AN: This is the longest chapter I've written so far, but it also might be one of my favorites. I'm not going to give anything away about it but I can't wait to hear what you guys think about it.

Thank you so much for your continued comments and support. They mean the world to me.

As always, enjoy!

Five

I said I'd never grow old

I can't remember how that used to be

I find myself without the power

I find myself without the glory - Alabama Shakes - I Ain't the Same

The month following her emotional parking lot discussion with Rick was almost comfortingly monotonous for Michonne. Every weekday and Saturday she woke up at 5 a.m., made herself an egg over easy and two pieces of toast. Then, she readied herself for work, stopped at Starbucks for a peppermint tea - no milk or sugar - before spending the next eight or so hours baking, developing recipes, and in cake consultations. Normally, she headed out a couple of hours before the bakery closed. Twice a week, she immediately went to the grocery store to pick up supplies for dinner. The other times, she headed to the gym for an hour of Pilates.

Monday afternoons, she visited the library closest to her house to scour for books to read after dinner. She carefully avoided romances - unwilling to risk the feelings they may forcefully arise in her - instead finding entertainment in old fashioned murder mystery novels. After years of avoidance, she'd finally caved and signed up for a Netflix account. During the evenings when her mind wandered too much, and she found herself thinking of Rick Grimes - even the slightest bit - she distracted herself with episodes of something like The Office.

The entire point of her newfound routine was to keep herself as busy as physically possible. When her days were spent constantly ripping and running, she had very little time to spend inside of her own mind. She didn't have to confront her feelings about Rick or the guilt she felt about speaking to him so callously that night. Michonne didn't fully regret her words or decisions. She wholeheartedly believed she was right in her choices. But some of the things she'd said to him made her feel more than a little ashamed.

No matter what Rick said, what Maggie said, or what her heart told her, it would be irresponsible to enter into a relationship with him. So, she forced herself not to think about him at all. That was, until she was tucked into her bed every night, with the feeling of his kiss fresh on her lips while her hand snuck into her panties, rubbing and thrusting almost angrily until she met her release. And every morning, she washed the shame of her self-dalliance off in the shower, promising herself that she'd abstain. But by the end of the day, physically tired from her moving and emotionally tired from the forced numbness, she always failed.

Michonne had been to eight meetings in Madison since that Monday night when she'd pushed Rick away. Every Monday and Friday she sat somewhere in the middle of the room, hoping to blend in with the crowd. And every time, she felt his eyes on her, steady and unrelenting. It took everything she had not to turn and look at him. Especially when a testimony or one of Hershel's particularly powerful "sermons" hit her hard. She knew that the small comfort she would find in his gaze would only be followed by an intense amount of shame. So, unlike the thoughts of him that swarmed her mind while she was in bed at night, she actively forced herself not to acknowledge him in any way.

It was another Monday that she found herself sitting in her regular spot in First Baptist's basement again. It was late summer, and even with the disappeared sun, it was incredibly hot. The central air conditioner worked over time and so did the multiple plug-in fans surrounding the room. But even the two sources of air combined didn't stop the small beads of sweat from dotting her head and chest.

Hershel began the meeting on time, opening it up with calls for testimonies instead of one of his usual lessons. She felt both horrible and thankful when none of the people who gave testimonials brought up their children or romantic relationships. Her relief was short lived, though, when Hershel made his way back to the podium with a suspiciously gleeful smile behind his white mustache.

"So," he almost sounded like he was speaking to a group of children. "I figured we'd do somethin' different today. Somethin' I was introduced to at a conference I went to over in Birmingham last week."

Without speaking further, he grabbed two large cups full of pencils and a stack of printer paper then instructed both people in the front seat on each side of the room to grab one of each and pass them along. The process took a few minutes, and the room was quiet save for a few curious murmurs from her fellow addicts. Once everyone was outfitted with their supplies, Hershel took to the podium again.

