Chapter Two: Reunion

"Give her some room please. Michonne wake up!"

"I'm on the with phone 911. Did she take anything? Any meds? Where did Christie go?"

"I DON'T KNOW! Michonne please—oh my god Gary, she's waking up."

Michonne eyes slowly opened to a woman staring at her. Her head was throbbing, there was a metallic taste in her mouth that she quickly recognized as blood. Michonne felt like she was going vomit any second, she blinked her eyes a couple of times trying to clear the blurriness that was clouding them. Despite the physical pain and uneasiness she felt, her body was tense and ready to fight as she reached to her side to find a weapon.

"Michonne don't move. I think you hit your he—," Michonne ignored the stranger's protest and slapped her hand away, she sat up, as her vision became clearer she noticed she was surrounded by people whose faces she didn't recognize. She stood up and stumbled, her pressing need to vomit was stronger and the pain in her head was throbbing harder. She took a step backwards and her ankle twisted, Michonne reached out to catch her balance on a table that was in front of her. Looking down she saw she was wearing heels, very high heels and instead of being clad in her leather pants, she was wearing a tight navy skirt that came up a little above knee.

"Whoa whoa ma'am you need to sit," Michonne looked over to a dark skin man that spoke, clad in a police uniform, he started to place his hand on her, but she jerked away. Moving away from him and the other surrounding people, Michonne took off her heels and ran towards the courtroom doors. Before she could reach them, another man wearing the same uniform stepped in front of her. Michonne took one of the heels she had in her hand and threw it at him, the man tried to dodge it giving Michonne an opening to shove past him and through the doors.

What? She was in an atrium of the courthouse, there were people all over, most carrying suitcases, talking on their cells, and ignoring the woman wearing no shoes and bleeding from the mouth. What the hell, she thought. Michonne walked through the crowd until she got to the grand staircase. She quickly ran down the stairs, not caring if she was knocking people and their belongings over. Once she was down in the main lobby, she spotted police officers heading her way, Michonne quickly went in the opposite direction towards a sign marked EXIT.

"SOMEBODY STOP HER!" Michonne ran faster, following the EXIT signs that led to a door. Please be open. Michonne slammed open the door and in the middle of a sidewalk, dazed, she cover her eyes from the sunlight. Someone walked into her, making her spin around. "Damn bitch, can you watch it," said the man. Michonne turned around to see the perpetrator on his cell, angrily looking back at her as he kept walking, and continuing his conversation. Michonne took her other shoe, aimed it at the rude stranger's head and threw it with perfect accuracy.

The man nearly fell forward from the impact of the shoe and dropped his phone. "You fucking bitch!" He yelled.

The douchebag regained his balance, walking over to her, Michonne quickly looked him over. His attire, hair, and attitude screamed entitled prick, he was about her height and maybe had a good thirty pounds on her, but Michonne has taken down bigger. She stood her ground until the man tried to take a swing at her. Ducking his punch, Michonne swiftly moved behind him, elbowing him in the back of the neck and kicking him behind his knee. The man fell to one knee, but managed to grab the hem of Michonne's skirt, trying to pull her down with him.

"Hey, you fucker! Get your hands off of her," Michonne felt someone grab her arm, pulling her away from the man. Turning her head to see a young woman who was strikingly beautiful and angry at the moment. In the woman's other hand looked to be a small black canister. "Do you see this? I will drown you in pepper spray if you do not let her go." The man did as he was told, letting Michonne's skirt go.

Michonne let herself be led by the woman, a crowd had formed a circle surrounding them, she walked pass grown men holding their phones out, recording the fight instead of helping. Michonne and the woman backed away from the man who was still struggling to get up, his leg obviously hurt from being kicked.

"I'm calling the police!" The man yelled, "And I'm going to hire the best lawyer and sue you black bitches," the man's leg gave out, making him fall back down.

"You can't afford her," the young woman retorted, pointing at Michonne. She then turned around, took Michonne's hand and they sped walked away from the scene.

The woman didn't let go of Michonne's hand until they reached a parking lot, she handed the attendant a piece of paper, and he grabbed it and ran off. Michonne watched as the woman put the pepper spray back in her purse; the purse was expensive; Louis Vuitton, actually the woman's entire outfit looked expensive. The woman pushed back strands of her curly black hair from out of her face and turned towards Michonne. She looked worried, squinting her eyes, she looked closely at Michonne, then rummaged through her purse again, pulling out tissue. She looked back at Michonne and reached her hand to Michonne's face. Michonne instinctually moved back despite her gut feeling that this woman meant no harm.

