Chapter Twelve: 1013

"Get her on the table over there!"

Michonne turned her head to the voice, but she could barely hear the woman's words. All the sounds around her were dull except for the ringing in her ears. Cold crept over her body, she felt static sensation through her fingers and toes.

"Stop! You're in my way."

She wanted to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. Her lips stuck to each other like Velcro. The ringing. Michonne wanted to sleep, but the ringing.

"Michonne, hun, open your eyes for me? Michonne?"

Michonne heard her, but she couldn't or wouldn't. She was tired and just wanted to sleep, but the ringing. She moved her head forward, trying to sit up. The pain, searing hot stings in her head as if there was a knife scratching at her brain. It ripped her lips apart as she screamed.

"Michonne! Lay back down, don't move. Glenn! Help me!" Michonne couldn't feel the hands that touched her, now she felt even colder as if she was being baptized in ice water. But not even the cold could take away the pain; at least the ringing was gone. Now, she can sleep.

Tuesday Morning

"Dad, please? She's your best lawyer and a friend… Are you kidding me! Daddy… I'll… I'll call you later, Michonne's waking up…"

Michonne opened her eyes to a blurry and distorted room. She sighed, waking up in strange places was becoming tiresome. With her vision clearing up, she viewed the plain white walls and various hospital equipment surrounding her bed.

Christie came into Michonne's focus, putting her cell in the back pocket of her figure hugging jeans. Her heels clicked on the tiling when she walked over. Michonne inhaled the light floral scent of Christie's perfume as the other woman leaned over her.

"You're awake," she said, stroking Michonne's locs away from her face.

Michonne wanted to cry, but holding it together seemed like her best bet. Using her arms strength to sit up, pain from her injured hand shot through her arm, she winced sucking in air and leaned back onto the pillows.

"Christie, water, please?"

Christie nodded and left her view. What the hell have I gotten myself into now? Her hand throbbed and was wrapped in new bandages. In her other hand was an IV line, she slid her finger over it.

"Here," Christie said, she held a straw to Michonne's lips. Michonne sipped the cool water until the cup was empty. The water cleared her senses and hydrated her throat, she coughed a few times and licked her dry, cracked lips.

"I want to see my son," Michonne said. She blinked rapidly, preventing tears from falling to her cheeks. Andre was her source of happiness and she needed to have him in her arms.

"Mike was here earlier, but he left. I'll text him." Christie reached for her phone and began texting away.

"I need to get out of here too… the trial—"

"Postpone," Christie interrupted.

Michonne jerked her head towards Christie, the frown on her face slowly relaxed, realizing she shouldn't be surprised by this news. Closing her eyes, she took slow deep breaths, trying not to think about how being here was another setback to her career.

"It'll be okay. Dad will probably sternly advise you to hand the case to Zack or Miranda." She dragged a chair over to Michonne and sat down. Christie sighed and look at her phone, "Mike hasn't responded."

Michonne's cheeks burned, shaking her head she needed a plan.

"This has to stop." She muttered to herself, pulling off the bandage that held the IV needle in place.

"What does?"

"Just… everything," she said, tossing the Band-Aid on her food tray. "What is that?" She asked, pointing to the tray.

"Your delicious…" Christie lifted up the food cover, "breakfast of dry toast, cold scrambled eggs, and…" she lifted up a piece of bacon and took a bite, "soggy turkey bacon."

Michonne didn't think she had it in her to laugh that day, but a small chuckle emitted from her mouth. "I've eaten worst."

"Here then." Christie handed Michonne the slice of bacon in which she took a bite from it. Quietly chewing on the piece Michonne still contemplated her next move.

"I need to get out of here," Michonne repeated. She slowly removed the IV needle from her hand, gritting her teeth from the stinging pain.

"Jesus, Michonne, you have to do that in front of me?" Christie whined handing her tissue. Michonne wiped the droplets of blood and planted her feet down on the cold floor.

Using her uninjured hand, she tried to stand up, but her knees buckled forcing her to sit back down. Without being asked, Christie left her seat and held Michonne's arm.

"I got you," she said. Michonne stood up again, leaning most of her body weight onto the other woman.

