A/N: This next chapter took a ridiculously long time to post, so it's gonna be a long one. It's heavy on conflict between Rick and Carl (this is a dark one), but I promise there are plenty of happy times ahead. Thank you for coming back for this wild ride and hope you're safe, healthy, happy and thriving :)

Michonne blocked the entrance of the RV, arms crossed and shivering. The thin silk of her dress did little to protect her from the chill night air.

"Invite me in, Michonne," Rick said, non-threatening but serious.

"Not until I get some answers. And my list of questions is hella long," she said between chattering teeth. It was much warmer in the RV without the door open.

"We don't have time for this." Rick was hard to read. Maybe it was the vampire in him, but she suspected he'd acquired the skill long before Deanna had turned him. It was likely what made the other vampires fear him. It was risky to face an opponent without a tell.

"Then you better start telling me what I want to hear."

Rick stood very still, calculating.

Michonne stood her ground, determined. Without her invitation, Rick couldn't enter the RV.

"Fine. Two questions," he said, curtly.

She could either win the battle or lose the war. "Deal."

Her belly warmed at the tiny victory. The fact that he'd given into her so easily, when they both knew who was the more powerful between them, somehow made her trust him a little bit more. Or, hate him a little less.

"The whole life partner thing. Why lie about it?" she asked. Michonne shivered, as a cold breeze trailed goosebumps up her bare arms.

"I didn't."

"You did. I never agreed to anything of the sort."

"It's the only way for me to protect you," Rick conceded, in his roundabout way.

"Just so we're clear…I would never marry you. Ever." Michonne ignored the pebble of doubt nestled deep in her belly.

Rick remained unreadable, except for a squint of the eyes.

Michonne waited, but apparently, that was all he would give her. Strong but silent just wasn't going to cut it. "If I only get two questions, you're gonna have to do better than that. I deserve more, especially after everything you put me through tonight."

If Rick was annoyed, it was hard to tell. "Becoming the new leader of Alexandria brings certain risks with it, certain enemies." Rick flicked his tongue along his left canine, sharp and glistening in the moonlight. "Phillip and I have a long history, and he's been using the people I care about against me since the beginning. I've managed to keep my connection to you under the radar, until recently. And now, he plans to get to me through you."

Michonne's brief encounter with Phillip had been unpleasant, at the least, and creepy, at the most. The saccharin gentility failed to counter the look in his eyes that verged on maniacal and made her skin crawl. His energy was…off. She was grateful Rick stood between her and that monster, though the idea of having to rely on him for her safety just pissed her off. "I've managed to live my life without depending on others for this long. I don't need your protection."

Rick dismissed her half-hearted proclamation. "To assume you know anything about the rules of my world - and how to survive in it - will only get you killed. For once in your life, let someone help you."

Michonne was suddenly floored by his words. She braced herself in the doorway, reeling from the wave of anxiety that surged through her body. She felt like she might suddenly lose her balance; like she might fall and never be able to get up again. Mike had said something eerily similar, only a few weeks prior.

She'd been struggling through an especially vicious bout of depression, brought on by having to live through yet another one of Andre's birthdays. The 20th birthday without him there - he would have been 25, her younger brother a full-fledged adult - had left her lower than she thought she could go ever go.

"Let me help you," Mike had pleaded, after he'd found her unconscious on the bathroom floor of their hotel room.

Later, in the hospital, she could barely look at him, exhausted from having her stomach pumped and furious at having to depend on someone to save her. "I don't need your help," she'd said, her voice ragged. "I don't need you."

Michonne now suspected that was the precise wound that had ruptured his already bleeding heart. If she'd just let him love her, had even just let him help her, would he be alive today?

"Let me in," Rick whispered, suddenly standing directly in front of her, with barely a foot of space between them.

Michonne nearly faltered, shaken by an overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms, to let him comfort her. "No," she said, aimed more at herself than at him. "I still have one question left."

He remained where he was, though he didn't touch her.