"Michonne?" The woman pulled her hand back.

"Where do I know you from?" Michonne felt like her brain was working overtime, trying to catch her up to her surroundings. The last thing she remembered before waking up in a courtroom was fighting a Savior—one of the men from Negan's crew—and then an explosion toss her backwards. Everything she's been through couldn't have happened within less than a minute of her being knocked out. Impossible. Yet, here she was, her feet was starting to ache from standing on concrete and gravel were embedding into her skin. The smell of fresh coffee from the Starbucks next to the parking lot was clashing with the strong odor of onions and relish from a hot dog stand on the same street.

"It's me. Christie." Michonne couldn't recall who this Christie was, "your assistant," she continued. Christie sighed, putting her hand in her jacket pocket, she pulled out a cellphone, and looked through it. Then she held out her phone so that Michonne could see it. Michonne leaned forward a bit to see what Christie was showing—a picture of Michonne and her, they were smiling with drinks in hand. "We took that picture last week, your birthday, remember?"

"No, I don't. I'm sorry." Michonne had been recalling some details, for instance she knew she was in Atlanta, and the woman at the courthouse she first saw was Kerri, a paralegal and Gary was an attorney, but Christie drew a blank.

"We need to get you to a hospital. May I?" Christie held out the tissue again, Michonne nodded, this time letting the younger woman gently apply the tissue to her still bleeding mouth. "You must of bit your lip when you fell." She dabbed the cut, Michonne watched as Christie focused on helping her. She felt guilty for not remembering who Christie was, from first impression, she cared a lot about Michonne. "Here, your car is coming."

Michonne grabbed the tissue from Christie's hand and face towards the sound of a car coming down the parking lot. The attendant from earlier pulled up in a silver 4-door Lexus.

"I think its best, that I drive," Christie said. The attendant got out of the car and handed Christie keys, Michonne got into the passenger side. Getting inside the driver's side, Christie toss a briefcase and her purse in the backseat.

"Take me home," Michonne said quietly, her head was still pounding, but if the world going to shit was just a symptom of her blacking out than Michonne wanted to immediately head back home.

"You need to get checked out though, you hit your head and now you're suffering from memory loss. That's not good."

"I'll be fine, just drive me home," Michonne looked at Christie, placing her hand on top of hers and giving her a reassuring smile. She didn't need a doctor at this moment, no doctor could possibly come up with an answer as to why she felt so strongly that she had been in an entirely different time and place only hours ago. What was more important was getting back to some semblance of a safe place to collect her thoughts and that was home.

Christie sighed, "Okay."

"Thank you."

As they drove through downtown Atlanta, Michonne familiarize herself with the different buildings and landmarks. They drove past the courthouse where Michonne woke up at and the spot she got into that confrontation. Soon, Christie was turning onto Peachtree St. heading into Midtown, Michonne picked at her fingernails, trying to calm her nerves. From the corner of her eye, she could see Christie occasionally looking over at her, biting her lower lip and fidgeting as well. Michonne laid her head against the window and closed her eyes, images of decaying bodies with insatiable appetites came through her head, and she saw herself slicing through their heads with her katana. She walked through dead bodies and heard people screaming, her heart began to pump faster, and fear was on the verge of taking hold of her. A woman walked by carrying what looked to be an infant, "SOMEBODY HELP MY BABY," she screamed out, dropping to the ground. Andre. Michonne began to run, she didn't know where to, but she kept running, past the walkers tearing into human flesh, past the screaming, and then she stopped. In the middle of her path was Negan, a hulking man who had his hand wrapped around someone's throat. Rick.

"We're here," Christie stated. Michonne's head was pounding and the nausea from earlier was back. She got out of the car and was welcomed by the July heat that only made her more uncomfortable, she looked up at the High-Rise building she was standing in front of—it had to have been over 50 stories high. Walking to the front entrance, she overheard behind her Christie telling the bell waiter to hold on.

"Wait," she said calling out to Michonne. Christie stepped in front of Michonne. "What's your apartment number? If you can't tell me, you're turning right around and we're going straight to the hospital."

"1203," Michonne said, flatly. She surprised herself a bit with how quickly she recalled that number. Christie looked surprise as well, she looked to be contemplating what to say next, but decided against it, and instead handed Michonne some keys.

"These are yours. Can you make it up there on your own? I need to go get your files from the courthouse, but I'll be back in less than 20." Michonne only nodded and proceeded to walk through the doors, leaving Christie behind.

