He groans again as Shane helps him up. He has to stand bent over, hands on his knees, wincing to himself. He tries to take a careful step and finds he can do it without falling over. He drops the handful of snow and wipes his hand on the dry side of his shirt.

"Looks like she got you good." his grin now on full display.

"She kicked me in the fucking balls. And she decked me in the face."

Rick reaches up to press against the tender skin of his cheek. Yeah, that one is going to bruise. He bends down gingerly and picks up a handful of dirty snow, pressing it to his cheek.

"Can't believe we really just got our asses handed to us by a girl." Shane says sas they walk down the street, his annoyance now present in his voice.

Rick just sighs. "Forget about it, we're gonna set up the stand again tomorrow."

"Nah," Shane shakes his head "Fuck that. We need to get back to auditions, I'm telling ya."

"Shane-"

"That girl, she was a dead ringer for her."

"What?"

"The princess."

Rick pauses for a moment, thinking back to how seeing her face had caught him off guard. How it unsettled him.

"Not this again" He finally says.

"Rick, have you fucking looked at her? We've been having auditions for girls for a whole week but we haven't seen anyone who looks more like... I mean, she looked just like she would've looked now if she wasn't, y'know,..."

"Dead."

"Supposedly dead," Shane corrects, like he always does. Lately he's been trying to talk Rick into this whole idea by acting like they could find the real princess and deliver her to her last remaining family. Like life is some goddamn fairytale.

Rick doesn't respond. He's never told anyone about that day, about being there when the Royals were murdered. He's never told anyone, not even Shane, about watching the little girl run, then fall.

Remembering the gunshot makes Rick's throat click. He's heard guns go off many times since then, but they've never been so loud to him- that last shot had taken over the world.

"Rick?"

"What?" Rick looks over and sees Shane looking at him like he's been talking to him for a while without him noticing.

"I um-" he starts. "Shane, I just don't think this is a good idea."

Shane lets out an exhausted sigh. "You think selling crap on the street for the rest of our lives is a better idea?"

He doesn't answer him at that, and they walk in silence for a while.

"You know what, it doesn't matter." Shane says, his voice sounding cold and bitter.

"She's gone now, anyways."

Rick wakes up with the phantom sound of a laugh still ringing in his ears; a body in the snow on the back of his eyelids.

He slows his breathing to something manageable, then gets out of bed. Today there will be no stall, no convincing passerby that they really do need this teapot and yes, it really did belong to the royal family before their untimely demise. Today is haul day, which means they're heading to the palace in the hope that they'd find something worth selling.

Rick mets up with Shane down the bottom of the steps of their apartment building and they start towards the palace.

"We gotta get new boots," Rick says as he feels snow seep into his left shoe.

"When don't we need new boots," Shane says in a tone of voice that means he is mentally tallying what they need to buy with what money they have. After a few minutes he asks,

"Your balls still twinging?"

Rick laughs, relieved to know Shane has decided to lighten the mood.

"Nah. What about your chin?"

Shane rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah."

They bicker about it all the way to the palace, even as they're breaking in, though they do drop to whispers during that. There is no one around- there never is, nowadays- but it's habit. This is one of the things they do that could get them killed. Really, far too much of what they do could get them killed. It's the main reason Rick is trying to get them both out of France. It'd be nice to live without the constant worry of getting lined up and shot.

They head into the bedrooms this time, which has been mostly ransacked. Rick goes through one of the maiden's room and tries not to remember the woman's corpse. He'd managed to make out a few of the faces. This woman, he remembers, had bullet holes in her as well as wounds that Rick later found out were from bayonets.

Rick shudders and then forces himself to still. He goes through the drawers and leaves in a hurry.

"Anything good," Shane calls from across the hall.

"Not much."

"Keep looking," he tells him.

He heads into the nearest room. Like the rest of them, it's dusty and picked bare. The wallpaper is ripped and the mattress is missing. Rick bends down next to the bed to see if there's anything under the frame, something people missed, and then pauses.

On one of the bed's legs, there is a small carving. It has curves that hint at cursive, but there's only so much you could do with wood. It read M.C.V.

Rick swallows. Michonne Charlotte Valois.