"Thank you." Michonne shook each leg trying to get solid feeling back in them as they walked to the bathroom. "Imma use the bathroom, put some clothes on, and then discharge myself."

Christie's eyes widen and Michonne caught her look from the corner of her eye, but the younger woman didn't say anything. "Christie?" Michonne stopped making Christie stop with her.

"You can't discharge yourself," she said quietly, averting her eyes. Michonne tried to move away, but her legs would not cooperate. Christie tightened her grip on Michonne, "You're under a 48hr hold… for a psych evaluation." Christie frowned, "I'm sorry."

Michonne bit her lip and wiggle herself from Christie's grasp, grabbing the bathroom door to keep her balance. "Who admitted me?"

"I don't know, they just told me a social worker saw you last night and made the call. They barely even let me in here, I had to tell them I was your lawyer."

"Give me a minute," Michonne walked slowly through the door. "Get Mike on the phone so I can talk to him," she demanded before closing the door.

Jesus. Michonne held onto the sink trying to grasp the gravity of the situation she was in. Taking more deep breaths she stood straight up and examined herself in the mirror. I look like hell. Whoever cleaned her face did not do a thorough job; she still had clumps of mascara coating her lashes, her foundation still on her face making her look ashen and her chapped lips were stained red from her lipstick. I look crazy. I am crazy.

She felt as if she prophesized this happening eventually. How was she able to act as if nothing happen when each day she was getting hit with proof that something happened to her? Not only that, but the visions and dreams weren't ceasing. Turning on the faucet until the water was mostly hot, she splashed her face again and again. No face products but Michonne didn't mind the soap that was available. She lathered her hands and cleaned her face.

Drying her face, she looked around the sink. No toothbrush or paste. Michonne was already frustrated, but the lack of those items was triggering irrational anger in her; she just wanted to go home. And each day, home became Alexandria and all of its issues and problems. Michonne sat on the toilet wanting to scold herself for that desire.

You're being so silly.

"You have any lotion?" Michonne stepped out of the bathroom after a hot shower, the towel she wrapped around her body barely gave her any modesty, but she didn't care. Christie looked through her purse—a new expensive purse—and handed Michonne lotion.

Michonne sat next to her and moisturize her face, arms, and then legs. She felt somewhat refresh and herself.

"What's the plan boss?"

"On the phone, earlier, your dad is my boss?"

Christie jolted upright, "Mich—." She closed her mouth upon viewing Michonne's frown after a few seconds of internal thinking Christie spoke, "Yes and he's really pissed at you."

She's a trust fund baby, but loyal as hell to me.

"I fucked up… again," her shoulders hunched.

"I mean the passing out in court was excusable, but—."

"But, I was in the middle of downtown Atlanta raving like a freaking lunatic." Michonne stood up, her towel slipping halfway off her body, making her readjust it. "Do I have anything to wear?"

"There's some sweatpants and a shirt. I think Mike brought it over."

"Toothpaste? Toothbrush?"

"No. I can buy you some from the gift store downstairs."

Michonne nodded in gratitude. "Do you think…" Michonne searched through her memory bank for her boss' name, "Mr. Petrov can have me release from here?"

"Michonne, I… I think you should stay the 48 hrs." Christie folded her arms, uneasily looking up at Michonne. "But, I'll keep working on him. You've done way more for the firm than any other lawyer there, he'll cave."

Michonne rapidly shook her head, waving Christie's suggestion off. She started putting on her pants, her towel falling off.

"Michonne, if you stay though and they say you're mentally okay, it'll give my dad a little more confidence in you," Christie argued.

"The fact that I'm even being held in the first place would make no difference." Michonne put on her shirt and sat back down. She was hungry and eager for the ordeal to end. "Christie Petrov?"

Christie caught the confusion on Michonne's face. "I'm adopted," she said, flatly.

"I know," Michonne lied.

"No you don't," Christie laughed and playfully hit Michonne in the arm, "I never told you, didn't want any special favors from you just so you could move up the ladder quicker."

Michonne shook her head, "I would never use you—."