…

Michonne did manage to make it up to the 12th floor and to her apartment door. She took a deep breath, she inserted the key and turned the knob. Entering her home she was met with a sweet vanilla scent and air conditioning. Michonne closed the door behind her, and took tentative steps toward the living room. She glanced at the art pieces decorating the beige walls and Michonne could see the Midtown Atlanta skyline through the huge windows before she even got to the living area.

Michonne's living room was spacious and looked comfortable, to her left was her open kitchen and dining room. Michonne walked to the nearest couch and sat down, grateful to be alone with her thoughts, she glanced over the furniture and decorations, nothing has changed, she thought. Not that it was supposed to, since nothing happened. She leaned back and sank into the comforts of her couch, this just doesn't feel right. Michonne stared at the view outside, everything was normal, no sign that Atlanta was previously a war zone. As a matter of fact, it felt eerily similar to the days before the outbreak. Michonne remembered reading an article or two about people getting sick in New York, a cannibal on the loose in Chicago, but none of it had alarmed her because that was over there, not here, she had thought.

An article, Michonne glanced at the coffee table, there was magazines and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution sitting on top of the table. Michonne bent over and grabbed the copy, the date on the paper—Michonne remembered—was about three days before hell broke loose. Michonne examined the front page, nothing. She did the same until she got to the end of the A section, there was nothing. No mention of a sickness in New York City, fuck, come on. Michonne got up, she knew she had an office in one of the rooms, maybe the internet would have answers, stretching she began to walk through the hallway, but a shiny and very familiar weapon caught her eye.

The katana that integrated itself to her for two years was sheathed and sat above her fireplace, Michonne felt drawn to it, she use to think it had a mind of its own, a curse and a blessing, and no matter where she went it'll be there.

Michonne took her eyes off of her weapon and continued her walk towards the rooms, there were four in total, she remember her office was the first room to the left, but before she could open the door, another room captured her attention. It was slightly opened and she could see the crib from where she was standing. Michonne blinked away tears that were invading her eyes, she shakily opened the door to her son's room wider and stepped in. Half of the top wall was painted gray while the bottom half was white wooden paneling, there was the main wall painted in light and dark gray horizontal stripes. In the center right above the crib, in black calligraphy were the words Andre Anthony. Michonne remembered meticulously painting his name on that wall, she was eight months and had finally decided on a name for her unborn child. Andre would be his first, named after her grandfather who died months prior and he would share his father's middle name, Anthony. Also, on the wall was a portrait size photo of a very pregnant Michonne, semi-nude and cradling her belly, and on the other side of Andre's name was of her and Mike, his arms around her full belly, both with big smiles, excited for their boy to join them.

Michonne glanced over the children's bookcase and the matching easel beside it. Andre's small cars were scattered all over the floor and a stuffed giant bear, they affectionately named 'Bubba' was neatly tucked in the corner. Michonne brushed her hand over a cushioned wicker rocking chair, on it was Andre's security blanket, Michonne grasp the blanket and sat down in the chair. Holding the blanket to her nose, she smelled the fresh scent of baby powder. Her tears fell freely down her face as she remembered holding her son whose tiny fingers were clutching that blanket, not breathing.

Andre's room was gone in her mind and there she sat in the middle of a nearly desolate room, the only light illuminating that room came from the fires that were burning outside. Her baby looked to be sleeping, so often she would come into his room and watch him sleep, yet now it looked unnatural. She couldn't see his chest rise and fall, or feel his heart beat, and discoloration was starting to form on his perfect face. Michonne could hear screams, but they were not as clear as the weeping she heard in the corner of the room. Glancing up from her angel, she saw in the corner a figure, Mike, her boyfriend and Andre's father. "I'm so sorry," he said tearfully. "I'm so sorry."

THUMP!

The sound woken Michonne from her nightmare, alert, Michonne carefully got up from the chair. She put her hand on the chair to stop it from creaking and place the blanket back on it. Michonne ease her way to the door and peeked into the hall, she thought the sound came from her room.

THUMP!

The second sound confirmed her suspicions that someone was in there, Michonne tip toed back into the living room, there was an ottoman in front of the fireplace, and she pushed it as quietly as possible over the carpet until it was against the fireplace. Standing on top of it she reached for her katana, her fingers barely touched it, so she stood up on her toes, stretching her hand as far as she could until she was able to wiggle the katana from its display and hold it in her hand. Michonne was about to get down when she nearly lost her balance, grabbing onto the mantle with one hand and clutching the katana in the other, but her near save couldn't prevent a glass-shaped elephant from falling, it broke into pieces as it hit the floor.

