A/N: This chapter is a bit of a connect-the-dots' one, but it's heavy Carchonne and Richonne (in flashbacks) so I hope everyone's up for that. Thanks for your patience, the next chapter is right behind this one; more notes at the end.


Late afternoon sun streamed in from the large bay windows framing the dining room, beaming dim streaks of light across the table and whipping scant dust particles into the air. Michonne, standing on the opposite side of the table, forearms resting on top of the chair in front of her, looked on as Carl went about setting the table, his hurried movements causing the fading light to flit across his bowed head, highlighting dark brown tresses in bursts of auburn and chestnut.

Narrowing her gaze, Michonne watched as he pulled out a chair, sat down, and slowly began folding two freshly-laundered white napkins. Frustration briefly marred his features as he struggled to replicate the artful design Michonne had demonstrated to him earlier that day.

"Now this is where things can get a little tricky, so you'll need to hurry up and pay attention," Michonne teasingly commanded.

She leaned back on her heels, closing her eyes for a moment to tune into the muffled laughter coming from their backyard. The balmy, tranquil breeze drifting in through the open backdoor, along with Judith's squeals of glee, wrapped Michonne in a cozy nest she hoped never to have to leave. Her mind's eye saw the joy on Judith's face as Rick, likely limping by now, chased her around the yard. She envisioned Rick's grin as he gave into Judith's always elaborate make-believe. His steadfast willingness to indulge in whatever fanciful game his sweet girl had insisted he play with her never failed to make her swoon.

He'll be sore later, she thought, taking a mental note to run a hot bath for him once she finished helping Carl pull together his special treat for Enid. He deserved a little something to ease the pain in his knees brought on by whatever abuse he decided was necessary to bring forth their little girl's joyful giggles.

"That one over there?" she continued, opening her eyes and gesturing across the table to the place setting next to Carl. "That fork is actually for salads and goes on the outside. Forks to the left, knives to the right, napkins centered on the plate. Like I said, it's the lit–"

"Yeah, I know," Carl interrupted, his clumsy hands and compromised vision no match for the intricate pleating required to get the napkin Michonne-right. "It's the little things. I'm probably overthinking it, but I want this to be a happy memory for her. You know?"

She knew such elaborate details weren't his forte, but he was determined to create something that would put a smile on Enid's face. She'd had front row seats to the patience and attention he showed while pulling the once troubled girl out of her shell and into fully embracing the good life that was still possible, even in this world.

Michonne marveled at how he never failed to try to do the same for her. Being so near her due date, the most mundane activity had begun to tax her body much more quickly than before. She wasn't one to complain or let it slow her down, but the past week had brought a few more physical challenges, making her a bit anxious for the impending birth. Luckily, the Grimes boys had decided to make it their life's mission to ensure she barely had to lift a finger around the house. With her boys on the lookout, Michonne didn't want for much.

As of late, Carl's devotion had kicked into overdrive. Chiding her to rest if he noticed her on her feet too long, entertaining Judith when she was being a bit too rambunctious, and constantly asking how she was feeling. Carl's determination and focus when it came to taking care of the people he cared about filled her with enormous pride. He truly was his father's son.

They'd spend the entire morning in their own little self-contained bubble, Carl never once leaving her side. Never a dull moment when it was just the two of them. While Michonne gave cooking lessons, they shared stories and discussed life lessons. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. The enticing scent coming from the pot simmering on the stovetop perfumed the entire house, tantalizing her taste buds and reminding her how meaningful these ordinary moments had become for all of them.

Rick had practically begged her to let Carl handle this on his own, but he'd relented after realizing that having this time with their boy was something she truly cherished. Just being in Carl's company always gave her an energetic boost and a renewed sense of purpose. Her heart soared knowing that no matter how grown-up he might be, her advice was something he'd always seek.

Even when bracketed by painful moments, these happy slivers of life served to reaffirm the sacrifices she and Rick had undertaken to ensure Carl and Judith had a chance to live. To not just learn how to fight the monsters, but how to fight for what they cared about, what they loved. To pave the way for a better world and to serve a cause greater than themselves.

Michonne leaned over the back of the chair, attempting to reach the silverware and move it to its proper location. Sighing, she quickly realized the pronounced swell of her near-term belly made even a simple reach an insurmountable task. Opting to pull the chair out from under the table, she bent down and plucked the smaller fork from beside the knife, where Carl had originally placed it, and dropped it in its proper place to the left of the larger fork.

Arching slightly backwards to relieve some of the pressure on her sore back, she pushed away from the table and proudly took in their handy work. Beaming a self-satisfied grin down on Carl, she caught his hopefulness, mixed with nerves, as he labored to complete the final folds. He looked up at her, taking in the happy look on her face and producing his own crooked smile.