"I know Michonne," she smiled. "I know all too well hence my undying loyalty to your crazy behind."

Michonne shook her finger at Christie, "Mike?"

"He wouldn't answer. I even sent three more texts."

Michonne heavily sighed. "He's probably tending to Andre." She held her head, her instincts screamed that she was fooling herself and that something was indeed wrong on Mike's end.

"Did you tell him?" Christie asked.

"No, he doesn't know yet."

"Good, don't want to hurt a man's ego when he's holding all the cards."

Michonne looked over to Christie who shrugged. She was right, now wasn't the time for Mike to find out about Rick or for her to call off the engagement. Not when she was at her most vulnerable.

Previous Day

Rick paced like a lion stuck in a cage. He was a predator and each time his eyes landed on Morgan who stood near the car, the man looked more and more like his prey. After being hung up on by Michonne's fiancé, Rick search through his phone for the number Michonne's friend gave him. It was she who told him the motel room Michonne was staying at that Friday night. Unfortunately, the woman's number wasn't in his call history and he suddenly remembered why.

I deleted the number in case Lori went snooping. Rick laughed at himself, his actions were biting him in the ass. He needed to get home and he hoped that the piece of paper Michonne's friend gave him was still in his house somewhere. But first, he couldn't keep holding back his suspicions about Morgan. He stalked towards the man, cracking his neck as he came closer.

"Rick, what's wrong?" Morgan's tone uncertain, he held out his arms, mouth opened.

Rick snorted, stopping just a few feet from Morgan. Giving himself space to prevent his fists from talking.

"I can't trust Shane, my best friend for thirty odd years, but you. YOU…" he pointed his finger towards Morgan, glaring holes into the other man. "I tell you about a lead and then you play it off like I'm speaking another language."

"Rick, what are you talking about?"

"Negan," Rick hissed. "You either know who I'm talking about or you didn't bother reading the files Michonne gave you?"

Morgan stared blankly at Rick.

"Don't go quiet on me now," Rick scoffed. "The first damn piece of paper I picked up had the man's name in it. Were you confuse? Should I have spelled it out for you? N-E-G-A-N!" With each letter, Rick stepped closer to Morgan who didn't move, not even flinch when Rick was right on his face. "What are you not telling me, friend?

Morgan took a step back and sighed, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Rick grimaced, narrowing his eyes as if it'll help decipher Morgan's coded words. "What won't I believe? Do you know Negan?"

"No," Morgan said quickly. "I didn't… I didn't read the files your friend gave me," he hung his head down, his shoulders curled forward.

Shaking his head, Rick paced in a circle and then stopped. "What won't I believe?" Rick repeated his question, Morgan was a human enigma, no matter how many stories from Rick's childhood he told him, Rick still didn't know who he was.

Morgan met Rick's eyes, Rick could tell he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. No longer had the cool persona Rick only known of. "I'm trying to help you."

Rick restrained himself, his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Don't you think telling me the truth would be of some help?" He asked; his voice strained, his words stilted.

Morgan glanced around uneasily, his lips tightly pressed together. Rick waited. Morgan stared at the ground and then to him. "I'm not keeping anything from you about this investigation. That is where our focus should be," Morgan walked backward, keeping his eyes on Rick. "I'm sorry Rick if you feel I'm hiding anything. I'm not, just didn't think listening to your mistress' wild theories would have been of any help to me and for that I was wrong."

Mistress. The dig didn't go unnoticed by Rick, but people from inside the diner were coming outside, pretending as if they didn't come out to watch another show Rick Grimes was putting on. Rick gave Morgan a hard stare as the other man managed to back his way to the driver's side. Rick roughly opened the passenger side, taking his jacket and wallet and then slammed the door closed. He then tried to open the back door.

"I want to grab Michonne's files," Rick declared. He then bent down so Morgan could see the anger flaming from his eyes, "since you have no need for my mistress' thangs," he seethed.

"You going to walk, carrying that?"

The locked popped, Rick opened the door and grabbed all the files that were sitting on the backseat's floor. His hands were full so he didn't bother to shut it, instead, he ignored Morgan's question and began walking home.