Michonne regained her balance and knew whoever was in her room had to have heard the glass break, she quietly ran to the wall that was perpendicular to the hallway entrance. Breathing hard, Michonne unsheathed her katana, there were no dings or scrapes from years of cutting down both the dead and living. It was shiny, sharp, and new. Michonne swivel it in her hands, she only bought it for aesthetic purposes, never actually welding it until she had no choice but to learn how to protect herself and her family with it. If nothing happened and all of this was a dream, why does it feel so natural to hold you, she thought. She heard the mystery person open the bedroom door, she steady her breathing and calmed herself. For half a second she thought she was being silly, but it did not deter her from coming around the corner, katana pointed at the stranger.

"WHAT THE HELL! MICHONNE!" The stranger was Mike, nearly falling down on his ass because of his efforts to avoid the sharp weapon. Eyes wide open, Michonne stood frozen, still holding the katana in front of her. "Baby will stop pointing that sword at me," he pleaded.

"It's a katana," she said quietly. Mike's dark smooth skin was wet and he was clad in only a towel. His arms reached out to her, the last time he had his arms held out like that she had cut them both off. Michonne let her arms fall to the side, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I thought you were an intruder."

"You call the police if you think there's a burglar, not try to take them out yourself." He walked to her and pulled her into a hug. She breathe in his clean scent and felt his muscular build surround her with warmth. "You don't come at them like you're Bruce Lee, that's how people get hurt. Like me." He chuckled, but stopped when Michonne didn't respond to his lecture. He moved away and held on to her face with two hands. "You okay?"

"I'm ok," she moved her face from his grip, walking away from him she grabbed the scabbard from off the floor and sheathed her katana. She then placed the katana on the ottoman.

"You don't seem okay," Michonne's back was to him, she wiped the tears that were starting to come down her face and turn to him.

"Mike, I'm fine. I had to come home from work because I wasn't feeling well, didn't realize you were here," she said. Michonne walked back to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, she reach up and gave him a long, deep kiss.

BOOM!

A door slammed shut, causing them both to jump and break the kiss. Christie appeared with a box full of folders and Michonne's briefcase and also a big brown paper bag that was on top of the briefcase. Mike went to help her, Christie shoved the items in Mike's hand and dramatically fell on the couch.

"Oh my God! I went back to the courthouse and everyone is looking for you. Oh and your shoes are in that box," she said pointing as Mike pulled out Michonne's heels. "Seriously, throwing Loubies?" She shook her head. Mike handed Michonne her shoes, Michonne put them on her feet, they were uncomfortable, but she wasn't wobbling this time around. "I bought you some take out and Judge Meyer called for recess until Wednesday afternoon, he wants to meet with you and Jacobs before trial resumes. Oh and Jacobs is being a little bitch, he claims you passing out was a stunt, pff."

"You passed out?"

Michonne looked over at Mike, he appeared worry. Michonne could only shrug, she didn't know how to explain what happened or how it happened. Right now, she really needed to see her son. "You have my keys?" she asked Christie. Christie went into her jacket pocket and pulled out the keys. Michonne walked over to her and grabbed them.

"You're not driving?" she asked.

"I have to pick up Andre."

"Andre doesn't need to be picked up for another three hours," Mike said, he went to stand in front of her, but Michonne side-stepped him.

"Look, I am okay for the thousandth time. I want to see my son, I'll be back," she turned back around and walked out the door.

…

Michonne had a more difficult time finding her car and then finding her way to June's Sunshine Nursery than she'll ever care to admit. As Michonne walked to the doors, she saw children running around at the playground, she stopped for a moment to find Andre, but to no avail. Opening the door, she was greeted with a smile by a young girl who looked to be in her late teens.

"Hi, Ms. Cassel."

"Hi," Michonne leaned against the receptionist desk, her feet was hurting from the heels. "I need to pick up Andre."

The girl nodded and took out a clipboard with paper, "just sign Andre Anthony out and go to the back." Michonne signed her name, next to Andre's and handed the girl back to the clipboard.

"In the back?"

"Yes, if you remember, he's in the second to last classroom on your right." Michonne nodded and smiled back.

