Rick's heart was still pounding as he limped down the hallway leading to the living room. Carl followed close behind him, and Rick could almost feel the disdain Carl had for his father's decision.

"You're just gonna leave her in there?" Carl asked.

"Carl, please," Rick said, reaching the living room. He set to searching the drawers of the end-tables for anything useful.

"She pointed a sword at your neck. She was gonna kill you!" he yelled.

"She didn't. We scared her, you'd do the same."

"So, you're gonna just let her stay here with us?"

"She was here first. For all we know this is her house."

"You're gonna go to sleep with a random naked woman in here with us?"

"No. We're gonna take turns sleeping. Or maybe she'll just leave."

Carl huffed loudly.

"Go check the kitchen. See if there's any food in there," Rick said, his irritation showing through the shortness in his voice.

Carl rolled his eyes at his father and loudly stomped off to the kitchen to do as he said.

While Carl was gone, Rick took a moment to look at himself in a hallway mirror and assess his injuries. It'd been a day since the Governor had attacked the prison and they'd lost everything they'd worked toward building for the past year. It'd been a day since he'd lost his daughter. Since Carl lost his sister. They'd lost everything that meant anything to them, and Carl was angry.

Rick knew that anger was directed at him, and with good reason. Rick should've known the Governor was bad news. He should've known that the man would try to destroy them. Rick wanted him to just go away. He was so busy trying to keep Carl a child, he didn't do what he should've done as a father. He should've protected his family, and he failed.

The bruises on his body was a testament to his failure. Rick pulled at the buttons on his tattered shirt, ripping the front open to expose his chest. He slipped one arm out and then the other, every movement drawing groans of pain from his throat, and raspy breathing. He was fairly sure he had a bruised lung, and more possibly a broken rib. When he saw the large black and blue bruise that splashed across his chest and abdomen, his suspicions were confirmed. He looked up at his face and was appalled by the scratches across his nose, cheeks and eye. One of his eyes was blackened and swollen to halfway closed.

He figured his appearance must have shocked that woman too. Maybe that was why she'd been so quiet. Why she just stared at him with those large brown eyes. When Carl kicked the door in and he'd surged into the room, her eyes were all he could see. It caught him off guard. Before he knew it he had a sword at his throat, and breasts in his face, and more naked woman than he'd seen in a long time.

He hadn't been prepared for it. Carl was right to be outraged. If that woman had wanted to cut his head off, he'd certainly be dead. But she'd looked at him almost the same way he'd looked at her. As if she'd never seen anyone like him.

***can08writer***

Michonne crept from the bathroom, now fully dressed, with her sword at the ready. She moved down the hallway on silent feet, primed for a surprise attack. When she reached the end of the hallway she stopped in her tracks.

The man was standing in front of a mirror, gingerly checking himself out. He was shirtless and had a large purple bruise over his ribs, and he was covered in scratches and abrasions. His leg wound, which he was now examining, dripped blood onto the floor because he'd removed the dirty rag that was tied around it.

She came up behind the man who didn't notice her presence. He continued to examine himself until he noticed her staring back at him through the mirror and he startled.

"Shit," he said under his breath before spinning around and spotting her sword pointing at him again. She noticed his right hand rest lightly on his weapon.

"You always that quiet?" he asked.

Michonne's eyes trailed down to the drips of blood that were staining the floor.

"I'll clean that up," he said hoarsely, groaning as he straightened up his body. "We won't be any trouble for you. We'll find our own food. We just… we just need a place to stay for the night. We'll stay in the living room, I promise."

"Your leg needs stitches," Michonne declared softly.

Rick looked down at his wound. "Yea, probably," he wheezed.

"You have broken ribs," Michonne stated.

His eyes narrowed. "You a doctor?"

She ignored his question.

"Sit," she commanded. She motioned to a chair with her sword.

He hesitated for a moment. "I don't need your help. I just… I…," he wheezed and then let out a series of coughs that had him clutching his side in pain.

"Sit down before you fall down," she commanded, her eyes narrowing in a way that told him if he resisted she'd simply push him into the chair.

He gripped the back of the chair and then painfully lowered himself into it, groaning from both his ribs and his leg wound. Michonne took a survey of his many wounds and then made a decision. She slid her katana into the sheath on her back.