Tuesday Afternoon

The handle on Michonne's door shook making her quickly stand up. It was way past noon and Christie had left over an hour ago. No one had come to see her since then, she was starting to wonder if she was in a prison hospital. The door opened and in walked a woman who was small in stature and plump. Her black hair was neatly tied into a low bun, she turned around, her smile was radiant and the contrast between her white teeth and smooth ebony skin was beautiful. The woman's tan skirt was a little too loose, she adjusted it onto her waist and pulled her peach silk shirt over it. She held out her hand to Michonne which Michonne reluctantly shook.

"Miss Mi-shawn Cassel, hi," she said. Her voice was high-pitched as if she sucked down a tank of helium before meeting Michonne.

"Mi-Shown," Michonne corrected. The woman nodded her gratitude.

"I'm sorry about that, Michonne, sit, please, I know you have a lot of questions, as do I." The woman sat on the couch while Michonne sat across from her on the bed. She carried with her a pen and a blue manila folder. Michonne craned her neck in an effort to decipher what the folder contained, but then quickly relaxed when the woman looked up at her. She wrote for a few seconds and then set her pen down.

"My name is Doctor Linda Howard, I'm the leading psychologist here at Emory. Before we start, I need you to sign this," she handed Michonne a clipboard with a piece of paper attached and a pen that was tied onto the top clip.

Right to petition…

"You were unconscious when you were admitted here, therefore, we could not immediately give this to you, but read through it, it states what your rights are within the 48 hours that you are here. Although, after meeting your lawyer, I think you already know."

Michonne looked up at her, Linda's grinned unnerved her a bit. Michonne read through the notice three times before signing the form and handing the clipboard back to her.

"You do know my 48 hours started after my admission and not now when you finally decided to see me, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so why did you admit me?"

"You seem to be a danger to yourself and others and we want to make sure there is no underlying mental illness before releasing you."

Michonne sighed, "I'm not crazy."

"Well hopefully, I will come to the same conclusion." Linda clasped her hands and rested them in her lap.

"And if you don't?" Michonne asked, raising an eyebrow. She was testing the doctor even though it was probably unwise.

"I'm sure you're aware of what 1013 is? We hold you for another 72 hours and considering that today is Tuesday, if it comes down to that Michonne, you won't be release until next week Monday."

Michonne internally groaned, cooperate, be smart, and you'll be home to see your baby…. And call Rick.

"Okay," Michonne resigned.

"Any other questions before we start?"

Michonne shook her head. Linda pulled out another form from the folder and sat back on the couch, she crossed her legs at the ankles and tugged her skirt up again.

"Does anyone in your family have a history of mental illness?"

"No"

"How often do you smoke?"

"I don't smoke."

"How often do you consume alcohol?"

"Casual drinker, maybe once or twice a month." Michonne ignored the fact that she drank more in the last week and last night than she ever had before.

"Have you ever had the experience of hearing people talking to you or about you when no one was present?"

I use to talk to my dead boyfriend. It happens…

"No," Michonne said firmly. The back of her hand where she removed her IV began to itch, but she ignored it, keeping eye contact with Linda who nodded and wrote on the form.

"Who were you angry with last night?"

"No one."

"What kind of visions were you having last night?"

"None."

Linda paused and studied Michonne who continued to stare blankly at her. She then looked back down at her paper.

"Have you ever had a period lasting at least two weeks when you felt depressed, sad, or hopeless day in and day out?"

I was just another monster. Me. I was gone for a long time.

Michonne opened her mouth and paused. "No," she said.

"Have you felt as if you wanted to die?"

"No."

"Have you attempted suicide?"

"No."

"Do you have a tendency to worry excessively about minor things, and are you unable to stop yourself from worrying throughout the day?"

"Yes."

Linda looked up, surprise, "What do you worry about?"

Michonne gave in and scratched her itch, "I'm a lawyer, defending a man on trial for murder. Worrying about little details even if to some they seem minor, it's part of the job."

Linda nodded and wrote some more, the sound of her pen scratching the surface of the paper increased Michonne's paranoia. After a few minutes, she looked up and beamed, "Okay, let's stop for now."