She headed down the hallway, pass the other classrooms, a few were empty and some had children playing around, another had a teacher reading a story to half-asleep toddlers. The closer she walked to Andre's classroom, the further those sounds could be heard, soon the only thing she could hear was the click of her heels on the marble floor and her heartbeat. She reached the room and stood across from it, she couldn't move her feet any further. Instead, her hand went up to her mouth as she suppressed her cries, she was sobbing, hard as she saw her baby boy chasing after another child. He was laughing, he was happy, he was alive. Michonne coughed violently, choking from the saliva that caught in her throat. The coughing alerted her son's attention, he saw Michonne and yelled out, "Mommy!" Michonne got down to her knees and held out her hands, she always dreamed about hearing his voice again, being able to touch him and hold him to her chest. He ran out the classroom door and into her arms. Michonne hugged him tightly, more tears falling, she sat on her hind legs and lifted him up to her lap, he was wiggling in her arms, but she wouldn't let him go.

"Baby, I missed you so much." Michonne rain kisses all over his face, relishing in his warmth, he began protesting her kisses, but Michonne wouldn't let up.

"Dats gross mommy!"

"Are you talking about my kisses, Peanut?" Michonne laughed, she ran her fingers through her son's little fro and kissed his nose. "Come on, let's go." Michonne looked up to see Andre's teacher standing out the door, she looked concern and Michonne knew what was she was going to ask. "I'm good, just really needed to see my son after the day I've had," she said towards the teacher. The woman smiled brightly at Michonne and nodded.

"I completely understand. Here's Andre's book bag."

Michonne briefly let go of Andre so that she could stand up. Once upright, she took his hand and grabbed the bag from the woman.

"Thank you. Say 'bye bye' baby."

"Bye bye," repeated Andre. Michonne picked him up and he continued to say bye to all the classrooms and people that walked by, his little voice echoing down the hall.

By the time Michonne made it back to the apartment, Andre was asleep in her arms. Right before she could put the key in, Mike opened the door. He appeared upset and before he could say anything, Michonne put her finger to her lip, signaling him to be quiet.

"Meesh, I was about to go out there and look for you," he whispered.

Michonne walked past him and took a moment to take off her heels, her feet ache and her headache came back for the third time. Michonne can feel Mike walking behind her as she went to Andre's bedroom. Michonne gently placed the little guy in his crib, she sighed. For the first time today, she felt everything was okay. What happened was a dream, a very, bad dream, she thought.

Michonne turned to see Mike leaning on the door. She took notice that he was wearing clothes now, and that he still seemed upset. Michonne looked behind her one more time, glancing upon Andre's sleeping form and turned the light out.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, Michonne took off her blazer, tossed it on the couch and walked to the kitchen. Her headache was increasing, she leaned on the counter and rubbed her forehead.

"You need some of this?" Mike placed a bottle of Advil on the counter beside her, Michonne mouthed thank you and opened it up. She took out four pills and popped them in her mouth, swallowing them dry. She turned and gleamed over kitchen until her eyes stopped at the wine rack.

"Can you find the corkscrew?" Michonne asked Mike, as she grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir. Mike rummaged through one of the kitchen drawers while Michonne looked through the cabinets for the wine glasses. Finding what she needed, she set down a glass.

"Only one?" Mike asked, holding out the corkscrew. Michonne smiled shyly and grabbed another glass, Mike took the bottle and popped it open with the corkscrew and began pouring a little into each glass.

"More," Michonne said, she looked into Mike's eyes, smiled and gave him a reassuring rub on his arm, he poured a bit more into Michonne's glass. Michonne grabbed her glass of wine and started to sip from it and gagged, this isn't right. Michonne was a wine girl, she liken herself to be an amateur wine connoisseur, so why did it seem like she hadn't tasted it in ages.

"Let's do a toast," Mike said. "Today happened and now it's over. Tomorrow is a new day. So a toast to us for making it another day." Mike lifted up his glass and Michonne followed suit.

"To us," she whispered and swallow the rest of the wine in one big gulp. Michonne looked out the window, it was starting to look peaceful out there. "I need some fresh air, can you give me a minute?" she asked him.

Mike nodded, Michonne poured herself another glass and walked over to the balcony area, opening the sliding doors, the Atlanta temperature was starting to cool down as evening approached. Michonne sat in one of the chairs and looked over the scenery. Everything, I've been through wasn't real. Losing Mike, Andre, it didn't even happen. Michonne took another sip of her wine and felt herself tearing up. Rick. Oh god, Rick. Memories of that handsome, often broken man sprang to her mind. She remembered when they met, the tension, the distrust, she remembered Carl, Rick's son who became her friend and eventual stepson. Michonne shook her head as she watched the sun slowly descend, it wasn't real. The one man who had brought happiness to her life after so much pain, the man that she loved; he wasn't real.

Rick Grimes was not real.