"Why should I trust you?" Her heart raced at the slim possibility that she could actually put her trust in him again, like she had all those years ago. She'd trusted Rick back then and he'd let her down. Chances were good he'd do it again.

The silence stretched between them as Rick looked away, into the pitch black distance. It may have been her wishful thinking, but Michonne thought she caught a twinge of regret in the curve of his brow. He turned back to her and said, "When it comes down to it, you shouldn't trust me. You shouldn't trust any vampire, let alone one who constantly puts you in harm's way."

Michonne gripped her biceps, slowly rubbing her hands up and down her arms. It was the only way to keep the cold away, which seemed heightened by the dark surroundings. She remained silent, not sure what would escape from her mouth if she ventured to speak. She was feeling so many things at once, like her emotions were tumbling in a dryer, entangled by a static, invisible force.

"Tell me something…you've never told anyone else," Michonne said. If he wanted her to trust him, he would have to do the same. She expected him not to answer, but was determined to ask all the same.

Rick remained still in that way that only vampires could, his piercing blue eyes filled with frustration. He finally replied, his shoulders slumped slightly, "My son blames me for his mother's death. And he's right to. My wife died because of me."

This shocking revelation only sparked more questions. How did she die? And how was Rick involved in her death? Did he…? No, no way.

Rick looked defeated and it shook her to her core.

She turned to step into the RV. "Come in," she said, not looking back as Rick followed her inside.

The Governor always kept Carl waiting. Maybe it was his way of reinforcing the unspoken rule in Woodbury: his way was the only way.

Carl had been with the Governor since the humble beginnings of Woodbury, when it was little more than a ghost town, abandoned by a community of miners when the nickel dried up. They had built the town up, from chopping down trees for lumber to installing running water in all of the buildings.

Waiting in the Governor's private apartment - his personal space - was like being left alone in the principal's office while awaiting punishment; tempted to peek at the papers on his desk, but fearing you would get caught the second you did. Carl had attended high school countless times and seen his share of principal's offices. He'd taken great pleasure in indulging in the rebellious teenager phase he'd been robbed of.

The air in the apartment was stale and lifeless. Rumor had it that the Governor never slept, supposedly a result of him being half-human, half-vampire. Judging from the massive floor-to-ceiling bookcases tightly packed with books along the four walls, Carl imagined only someone who never slept would have the time to read all those books.

He was reminded of the stack of comic books collecting dust on the nightstand in his own bedroom. He missed the excitement that came with thumbing through the pages one-by-one, taking the time to absorb the words and colors that drew him into worlds he would never experience. He cherished the time he spent reading in his plush coffin, the only time he really had to himself, free from the demands of the Governor until the sun went down.

Carl recounted the night's events as he waited, wanting to be completely sure that he hadn't actually done something deserving of punishment. The Governor had a low tolerance for disobedience, regardless of intent; it was why Deanna had appointed him Head of Security for the whole of Alexandria. Engaging with Michonne and planting a tracker on her, had been his only objective for the night, per the Governor's orders. Carl had been given little to go on, only a few notes and photos Rowan had taken while conducting surveillance on Michonne over the course of a few days.

There had been one photo of Michonne, hanging out with her band members, eating a Big Kat. The intel had given him an idea that would allow him to kill two birds with one stone - by hiding a tracker in her favorite treat, one he bet she wouldn't say no to. His plan had gone off without a hitch, though the last thing he'd expected was to actually enjoy Michonne's company.

He'd been amused by how she talked while chewing, seemingly oblivious to the vampire eyes watching her with a curiosity that bordered on offensive. The conversation flowed easily between the two of them, until she'd discovered he was a blood-sucking vampire, of course. He could taste her fear then and it was unlike anything he'd ever sensed before - an uneasiness that he never wanted to experience again.

But after he'd seen - and felt - what she could do with that voice, he was the one who should be cautious. There was no telling what else she had in store for the clan. Or, more importantly, for him.