It was Michonne's turn to be surprised, the questioning lasted less than ten minutes.

"I know you're probably thinking is that it?" Linda said and then chuckled. Standing up and clutching her items in her arm, "But we have time tomorrow to figure out a solution to making sure what you went through last night, does not happen again. Okay?" She walked to the door and knocked on it twice, Michonne watched as the door opened and another woman wearing nursing attire held the door open. "Also, I want to give you tonight to think about the questions that I asked you today because I'll ask them again tomorrow and this time… Michonne, I need you to be truthful."

Michonne's eyes narrowed, she opened her mouth to refute the doctor's claim that she was lying, but then closed it. She knew all too well there was no point in arguing.

Linda closed the door behind her and Michonne heard a click afterward.

Give me time to think. I don't want to think anymore. Michonne laid down on the bed and tucked herself into a cradle position as the loneliness began to circle around her.

Last Night

He searched all over his car, through the dirty laundry, through the bills and notes on the dining table and upstairs office, and he even looked through the trash. Desperation not stopping him from digging past slimy eggs and dirt. Rick couldn't find the piece of paper, his lifeline to Michonne, and he wanted to kick something, punch a wall. Tension from today's events built up in his neck and shoulders, he couldn't relax even if someone offered him a month's worth of free massages.

Cleaning his hands from the grime, he dried them off on a towel and sat down at the kitchen table. Putting his head in his hands he groaned loudly.

Morgan. Shane. Lori. Negan. Ed. Carol. Michonne. My two lives bleeding into each other and I don't know how to fix this.

He noticed the bottle of wine from the other night still sitting on the table. Rick reached for it, disappointed that it felt nearly empty. Opening it, he gulped down the remaining contents and then tossed it in the trash.

She'll call me. It was getting late, his watch read after 8:00, wherever Michonne was he'd hope she'll get in contact with him before tomorrow. But, then there was Mike. Rick groaned, he shouldn't have said what he said. Michonne never mentioned Mike being violent with her or them ever having fights until walkers began roaming. But, if Mike was anything like Rick was last week when he clocked his best friend in the face then Rick needed to know if Michonne was okay.

Rick shook his head and opened up the top cabinet where he and Lori kept their alcohol. The cabinet was mostly bare, neither of them was drinkers, at least Rick wasn't until a week ago. He pushed aside a half bottle of vodka and grabbed the whiskey. He needed something to do before he started talking himself into driving to Atlanta.

He poured out a little in the first clean cup he could find and swallowed the drink, enjoying the burn it gave his throat. Then he decided that pouring his liquor in a cup was a waste of time and took a sip from the bottle.

Rick sat at the table again where he left Michonne files, grabbing the first one he continued reading Dwight's history and connection to Negan. He downed more whiskey as Negan's name was mentioned again, this time in relation to Dwight's wife Sherry. What a Good Samaritan, offering to be Sherry's sponsor as well.

Rick set aside the papers and laid his head on the table, his senses dulling due to the whiskey. I'll kill you Negan. Rick didn't know how to make out that flashback or dream, but it couldn't be a coincidence that the man he was fighting name was Negan as well.

"Rick?"

Keys were tossed in the bowl in the living room, the sound of a heavy bag dropped onto the floor. Rick stood up and trudged to the entryway.

"Rick?" Lori was now at the bottom of the stairs, she started up the stairs and stopped as she saw that Rick was behind her.

"Hi," he said flatly. His steps were sluggish, he gave Lori a half-smile as he sat down on the sofa.

"Hey." She continued staring, her brown eyes looking Rick up and down.

"How are your parents?"

"Fine. Mom and dad asked about you, told them you were swamped with work and me and Carl wanted to get out of your hair," she said. Rick frowned, Lori took off a green sweater, revealing a white tank top underneath. She removed the Scrunchie that held her hair in a ponytail, her long brown hair cascaded down her face and chest.

"Why lie?"

She sat down beside him, her body angling so that she faced him. He could see the astonished look on her face.

"Why not? My parents don't need to know about our marriage problems."

Rick chuckled, "What's two more people when the whole town knows."