"Take off your pants," she commanded.

"What?" Rick asked, caught off guard.

"Whatever that wound is, you need to close it or you'll get a bad infection. If one hasn't set in already."

"You know how to do that?" he asked.

"Look, do you want help or not?" Michonne asked. This conversation was the most she'd spoken to an actual person in months, and his distrust was annoying her.

Without any further argument Rick unbuckled his torn jeans and painfully pulled them down past the gunshot wound in his thigh. Every movement sent radiating pain up his side and was emphasized by loud wheezes. He was in bad shape and he knew it.

Michonne opened a closet and pulled out a knapsack full of scavenged medical supplies. She opened a bottle of Tylenol and held out two to Rick. He was going to refuse but he saw the look on her face.

"Believe me, you're gonna need it," she declared.

Rick nodded and popped the pills into his mouth, using his saliva to swallow it all down.

Carl entered the room and Michonne instinctively reached for her katana. She had almost forgotten there was another person in the house.

Carl looked from Michonne who was standing over his father, to his father who was sitting in a chair in only his boxers. He glanced back at Michonne again and then his eyes immediately dropped to the floor.

"There was no food in the kitchen," he told his father.

"I have a can of Spaghetti-O's in the bag hidden under the couch. There's a can opener in the bag's front pouch," she said, while searching through the medical bag.

"No," Rick interrupted. "I told you we'd find our own food. Keep it."

"And how do you plan on finding your own food? The sun has all but set and you can't walk."

"I'll go get some…" Carl began.

"No." Rick and Michonne said simultaneously, and Carl stared at the both of them for their synchronized reaction.

Rick also looked up at Michonne in surprise.

"No one should be out in the dark," she explained, "and I need you to help me with your dad."

"Help you do what?" Carl asked, his eyes looking anywhere but at her.

"We need to wrap his ribs, and stitch that wound on his leg."

"It's okay, you don't have to…" Rick began.

"Fine," Carl said.

Michonne pulled a pack of gauze from the bag she was searching.

"Hold this to his chest," she commanded.

Carl pressed the end of the gauze to his father's chest. Michonne held the other end, and she proceeded to wrap the gauze around Rick's ribs, leaning over him to reach his front and back.

Rick was hyper aware of how close this woman was to him. She was wearing a tank top and leaning into him with the beginning of her breasts visible over the top of her shirt. He couldn't stop picturing how she'd looked naked. He couldn't stop noticing how good she smelled from her bath.

It was totally inappropriate. He didn't know her, he'd barged into her house and caught her naked in the bathroom, she was using her supplies to treat his wounds, and he was currently bleeding on her floor. Plus, his entire family had most likely been murdered, and his home had burned down to the ground. He had no future plan for himself or his son. Guilt forced him to push down his lustful feelings. He decided conversation was an appropriate distraction.

"Thank you for this," Rick wheezed, his swollen face slurring his words somewhat.

"Shhh" the woman hissed, continuing to wrap his ribs.

Carl let go of the bandage once Michonne wrapped Rick's chest enough that it held in place on its own. She used the entire roll of gauze, and then placed a piece of tape on top to hold everything in place.

"Thank…" Rick began again, but Michonne cut him off.

"Put your foot on my thigh," she commanded Rick as she pulled up a chair to face the chair he was sitting on. "Kid, bring a candle and matches from over there," she directed the boy.

"My name is Carl," he huffed, but he left to do as she said.

Rick lifted his leg as instructed and rested it on Michonne's thigh as she examined the wound.

"That's a gunshot wound," she stated.

"Yea," Rick confirmed.

"I don't see an exit wound."

Rick sighed. He knew what that meant.

"You have to find the bullet," he stated calmly.

"It's gonna…"

"I know," Rick cut her off, "I've been shot before. I just need something to bite down on."

Carl returned with a candle and matches. Michonne lit the candle, pulled a sewing needle and gloves out of her first aid bag, and rested the needle in the middle of the flame.

"Carl, find something wooden in the kitchen that your dad can bite down on," Michonne commanded once again.

Without a word, Carl turned and left again.

Rick chuckled. "If I told him to do that he'd argue with me." He said it more to himself than to her.