Carl quickly checked the tracking app on his smartphone. Michonne was deep in the Canopy Forest, miles from civilization, with Rick likely by her side. He bristled at the thought, his deep-seated anger brimming to the surface. How could someone like Michonne align herself with Rick?

The heavy footsteps and tugging sensation at the base of his neck alerted Carl to the Governor's approach. And he was alone, putting Carl even more on edge. His boss entered the apartment, still dressed in his suit from the ceremony. Carl had changed into dark blue jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt, his wardrobe of choice while living in the PNW. He switched to a black eyepatch rimmed with red to match the black-and-red checkered pattern of his shirt.

"What a night," the Governor began, placing a tumbler in front of Carl and pouring him a shot of whiskey. "Time for a drink."

"Thanks," Carl grumbled. He hated whiskey, but if the Governor wanted him to drink, he would drink. His vampire metabolism would cancel out any effects from the alcohol, but for some reason the Governor still liked drinking the stuff. It was the only thing that hinted at his humanity.

Carl had met the Governor like this only once before - the night Deanna had appointed Rick as the Chief Ambassador of Alexandria, twenty years prior.

"Rick sure knows how to ruin a good party," the Governor joked, sitting at the opposite end of the solid oak kitchen table. The style was reminiscent of an earlier time - maybe even early 20th century, based on Carl's limited knowledge of antique furniture.

"This time he had help," Carl said, doing his best to resist gagging as he downed the whiskey that burned for less than a millisecond.

"At least it worked in our favor. Deanna wants me to bring him in."

"Alive?" Carl asked.

"That's up to you." The Governor eyed him before throwing back the rest of his whiskey and pouring himself another shot. He refilled Carl's tumbler in turn. "Though we both know what has to be done, considering that spectacle tonight."

Rick showing up to his own swearing-in ceremony with a human on his arm had caused a silent uproar. Carl had felt it, so certainly Rick had. And then said human temporarily disabled a room of powerful vampires with a beautifully lethal voice that still made him shiver.

The Governor had been there for Carl when he had nobody - no family, no friends…nothing. Though he wouldn't describe their relationship as close, the half-vampire had taught him everything he knew, skills that had served him well as a security officer. Carl's record for most rogue vampire kills was surpassed only by the Governor's, which they'd stopped counting once it exceeded five hundred.

Carl remained very still as a swell of emotion raged inside of him. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, the whole of his vampire life. And yet…

"You haven't forgotten…what he did to your mother," the Governor gently reminded him.

The distant memory drifted closer, fragmented but still there. His mother's blood on his hands as he cradled her lifeless body in his trembling arms. While the memory itself was vague, the pain remained as fresh as a sudden paper cut.

And the reminder of who was responsible for it all, his face clear in his mind's eye, almost like he was staring into a mirror.

"I'll take care of it," Carl said, placing his untouched whiskey on the table.

"Not without this," the Governor said, passing him a small box that was slightly thinner than a shoebox and composed of smooth but aged wood that looked to have survived several centuries. "Strike deep and precisely, then he won't stand a chance."

Carl slightly hesitated before accepting the box, knowing what it held without having to open it. He gripped the box in his hands, its contents already weighing him down. He'd reconcile the Governor's orders with his own objectives when the time came. The intersection of the two would be seamless. Carl would handle the particulars and the Governor would deal with the fallout in whichever way benefited him the most.

And Rick would finally pay. For everything.

Michonne placed a seafoam green mug in front of Rick, curious to see if he would - or even could - drink the tea. Even with all that had transpired that night, the steamy aroma of chamomile and lavender took the edge off of her overworked nerves.

Michonne slid onto the booth bench across from Rick. She wrapped her ice cold hands around her own cup, her fingers tingling back to life.

"I came from a humble family of farmers," Rick began, not touching the mug. "I wanted no part in the war when it came. But I chose to fight on the side I'd always known was right. And the look in my boy's eyes, when I announced I'd be fighting for the Union, was all the reassurance I needed." Rick nodded slightly at the fragile memory. "My wife, Lori, on the other hand...Dixie ran deep through her veins. We were married only on paper by the time I left to fight."