He raises his head and looks around. This room had been hers, once. She had bent down, sitting just like he was now, and her hands had held something- a dinner knife, maybe, or a hairpin- and carved her initials into the wood.

Rick stands and heads over to the window. It's small and the lock is stiff, and Rick has to shove at it with the heel of his hand. Once he gets it open he throws the window open and sticks his head out to take several big, gulping breaths.

He closes his eyes. In his memory, her hand is hot in his. Her eyes are dark and wide as she stares at him.

Run. They're coming for you, you have to go-

"Are you Richard Grimes?"

Rick startles. His head bangs on the top of the window and he swears.

"Depends who's asking," he says, rubbing at his head. He turns around, mouth open to ask who she is, but then he sees her and his mouth stays open wordlessly.

She's cleaned up since yesterday, lipsticked and lovely. Still, she isn't wearing all the shawls. Her clothes are plain, but clean, and her face is hidden by nothing.

Said face twitches as she registers him. "Oh."

"Yeah," he says, and feels his mouth curl into a smile. "Coming for a second round?"

"Maybe later," she says. "Are you Richard Grimes or not?"

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Dunno where the hell you got my name, but people around here call me Rick. Why do you want to know?"

She raises her chin. "I was told you could help me get out of Paris. I need exit papers."

"You and everybody else." He looks over her, trying not to stare. She does look like her. Maybe Shane is right. Maybe, if they find the right girl, this plan might work ou-

There is a stab of guilt as he remembers that they are in her room. They are standing in her room, and the woman standing in the doorway is not the girl who once carved her initials into the wood of the bed- that girl had died in the snow a long time ago.

"I heard you provide that kind of service," the woman tells him. Her gaze slides sideways to the bruise on his cheek.

"I'm sorry for hurting you yesterday," she says, and it actually sounds sincere, though he doubts the sincerity is real. Chances are she's just a good actor.

He turns around and opens one of the drawers to look through it.

"I can't help you. Sorry." He says hoping she'd leave. And when she doesn't say anything for a while, he thinks she did. But then he glances over his shoulder and sees her standing there, looking across the space. Something has caught her attention and she seems to be in deep thought. Then her focus is on him again.

"You didn't lie when you said those knock-offs are 'the real deal', huh?" She jokes.

The corner of his mouth quirks upwards and he shuts the drawer.

"Still, selling this stuff doesn't exactly cut it." He says and then moves to walk out the door. Before he can brush past her, though, she stops him by the arm. He looks down at her with his brows furrowed and pauses. Her hand slowly moves away from his arm and comes to rest on his chest, silently asking him to stay.

Rick watches her closely as she lets out a sigh and looks down before slipping her other hand out of the pocket of her long, black coat, revealing the wallet she had stolen the day before. She holds it out for him and expects him to take it from her, but when she looks up she sees him staring at her, and furrows her brow when she can't get a read. There is something about his gaze, it seems to pierce right through her, reaching far into the depths of her soul.

They jolt apart when they hear footsteps approaching and turn around to see Shane emerging into the hallway. He pauses, eyebrows raising when he sees the woman, then raising further when he takes in what she looked like.

"Oh," Shane says. "Oh, jeez." He looks at Rick. "Is that the girl from yesterday-?"

"I'm here for an exit visa." She says before Rick can answer him.

Shane sees her holding the stolen wallet in her hands but quickly decides against trying to take it from her. This opportunity is too good to pass up. "Is that so? Where are you headed to?"

"Hopefully, out of the country."

"Shane-" Rick starts, but he ignores him.

"And after that?"

She pauses. "London."

Oh, this is fucking wonderful, Shane thinks, but tries not to let the excitement show on his face.

"Why London?"

"I- might have an acquaintance there."

"Might have?" Rick asks.

"Yes."

"What a coincidence," Shane croones. He tries for casual, crossing his arms and learning back against the wall. "We're headed for London, too."

She nods. "I heard."

"Shane-" Rick warnes again.

"You did?" Shane talks over him and wets his lips. "Hear anything else about why we're headed there?"

"Perhaps."

That means yes.

God fucking damn it, Rick thinks.

No point holding back now. "Would you be willing to get in on it? Be our Michonne?"