"I wanted to talk to y'all about personal responsibility today. It's important in every facet of life, but especially when it comes to addiction. Often times, when we're strugglin' with addiction we confuse accountability with hating ourselves for our mistakes and out shortcomins, and that self-hate doesn't accomplish anything. All it does it perpetuate a vicious cycle of unhealthy thoughts and behaviors. So, this evenin', we're going to approach this cycle head on, and start tryin' to keep it from continuin'."

Michonne swallowed harshly. Hershel wasn't looking at her or speaking to her directly, but his words hit her like they were the only two in the room. She wanted to get up and leave. Run out of First Baptist and find some other AA meeting that didn't force her to confront herself in this way. It was ridiculous and contradictory to the entire point of addiction recovery, she knew it. But the desire was still there, only to be exacerbated when Hershel continued explaining the activity.

"Y'all are goin' to pair up. Find somebody you know, somebody you don't know, the person closest to you, whatever. You're going to write your five worst traits down on the paper in your hands. Then you're goin' to share those traits with your partner and they're goin' to do the same. The only catch is that you aren't allowed to put your addiction on the list. You need to go deeper than the base level."

Her stomach bubbled, a sick feeling rising in her body so fast it made her shiver. By the time she stood up out of her chair and turned to search for a partner, she noticed that almost everyone in the room had already paired up.

Turning towards the back of the room, she spotted Rick, the only other person she knew. The thought of approaching him for an activity that was so personal made her want to bolt again. But the idea of cutting herself open while someone she didn't know at all spectated felt even worse. She'd finally consigned herself to move her body towards the handsome man when she saw him walk towards her. His strides were strong and sure but the look on his face was less so. He seemed almost afraid to approach her and it made Michonne feel awful.

When Rick reached her, he looked in her eyes for a few moments to gauge her reaction. When she didn't make any move to walk away he finally spoke. "You think we can suspend your no contact rule just for tonight? I don't know anybody else here and I ain't necessarily in the mood to make new friends."

Michonne nodded her agreement almost too fast, motioning for Rick to sit down in the chair beside hers. Neither of them said anything as the room quieted down. Like everyone else, they focused on the assignment.

Her right hand shook as she put pencil to paper. Focusing on writing the number "1," then a perfectly drawn parenthesis to avoid thinking on the actual purpose of the activity a little longer. It took her longer than she expected to come up with even the first trait. But from there, the others seemed to flow out of her with a surprising amount ease. Every stroke of her pencil opened wounds that she wished to God had stayed closed. Even though she knew their hiding place in the shadows had always had a time limit.

After she'd finished writing, Michonne looked up to see Rick's blue eyes staring her down intently, his paper already filled out. She wondered briefly if he'd had an easier time baring his softer, weaker parts than she did.

"Why don't you go first?" He asked her softly over the low hum of the other voices in the room.

She wanted to resist at first, pass the buck back to him, but she also desperately wanted to get the exercise over with. Michonne clutched the paper in her trembling, clenched hands, trying desperately to find the courage to share the things she never wanted Rick Grimes to know about her.

"I constantly expect myself to be perfect," she shared, forcing herself not to look up at him to see his reaction. "I avoid the things and people I don't want to face." Did he understand that he was among the list of avoided things and people? "I dwell too much on the past. I never, ever want to open up." Michonne couldn't help the small snort that came from between her clenched teeth at that ironic admission. "And last, I resent myself. Especially for the things I couldn't stop."

When she finished, she looked up at him slowly. His endless blue eyes had softened, the look in them almost made Michonne burst into tears. Just like that night in the parking lot, she could tell Rick was brimming with the desire to say something he knew he shouldn't. She also knew that she was too much of a coward to coax it out of him, no matter how much she wanted to hear it.

"Now you go," she said softly.

"Mine ain't nearly as poetic as yours," he said with a chuckle. She couldn't help the small, comforted laugh that was forced out of her at his half joke half compliment. "But I'll go anyway."