Dixie? Union? Was Rick talking about the war she thought he was talking about?

Michonne could hardly contain her shock at finding out Rick was, at least, over 150 years old. She'd guessed he was probably old, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine him being from the 19th century.

"Fighting came natural to me and I quickly rose the ranks to sergeant. But that wasn't enough to avoid getting mortally wounded on the battlefield. That's when Deanna came to me. She offered me immortality in exchange for joining her clan and I was willing to do anything to return home to my family, to my son. I later learned that being a vampire made that impossible."

Michonne wondered at the bitterness in his voice. "You lost your family."

"Staying away was the only way to keep them safe. I could only watch over them from a distance, as my son grew into a teenager and my wife remarried. Unfortunately, I'd made enemies as I gained more power within the clan."

"Phillip."

"Yes. The Governor, as he's known in the clan. He's only half-vampire, but his followers would gladly give their lives for him."

"Half-vampire and half what? Demon?" It was hard to think he could be anything but pure evil.

"It's rare, but sometimes a human doesn't turn all the way. And it's given him certain advantages over other vampires. When I became Deanna's confidante, I became his biggest threat. So, he decided to hit me where I was the most vulnerable."

"He went after your family," Michonne said, immediately wanting to reach out and comfort Rick, but deciding to hold back.

"The only one he left alive was Carl. And that was so he could make me watch…" Rick paused for some time before continuing. "So that I could watch him turn."

Michonne now knew what kind of monster she was dealing with - the kind that would turn a child into a vampire. "I'm so sorry, Rick."

"It was all just a power play, to ensure I couldn't retaliate. My son's life was merely his insurance. If the Governor dies, my son dies with him."

Michonne gasped in complete disbelief. Even she wanted the Governor to die the most painful death imaginable. She couldn't imagine what Rick was feeling. "But why does Carl blame you for his mother's death?"

"Because that's what the Governor made him believe."

"Rick, I-"

"Don't move!" Rick suddenly yelled, before darting from the RV in the blink of an eye and slamming the door behind him.

Before she could react, she heard something large and heavy bang against the side of the RV, the vehicle shaking violently in response. She tried to follow Rick but found the door completely immovable.

"Rick!" she yelled. "What's happening?"

On the other side of the door, she could hear yelling and what sounded like a scuffle. She could only catch a few words.

"Don't do this," she heard Rick say.

And then more scuffling and what sounded like a tree crashing to the ground.

Michonne kicked into fight mode, refusing to stay inside and twiddle her thumbs like a damsel in distress. Summoning the strength she'd always sensed, lurking just below the surface of consciousness, Michonne placed her palms flat on the door and slammed her eyes shut.

"Focus," she breathed in and out, slowly through her nose. Mastering her breathing in both calm and stressful times, had been the most useful thing she'd picked up in therapy.

The door creaked as she put more weight - more power - into it. She imagined pushing through the obstacle with the strength she'd summoned earlier, when that vampire had its fangs buried in her neck.

"I won't fight you, Carl." Rick's voice was muffled by the barrier between them.

"Then you'll die." Michonne could just barely hear Carl's vicious response.

Whatever animosity he held against his father, she knew if Carl got his wish, he would regret it for the rest of his life. No conscious being could live with the blood of their father on their hands, even if they were the undead. Michonne was determined to stop the boy - she would never think of him as anything but a boy, whatever his age - from committing a crime he could never come back from.

A loud crash followed by "No!" propelled her forward, Michonne straining and yelling as the door bent outward from the growing force, the hinges buckling and breaking. Her sheer determination sent the door, and the massive boulder that had been blocking it, flying into the night as she finally broke her way through.

An evergreen tree that looked to be at least a few decades old was splintered in half. What was once the top of the tree now leaning forward to form an uneven triangle with the ground and the part of the trunk that remained standing. As phenomenal of a sight as that was, her eyes could only focus on the two figures about ten yards away from her.