She purses her lips. "I think not."

"Too bad." Rick says and starts to move towards the door again, but not before grabbing Shane by the arm and dragging him with him. He doesn't budge.

"Well," Shane adds. "If you want your papers-"

"I'm sure we can arrange something else," the woman says, pulling up a smile. Before Shane knows it he was smiling at her bemused. She is obviously going for charming.

He shakes his head. "I'm afraid not. I'd think about it if I were you. The con shouldn't be too hard, you look like you were made for the role, and the reward is worth the trials."

"Oh, I know."

Shane furrows his brows at that, confused.

"Okay, so, what's the rub? We'll teach you what to say, you just have to perform. Something tells me you're good at that. Afterwards, you can do whatever you-"

She cuts him off. "You won't give me the papers otherwise?"

Shane pauses, then shakes his head. Rick's gaze shifts from his friend to the woman standing in front of them.

Her fingers tap on the side of her thigh, then still. It's the first thing he's seen that comes close to giving something away. She is nervous.

This is wrong, he knows it. A terrible idea that is doomed to end in a catastrophe. But when he looks at her, looks at her face, as unsettling as it is, a part of him really believes this plan might work with her. He can't deny that she looks exactly like the girl he remembers. The similarity almost frightens him. She still haunts him in his dreams, reminds him of how he failed to save her.

Rick sighs and steps closer before he realizes he's doing it.

"Listen, this con does come with a lot of risks. You- You do have similarities with her, but that's not all that matters. You'll have to adopt a personality that-"

"No, I know I could do it. It would be easy enough," she says, sounding like she was considering it. "It's not that."

"What, then?" Shane steps closer. "Think of it. Riches beyond belief. Being royalty, if you decide to stay after the con finishes."

She tips her head. "Riches, I'd like. Royalty- royalty sounds like a cage, if a gilded one. But-"

A muscle flutters in her jaw. Rick watches the tiny movement under her skin. Her eyes track his face: she is considering her options.

Finally, she gives a curt nod. "If it will get me to London- or just out of France, even- I accept."

Rick lets out a sigh.

"Great." Shane grins and then tries to tamp it down. "You won't regret this."

Then he holds out his hand towards her. "My name's Shane Walsh, by the way."

"Richard's partner," the woman nods. "I've heard of you."

She takes Shane's hand and realizes that she hasn't introduced herself yet. Huh.

"Well um...I'm-"

"Michonne." Shane finishes for her with a smile that looks convincing enough.

"You really wanna call me that?"

"Listen honey, if you're gonna play the part you're gonna have to take the name. For now, at least."

She frowns at him for a few seconds before looking at the other man beside him. Rick seems to be lost in his thoughts.

It's out of his control now. He has to accept this whole thing and make the best out of it, even if it doesn't really sit well with him. He's had so many plans whirling in his head; plans he hadn't thought would become solid. To think of it- the perfect girl turning up asking for exit papers to the exact place they were going for the con. It feels like fate, almost.

And then he remembers they are still standing in her bedroom. "Uh, excuse me-"

He walks out into the hallway. The other two follow him, and when Shane pins him with a questioning look, he waves a hand. "Sorry, just- it felt disrespectful, arranging all of this in her old room."

Surprise and understanding dawns on their faces. Michonne. Rick can't imagine getting around to actually calling her by that name. She turns around in the doorway and looks around the skeleton of the bedroom. Her hand goes to touch the thin chain of a necklace, which disappeares into her coat.

"This was hers?"

"Used to be," Rick says. He watches her face- it's undisguised, if only for a second. He expects interest, maybe reverence, or even disgust if she was one of the loyalists who considered the royals to be pigs who deserved what they got- but what he gets was a flash of something like fear.

Rick frowns. She looks like he does, sometimes, right after waking up from the dream that only happened when there was snow outside. But it's hastily rearranged back into a mild smile, and then she's walking beside him and Shane into the large hall.

"Well," she says, coming to a halt in front of them. She shakes her hair over her shoulders and for a moment Rick can believe the fiction they are going to weave around her. "Shall we get started?"

Author's Note: So, what do you guys think? Please let me know! Thank you for reading! x