Michonne ignored him and began to feel around the wound, looking for the bullet. Rick let out a small groan of pain. She stopped when she felt something hard a few centimeters away from the wound.

"I think this is it," she said. She gave another exploratory squeeze to check out the firmness of the lump, and Rick released a sharp yelp.

She looked up at with a sympathetic grimace. "Sorry."

"No, its fine," he said sarcastically. "Squeeze away."

Her lip turned upwards in a gesture so small Rick wasn't sure if he'd actually seen it, but her head was soon down again, continuing to check out the wound.

"I think I have to stitch the entry wound, cut open the part where the bullet is and take it out, and then stitch that wound too."

She pulled a smaller knife out of her bag and wiped it on a rag. She then moved the needle off the fire and let the knife rest there instead.

"Have you ever done something like this before?" Rick asked.

"I dissected a cat in college once," she replied with a shrug.

Rick chuckled. "That doesn't fill me with confidence, but I guess I don't have a choice in the matter."

Carl re-entered the room with a wooden spoon he'd found.

"Is this good?" he asked Michonne softly.

"It'll have to do," she replied. She flipped the knife over so the opposite side had contact with the candle's flame, and Carl passed the spoon to Rick.

"I'll stitch the gunshot first," she said, peering at Rick. She then looked up at Carl. "I need you to hold his leg still. It's hard to stay still when someone's stitching you up."

Carl nodded, his eyes finally making contact with hers. "Got it."

Carl leaned over and grabbed his father's leg, making him wince. Michonne reached into her first aid bag and pulled out a roll of thread, which she quickly ran through the flames a few times to sterilize.

"You ready?" she asked Rick.

"Wait. Before you do surgery on me I should at least know your name."

She hesitated for a moment. "Michonne."

"Michonne," he repeated with a nod. "I'm Rick."

He placed the handle of the spoon between his teeth and took a deep breath. He nodded again.

Michonne put on the gloves, leaned in close to Rick's leg to get a better view, and carefully pushed the needle through the skin in his leg. Although Rick knew what she was going to do, his body reacted violently, and he nearly kicked her. Carl grabbed his leg tight and held it still as Michonne pulled the string through the skin.

Rick let out a groan, but willed himself not to move. Once Michonne got the string through both sides of the wound, she continued downwards, stitching the sides together and pulling them closed like a drawstring. After his initial jump, she was impressed with how still he remained after that, just letting out an occasional grunt if she hit a particularly painful spot.

It took her ten minutes to stitch the gunshot wound closed. When she finally looked up, Rick's eyes were closed and he was clenching the spoon between his teeth. His whole body was tense, as if waiting for more pain.

"I finished step one," Michonne said to him.

Slowly he opened his eyes and took shallow breaths. He looked down at the formerly open wound which was now a bright red, inflamed, line of flesh that was held closed by string.

"How are you, Carl?" Rick asked, looking up at his son.

"Me? I'm… I'm fine," Carl said, surprised that his father was worrying about him at the moment.

"I can get the bullet out now or… or should I give you a break?" Michonne asked.

"No. No, do it now. I need to get it over with," Rick said. "Do it please."

Michonne nodded and then looked at Carl. "Carl, are you ready?" she asked.

"Yea, got it," Carl responded, grabbing on to Rick's leg again.

"Okay, I'm not sure how far down it is. I may have to… dig a little. I think this might hurt more."

Rick nodded and stuffed the spoon back into his mouth. Carl held his leg steady.

"Okay, here goes," Michonne said and she stabbed the knife into Rick's leg. He let out a muffled shriek, and his raspy breathing got even worse. When the first incision didn't reveal the bullet, she plunged deeper into his leg muscle, and Rick's screams got louder. She could tell he was trying not to move, but his muscles were shaking from the pain.

Suddenly, her knife bumped something hard. "I think I feel it," she announced. "I have to reach in and grab it."

"Hhhrrughhhh" Rick groaned.

Michonne stuck a gloved finger into the wound and felt around for the bullet. Rick twisted in his chair and nearly fell off, but Carl used all of his weight to hold Rick in place.

"There, there it is," Michonne said. She bent her finger underneath the bullet to scoop it out, and Rick let out a shrill yell. The spoon fell out of his mouth, the room began to spin, and then went black.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, they really encourage me to write. Please keep em coming!