Carl knelt over Rick, pinning to him to the ground with a force that was beyond his own strength, one that Rick was having trouble fighting by the look of the trembling arms pushing up against his attacker.

The sharp tip of the ash white stake in Carl's hands just barely pierced Rick's chest. The pained look on Carl's face, however, belied his actions, which were definitely being controlled by the Governor.

The control she would now rip in half.

Unafraid and familiar with her power, she shouted with purpose and confidence, daring Carl to disobey her. "Drop it! Now!"

Carl's eyes widened as the stake slipped from his fingers.

"Get off of him," she said, no longer feeling the need to shout.

Carl tried to stand, but strained against an invisible force that kept him on his knees. He tried to fight it, but was clearly losing.

"Obey," she said calmly, walking toward him. "Come to me."

Carl looked her way, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I can't."

When Michonne reached him, she placed both hands gently on his head. "You belong to me now." And with those words, she felt the last tendrils of the Governor's control violently snap and recoil. Michonne pulled a shaky Carl onto his feet and into her arms.

"What have I done?" he whispered, his shoulders shaking.

"You didn't do anything. That was all the Governor. Don't you ever think otherwise." She looked over his shoulder at Rick, who lay staring into the night sky, not moving a muscle. She gently pulled away from Carl, noticing his eyes were so much like Rick's.

"He needs blood!" Carl said frantically, sounding like the 16-year-old boy he was on the outside. "The stake was poisoned."

Michonne crouched over Rick, watching as the blue of his eyes became paler, milky even. The man she'd idolized as a teenager, lay broken and fragile on the rich earth. Rick looked almost at peace, as she watched the last signs of life slowly draining from his face. This was the fate she'd wished on this man - this vampire - she'd first loved and then thought she hated.

His death was in her hands.

Carl knelt beside her. "Please, Michonne!" he pleaded. "Save him."

They both knew, as strong as he was, Carl could not threaten or force her to do anything. He would do as she told him from now on. She was as certain of this as she was that the sun would rise again. The stirring sensation she felt in the presence of death, was not a curse, but a gift.

The power over death.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Carl sobbed.

Michonne noticed a pinkish hue spreading on Rick's collar, where Carl's cheek came into contact with his white dress shirt. Even a vampire's tears were tainted with blood.

She reached down, placing the most vulnerable, pulsing part of her wrist against Rick's pale lips. Carl lifted his head and watched as Rick instinctively sank his fangs into her wrist. Michonne felt no pain as he took the life she offered him, his lips sucking and his tongue slurping, savoring every drop of her precious blood. She'd been a fool to think she'd felt anything but love for Rick.

The words came to her out of nowhere. "This love ain't for the weak, it's for the wicked."

She watched him feed from her, knowing that he would become hers as well.

"Enough," she told him, as the dizziness approached.

He looked up at her with those eyes, trying to will her to let him continue. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she watched his lips work the delicate skin of her wrist.

"That's enough!" she said, with power behind her words this time.

Rick hissed and jerked away from her wrist, coughing violently. "What did you do to me?" he managed to croak out.

She had no idea what she'd done, but now she at least knew how to do it.

Carl's misplaced laughter surprised her and soon she was laughing with him, lightheaded from both the blood loss and the relief of saving his life. In her laughter, she sought to relieve the pain and fear and darkness of it all.

When she could finally manage to take a breath, she examined her wrist to find the puncture wounds had healed on their own. She looked up to find Carl staring at her as though she'd grown a third eye and Rick with his head cocked to the side and a curious smile on his bloody lips.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Michonne asked, with a drunken smile.

A/N: Thank you for sticking with this chapter until the end! These three are going to spend plenty of time together in the coming chapters and I promise to lighten things up a bit. Hope you're all well and thanks again for all of the follows, reviews and faves. I couldn't have come back to this story if it wasn't for all of your support!