He didn't speak again right away and Michonne could see his calm demeanor slip a bit. She could almost sense that the few beads of sweat on his forehead weren't caused by the heat in the basement. His strong jaw remained tightly flexed along with his stiff shoulders as he finally started to read the words he'd written.

"Uh," his voice was rough as he cleared his throat. "I obsess over thangs too easily." He didn't look at her but Michonne's eyes widened just a fraction. "I ain't always one for talkin', expressin' how I feel."

That surprised Michonne. She hadn't known him for long, obviously, but she'd never gotten the impression that Rick wasn't good with his words. If anything, she was the one who had a hard time expressing herself to him - and everyone else.

Rick took another pause, his knuckles whitening as they curled tightly inward towards his palms in fists around the paper he was holding. "I have a hard time seeing the bright side of things, I'm a pessimist I guess. I'm stubborn as all get out. And for the last one, uh...I'm too much of a damned fool to do anything about these."

He laughed when he got the last trait out and Michonne did too. Out of all the things he'd listed, she believed that one the least. She didn't know what to say to him though. Admitting it was a painful, shame filled thing, but she'd enjoyed sitting with him. Even if they had been forced to talk about the worst parts of themselves, it was nice to see his face up close. That salt and pepper stubble had grown out into a short beard that she resisted the urge to rub the back of her hand against. His skin was a little toastier, like he'd spent a significant amount of time out in the sun. Rick looked good as hell and Michonne could hardly stand it.

She reared back in her seat when those blue eyes caught hers. She could see tiredness in the lightly darkened circles underneath, but they were still sparkling. The corner of his pink lips quirked. "You goin' to get mad at me if I ask you how you've been?"

"I wouldn't get mad at you for something like that, Rick." The words came out significantly harsher than she'd meant them too. She offered him a quiet, sheepish "sorry," to which Rick brushed off with a smirk.

"So how have you been then?"

"I've been fine," she answered, the air between them was tense once again. She didn't care for it. "I get my one-year chip next month, so I'm focusing on that."

Rick raised his brows in surprise. "Well damn, that's somethin' to celebrate. You ever made it this far?"

She shook her head in the negative. "This is my first time here at all."

"That's somethin' to be damn proud of," Rick chuckled, his eyes still on her. "My first time around I didn't last more than 2 months. I just hit seven last week and I'm hopin' like hell the third time's a charm."

Michonne found herself wishing the same for him. She could see how much he wanted it, how his tone adopted an almost desperate, starving quality when he talked about wanting to stay sober. Even if she wasn't going to be there to watch him do it, she prayed that he made it this time.

"I hope so too," she said, unsure about how to express her thoughts to him fully.

"Thank you, Michonne."

Hearing him say her name sent a shiver through her warm body. The word felt deep and thoughtful coming from his lips and she was almost disgusted with herself for wanting to lean into him and ask him to speak it again.

Before she could make a fool herself, Hershel grabbed the attention of the room with a short, loud whistle. "That's all the time we've got for today, y'all."

Michonne looked down at her watch and noticed that they'd gone nearly 30 minutes longer than they normally did. She cringed inwardly at even the slightest change to her new schedule.

Everyone in the room began to bustle, standing up to straighten out the chairs again and gather their things. She and Rick did the same.

"But before you go," Hershel spoke again. "I want you to choose one of the traits on your list and take a week to work on fixin' it without beatin' yourself up about it. Now, this ain't a homework assignment. I'm not goin' to question you about it or make sure you did it. That's what self-accountability is all about, if you really want to work on betterin' yourself, you'll get the work done."

Michonne turned her gaze from the older, white haired man in the front to the brown haired one standing next to her. She didn't know what to say. She wanted to express that the two of them working together didn't change what she'd said that night, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings - or her own. A larger part of her didn't want to confront it at all but run away to her car instead.