"What is your problem?" She adjusted her top and dragged her hands through her hair.

"Nothing." Rick folded his arms across his chest. He could hear her breathing becoming heavier, she sighed and after a moment's pause, she sighed again.

Rick closed his eyes, Michonne lying lifeless on the ground like a broken doll forced his eyes opened. I need to hear her voice. His watch now read that it was going on 10. She would have called if nothing was wrong.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Agitation all over Lori's tone.

Rick glanced at his wife of ten years. They've been together since high school and never had a serious breakup. He remembered the wedding and how uneven the church attendance looked. Lori practically had her entire lineage—5 generations of Watsons—sitting on her side while Rick only had his mother, brother, and grandparents. Yeah, there were a couple of friends of the family that attended, but between the two, Lori was the popular girl in town and Rick was lucky that she was taking his last name.

He remembered when she told him they were pregnant, after a night of lovemaking, she laid her sweaty body over his and announced that after nine months they were going to have to be quieter with their sex activities. And then the arduous ordeal of her delivering Carl, despite the hardships, they pulled through, they were happy.

For better or worse, right? I mean what are we going to do— hire lawyers, get divorced, and split our assets?

"Rick, talk to me," Lori pleaded. Rick blinked and felt the tears in his eyes, felt them as they trailed down his face, and tasted their saltiness when he licked his lips.

Maybe there's nothing to talk about anymore.

Her last words to him.

Rick lowered his gaze, his eyes falling on his ring; the piece of jewelry that became a symbol of failure and guilt. Rick slowly moved it up his finger as it left its mark.

"Lori… I," he swallowed even though his throat was dry.

"Don't you dare!" She scooted to the edge of the couch, her eyes wide, she knew what his next words were before he said them.

"I want a divorce."

SLAP!

Rick felt the piercing sting strike his face and before he could react another one follow suit. Lori shoved him back and straddled him, hitting him all over his face, missing her target most of the time. Rick grabbed her arms, crossing them, he held her until they both were standing up.

She moved away from him, kicking the table out of her way. Rick wiped his face, glancing at his hands he saw specs of blood. He looked up at Lori, her eyes were wild and her face red.

"Why?" She pointed her finger at Rick. "Why goddamit?"

"We both knew it was only a matter of time," he said. He was out of breath, he didn't expect Lori to lunge at him like that. Rick moved behind the sofa, protecting himself just in case Lori wanted to go for round two.

"You don't even want to try," her voice hitched. She turned away from him, her shoulders shaking. She faced him again, tears ran down her face, as each second passed she cried harder. "You want to throw ten years away? For what? Just a matter of time is NOT AN ANSWER!"

Rick opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"You really think Shane and I are screwing around?" She took a step closer, wiping her face with her top.

"No. Me and Shane talked, I was wrong for that, I'm sorry."

Lori stared intensely at Rick and scoffed, "I bet you two are buddies again. Like shit never happened, but I'm the one being served divorce papers!"

"It ain't like that Lori."

She waved him off, "You men and the games ya'll play." Lori laughed and looked up at the ceiling, "ten years," she whispered. Her head then turned to him, her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to see through him, read his mind. "You're weak Rick. You would not be asking for a divorce unless you had another option."

Rick shook his head, he knew she wanted to get at him, make him lose it, but tonight wasn't the night to engage.

"It's that woman, right?"

Rick let his silence speak for him as he walked to the kitchen and gather the files. Her footsteps thundered across the floor following behind him.

"Answer me," she demanded.

"Okay," he turned to face her. "I've moved on a long time ago. Something happened Lori and I can't explain it because I don't know what that something is, but all I know is that I've moved on from you and—."

Lori swung her fist again, but this time, Rick caught it, "Don't put your hands on me again, Lori."

"GET OUT!" She screamed. Rick didn't need to be told twice, he grabbed his car keys and wallet. She followed him out the front door. He opened his car door, putting the files in the passenger seat before climbing in.

"What am I going to tell Carl?" She called out to him. She was crying and shaking like a leaf. "Did you even think about him?"

"He doesn't deserve to have two parents who hate each other," Rick said.