"Well," Rick said, almost as if sensing that she wasn't comfortable with expressing her thoughts. "Thanks for bein' my partner tonight, Michonne."

"Y... Yeah, no problem."

Gazes locked, she watched as Rick squinted as if he was trying to read her mind. "I'm goin' to head out. Busy day tomorrow. You be careful getting home."

This time, it was him who walked away without a backward glance - a sight that brought the sick feeling back to the pit of Michonne's stomach.

Wednesday, August 15th was Michonne's 36th birthday. Maggie had all but threatened her into taking the day off work. Instead of spending her birthday playing out her usual schedule, she stayed indoors. She'd held off her few friends from forcing her into going out on a weeknight by promising that she'd concede to whatever outing they force her to go on during the weekend.

In all honesty, Michonne had never been one for celebrating her birthday in a grandiose way. She'd had typical parties as a child, but after 13, she reserved big events for the big numbers. 16, 18, 21, 30, the only time she felt the need to celebrate in style was during those specific milestone ages. Any other time, she was content to enjoy intimate dinners or low-key nights in, and her 36th was no different.

One thing she always had to have, though, was a chocolate lover's delight cake from the bakery section of the Publix supermarket. She was a pastry chef, she'd trained and worked in some of the best restaurants in the country. Still, she couldn't deny the decadence of the lover's delight cake. It was overly sweet, lacking in depth of flavor, and was decorated in the most amateur way possible. But above all that, it was undeniably good.

Which was exactly how she found herself in the Publix closest to her townhouse at 8 p.m., wandering aimlessly around the bakery section as she waited for an employee to carefully pour the dripping ganache and place the strawberries on her cake. She looked up from checking out the expiration date on a freshly baked baguette when she saw him. He was tall and commanding. All smooth dark skin, carefully lined up hair, and a small smile that never seemed to waver. Like her, he held a small handheld plastic basket in his right hand as he looked over fresh cuts of meat in the deli. Instantly, her mouth dried, and she turned swiftly, hoping like hell he wouldn't be able to recognize her from behind.

She stood still for a few moments, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Briefly, she considered running off without her cake, but she barely got the time to lift her foot off the ground to do it.

"Michonne?" He questioned, unable to keep the surprise out of his deep voice.

She turned to face him, a guarded look on her pretty face. As soon as he was sure it was her, he was moving. He reached her in seconds. "Michonne," he breathed again as soon as he stood in front of her.

"H...Hi, Mike," she silently cursed herself for stuttering.

Her ex took a moment to look her over. Up and down his eyes searched, almost as if he was trying to make sure she was actually there. Though subtler than him, she took the time to do the same. Even more handsome than the first day she'd laid eyes on him 10 years before, Mike looked heartbreakingly good. She could see his thick, corded muscles through the workout clothes he wore, noticed how healthy and full his face was and the lack of tensing in his shoulders. Even his dark eyes radiated a certain lightness. Michael Davis looked happy, both inside and out. And as Michonne stood in front of him, careful not to underestimate her own beauty, she couldn't help but feel like his exact opposite.

"Damn it's good to see you, girl."

She gave her own version of a comforting smile but didn't return his compliment. Not because she didn't feel the same, but because she couldn't allow herself to voice the fact that she did.

"How you been?" He continued.

Michonne cleared her throat. It took a major effort for her to keep her eyes on his instead of shifting them somewhere else, somewhere less intense. "I've been alright," she answered softly. "Mostly working."

"Yeah, I've been hearing a lot of buzz about the bakery. Everybody seems to love it. I'm proud of you, Mimi."

She flinched inwardly at the old nickname. "Thanks. How have you been? You...uh...you look good."

"Thank you, so do you. But that ain't anything new, you've always been beautiful," he looked her up and down in a different way. "I've been good too, great actually. I just made partner at Powell & Peters."

When they'd split up a little over two years ago, the prospect of making partner had been one of his biggest stressors. That and her worsening addiction to alcohol. Michonne resisted the urge to reach out and hug him for his accomplishment. "That's amazing. I'm happy for you, Mike. If anyone there deserved it, it was you."

He gave her a small, dimpled smile. The two of them stood silently, the air between them stiff and awkward. Michonne's hand tightened around her small, half-filled basket and she rocked back on her feet again.

She perked up as she heard the woman behind the bakery counter ring a bell and call out her name. Both she and Mike looked over to acknowledge her and saw the round, chocolate cake sitting atop the counter.

"Oh, damn," she heard Mike curse. "I can't believe I forgot your birthday."

Michonne waved him off. "Don't worry about it, it's been a while since we celebrated together."

He shook his head back and forth, looking disappointed. "Nah, it hasn't been long enough that I should've forgotten."

"Mike, it's fine. Seriously." She honestly didn't care, but she couldn't help but think about how she'd remembered his birthday. Not because she missed him, but because it was exactly a week ahead of Andre's.

"You talked to your mama and daddy today?" He asked.

Michonne coughed. "Uh...no."

His brown eyes narrowed for an instant, the way the always did when he was about to call her out. "I actually spoke to your mama the other day. I was out to lunch with a client and saw her eating with some of her friends from church. She said you hadn't been by in a long while. No calls either."

She shifted her stance again, her shoulders tightening. "My relationship with my parents is complicated right now."

"You used to be so close, though. Even before we," Mike paused, searching carefully for his words. "Before we split, you talked to your mama every day."

"Things change, Mike," Michonne sighed, closing her eyes. "People change. Relationships change. You of all people should know that."

It was a shameful low blow and she knew it. But going on the painful offense when challenged seemed to be her go-to lately.

Mike let out a low, unamused chuckle. "I don't buy that, not for a second. Of course, life changes you, a lot of times for the worst, but that only makes it that much more important to keep the people who love you close."

Michonne didn't want to tell him that her avoidance of her parents was born out of her desire not to face the constant barrage of guilt trips, disgust, and overall shame she walked into every time she saw them. She knew her parents loved her, always would, but they didn't understand what she was going through. They'd always viewed alcoholism and drug abuse as something almost evil instead of the illnesses they really were. When Michonne's problems had finally been revealed to her parents, they'd suggested that she didn't need AA meetings, only more Sunday's spent in front the pulpit and prayer.

She wasn't planning on avoiding them forever, just long enough to show them that she wasn't completely lost. "Mike, I don't know what to tell you. I don't care what mama told you, she and daddy don't necessarily make it easy to keep them close these days."

He shook his head at her again then sighed, looking infinitely more exhausted than he had moments before. "Look, when we lost Andre-"

"No," she cut him off harshly. "I'm not doing this. We are not doing this. We're not talking about our dead son in the middle of a goddamn grocery store on my birthday." Michonne turned to walk away but he stepped in front of her. Mike was careful not to put his hands on her, but he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't letting her leave.

"I don't know where else we're supposed to talk about it, Michonne. I haven't spoken to you since the night I left."

"I don't know what else there was to talk about, Mike."

"You don't know wha-?" His jaw clenched. "There was a lot left to talk about, shit that had gone unsaid and untreated for a long time. After Andre died, you refused to open up, you refused to talk to me for years, Michonne. Years. Everything we said to each other was useless and shallow."

She bit down hard on the inside of her lip as she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Vision blurry as she looked up at her ex. "I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure what to say to make you forgive me back then, and I still don't know."

This time, he did reach out to touch her. Gingerly, he moved his hand until it was lightly gripping her upper arm. It wasn't sexy or romantic at all. In all honesty, it reminded her of the way her father used to comfort her as a child.

"That's just it, Mimi. There was never anything to forgive, you didn't do anything wrong."

Michonne eyes screwed tightly shut and she shook her head back and forth in silent disagreement.

"That was almost the most frustrating thing about you," he said softly. "The fact that you were constantly blaming yourself for shit that wasn't in your control."