Lori's mouth dropped, "I… are you kidding me? I love you, Rick." She stepped closer to him, "Please don't walk away from me, from us. Rick, I am begging you."

Rick's eyes water, every time he started to think he was making a mistake, Michonne popped in his mind. He shook his head and wiped his face, "I can't Lori." He got into the car and turn on the ignition.

He slowly drove the car in reverse, watching as Lori sat on the stoop, putting her head onto her legs, still crying.

Tuesday Night

"Michonne? Do you think she hears us? Her breathing is shallow, though… Michonne, wake up!"

"Michonne?"

Michonne slowly opened her eyes and yawned. Disappointment wash over her when she realized she was still in her hospital room; from the view outside it was now dark and the only light was coming from the bathroom and a lamp near the couch.

"Michonne?"

She turned over to face the voice calling her name, sitting up she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and squinted at the shadowy figure standing at the foot of her bed.

"Mike?" His face became clearer as Michonne's eyes adjusted to the dark, he dragged a chair across the floor to her side and sat down. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at his beard and then his eyes met hers. Even in the semi-darkness she could see that his eyes were bloodshot. "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that," he said. He cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he corrected her. "You haven't been fine since you blacked out last week. Or maybe even longer."

"Why did you let them admit me," she knew he didn't have a say in the matter, but she wanted to know if he'd at least fought against her involuntary hold or like Christie, maybe he thought she needed to be in here.

"Now you know I couldn't stop that, did you know the police had you handcuffed to this bed?"

Michonne shook her head.

"They were going to arrest you and then Doctor Howard advised it'd be better to hold you for evaluation."

"I might lose my job over this."

"Who cares," he scoffed. Michonne could hear him breathing hard. "Your damn sanity means more to me than a job."

"I'm not—."

"Crazy," he said finishing her sentence. "Fine. But, you're not well and the way you acted last night, I'm scared for you. I'm scared for Andre."

"What!" Michonne's heart pounded, she moved so that she was facing him, "Mike, don't bring him into this."

"Michonne, you attacked me last night, you were out of it, in a whole other world. I'm your damn fiancé and you attacked me. How do I know you're safe to be around Andre?"

The tears that Michonne held back all day dripped down her face, "I would never hurt my baby. Don't even suggest such a thing."

"Our child. He's our child. And you and me, we're supposed to be partners."

Michonne sniffed, she wiped her tears and tried to calm herself, but the tears would not stop.

"Baby, look at me." She did as she was told meeting Mike's gaze. "I know you're doing the best you can at this moment for us, for Andre. I know you'll get better and I'll help in any way I can because we're a team."

His words felt hollow and foreign to her ears. As if there was no life, no energy behind them. She looked at him and watched as his features shifted, his skin became paler, his hair longer, and his eyes lighter. The more Mike spoke, the more he changed before her eyes until it was Rick she saw in front of her.

"I love you too much to let you go," he said.

Michonne nodded, closing her eyes. Please stop brain. She never felt more frustrated with herself than right now.

"Do you hear me?"

Michonne opened her eyes, relieved that it was Mike she saw.

"Yes."

"I am never letting you go," Mike said firmly. "Nothing or no one is getting between our family."

Michonne nodded, part of her felt as if there was a double meaning to his words. He stood up and gently grabbed her chin, he captured her lips with his and kissed her gently. Michonne closed her eyes tightly, trying to fight the urge to pull away, she relaxed her body, but then Mike's kiss became rougher. His tongue going down her throat, his teeth scraping her lip. After a few seconds, Michonne had enough and gently pushed him away. Mike still held onto her chin though and angled her head so that she can look him in the eye. His eyes were dark and Michonne couldn't tell if it was because of the lack of lighting or his mood.

"Michonne, do you love me?"

She flinched, she thought it was odd he would ask her that, but she wasn't going to be stupid and tell the truth, "Yes."

"I love you more."

Mike let go of her chin, only to pull her into a hug. Michonne grew limp in his arms as he squeezed her tightly. In the back of her brain, she knew Mike was off and then a chill ran down her spine, her eyes widen and then shut tightly.

He knows. He fucking knows.