Hearing him say those words almost made her heart stop. They were damning and familiar and horrible. She'd expressed nearly the exact same thing to Rick at their Monday meeting. Almost word for word Mike had identified one of her worst traits as a person and recited them back to her. They made her queasy and nauseous, but she also knew that Mike Davis had been one of the only people to watch her descend into her own personal rock bottom. Of course, he had a firm grip on all the things that made her so fucked up.

"I know," Michonne whispered. "I know, I know I do that. I'm trying to stop though, I'm trying to be better."

Mike's hand tightened on her arm comfortingly before he let her go. "Good, I'm glad you're trying. I've been seeing a therapist and he's really helped me progress, be a better man all around, you know?"

She nodded. She wasn't surprised. Mike had always been lighter and less troubled. Like any parents', his grief over Andre's death was massive, but he'd also been determined not to give up on himself. Obviously, Michonne had done the exact opposite. Sabotaging her chances at happiness and healing with isolation and liquor. It was no wonder he was in such a better place than her mentally and emotionally.

"Look," he said when Michonne didn't answer. "I've got to go. I promised my girlfriend I'd make her dinner and I'm already late. But if you ever want to talk...About Andre or yourself or anything else, just call me. My number hasn't changed."

She gave him a tiny, watery smile. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mike. It was...it was good seeing you. Really good."

It wasn't until she was back at home, staring down at one of Andre's old baby pictures and smiling a large, genuine smile, that she realized she'd meant her parting words to him completely.

As she sat in her regular spot and silently prepared for Friday's meeting, Michonne found herself watching the door, eager to see Rick. She had no plans of approaching him or engaging him in conversation, but she was in a surprisingly good mood. Something in her was desperate for his sparkling blue eyes to land on her and fill her up with a warmth she'd never really felt before.

As the minutes ticked by, she became more and more nervous when he didn't show. Her eyes strayed to the watch around her wrist constantly, hoping that each passing second would end with his confident, bow-legged gait striding through the sagging basement doorway.

It never did, not even when Hershel started the meeting nearly five minutes late. Not halfway through the man's continued speech about the importance of personal accountability. And Not during the tearful testimony of an alcoholic who'd started her recovery after she'd lost her husband to a drunk driver.

Every minute of the hour-long meeting that passed was pure torture for Michonne. She felt twitchy and anxious, automatically assuming the worst. Missing meetings was a no-no for newly sober people, especially during the first year. Rick had seemed so dedicated, if a little nervous, during their Monday evening activity. Her mind immediately pictured him laid out on his couch, sweating out whiskey in a deep, drunken sleep.

When the meeting ended, Michonne thought nothing of the consequences she'd convinced herself of as she rushed to her car. Scrolling through the contact list on her phone she found him easily. Without hesitation, she made the call. It took four rings for Rick to answer and when he did, her stomach dropped.

"Yeah," his voice sounded weak, hopeless, and scratchy.

"Rick, it's Michonne." She tried her best to keep her tone soft. She wasn't his or anyone else's sponsor. Nor was she qualified to give advice to those suffering through a relapse. Still, she wanted to convey as much understanding as possible.

"I figured when your name popped up on the caller ID." She swallowed when she heard him slur his words. "What are you callin' me for?"

"Uh...It's Friday...You weren't at the meeting."

"Yeah, I ain't feeling too hot today."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "Okay, well. Do you have someone there taking care of you?"

Rick let out a weak, unamused laugh. "Nah, I'm takin' care of myself."

"Do you want me to come over?" She asked before she could stop herself. "I could...I could help you out."

For a moment, he was so silent Michonne thought he'd hung up.

"Alright, you can come see me, Michonne. But I'm tellin' you now, it ain't pretty."

He rattled off his address after that, so fast that she had to have him repeat it twice while she entered it into her GPS.

"I'm on my way over there, Rick. Just…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say. "I'm on my way."