"Now you'll always know how to correctly set the table," she said, pulling out a chair and turning it sideways to accommodate her jutting tummy. "It's easy. There's really only one thing to remember: We eat from the outside in. Got it? Little things. Just pay attention to the details and you'll always do fine."

Carl looked down at the origami creation in his hands, his gaze shifting back and forth between his version and her flawless example. While certainly not a perfect match, his approximation was not so far off target. Stacking his slightly askew napkins on the table, he looked up and said,

"That's because you make everything look easy."

As she began lowering herself onto the chair, Carl leapt up and trotted around the table to help her. She smiled as he took her arm and gently eased her down onto her seat. Settling into her chair, she brought both hands to comfortably rest on top of her belly. She raised her legs up a bit to look down at the sandals Rick had brought her from his last run, the weave pattern of the soft leather leaving faint indentations on her skin as she toed-off the only shoes now able to fit her swollen feet.

Smiling, she soothed the active baby summersaulting in her belly, taking in the distinct scent she could still pick up from the brown t-shirt covering her large bump, not-so-secretly on-loan from the man she loved so dearly.

"But all of this came from you," she said, rubbing calming circles across the soft fabric enrobing her tummy. "I only helped with execution. Besides, she already knows what's in your heart. Don't worry so much. You've got this."

Her words helped push down the remaining uncertainty, Carl pulled out the chair next to Michonne and turned it sideways so they could face each other. Enid was like Michonne, complicated, but sensible. What had started out as a request for help in comforting Enid on the anniversary of her parents' death, had morphed into an extended etiquette lesson from what he was slowly discovering was an extraordinarily fussy Michonne.

He'd first gone to his father, leaving with a 'Chonne's much better person to ask 'bout that.' Carl knew Michonne would have the right solution anyway. After all, she had a knack for making the most everyday things feel like something. A simple dinner of leftovers would include fresh flowers on the table. Any milestone would require they dress up a bit and have a candlelit dinner together. If anyone knew what would make someone like Enid smile, it would be Michonne.

Carl stretched his arm across the table to grab one of the silver napkin rings Michonne had pulled from the sideboard next to the dining table, after having insisted this was an actual thing people used to do. He picked up a napkin and slipped it through the ring, pulling the ring towards the middle of the napkin like Michonne had shown him.

"I never knew any of this stuff," Carl said, placing one of the napkins in the center of each of the two dinner plates. "I guess my mom had simpler tastes. It was pretty much just a napkin, a knife, and fork on the table. Maybe a spoon if we were having chili."

"I guess I never thought about it like that. It's just muscle memory from Grammy Michie. I don't even think about it. She insisted every meal include a proper place setting, even if we were just having sandwiches and tea for lunch. She even had a copy of 'Emily Post on Etiquette' on the shelf where she kept her cookbooks. If I got out of line, which, mind you, I never did, that book was coming out mighty quick to highlight the error of my ways."

Carl leaned back in his chair, joining Michonne in laughter. He turned back towards her, noticing the laugh lines brightening her features had gradually transformed into wistfulness. Michonne's Grammy was a fond topic for both of them. He got to hear about a Michonne he wished he had gotten a chance to know, and she got to share some life lessons from the woman who had taught her everything.

Sitting in their home, wrapped in a blanket of contentment, Michonne found it easy to get misty about the woman who had raised her. The woman who'd taken in a terrified five-year-old who'd heartbreakingly lost everything. The woman who'd been her biggest fan, as well as her biggest challenger when she stepped out of line. Mrs. Michonne Thibodaux's namesake was an obedient child, which was lucky since nothing ever got past Grammy.

"I don't think I buy all of this just for sandwiches," Carl said, pointing to the table, now fit for even the poshest of dinner parties. "I wouldn't wanna have to do all the extra dirty dishes."

"I thought so too when I was a kid, but she always said 'if you do the best for yourself, you'll never settle for less from anyone else.' It was a way for her to make things feel nice… nice and important. She made everything feel special."

"So do you," Carl said softly, nodding towards the kitchen where the intoxicating aroma from their joint culinary creation made his stomach growl.

"Oh, Carl," she sighed, tears suddenly beading in the corners of her eyes. "You're so sweet to say that. I just want you guys to have something normal in all of this. That, and good manners will always be important."

"You done that," Carl murmured, looking adoringly at her. "I know how hard it's been, what you've lost to get us here. I'm gra– I'm grateful. We're really built something good here."

She reached out to stroke his cheek, thinking of each time the odds weren't in their favor, but how they managed to get to the other side anyway. The Governor. Terminus. The Wolves. The Saviors. Every time they had to dig deep, give up more than they thought they could possibly bare, just for another tomorrow.

"Oh! One sec," he said, jumping up from his seat. "Almost forgot a detail!"

She smiled, giving him a wink as he hurriedly rose from his seat and walked towards the kitchen. She looked on as he retrieved the flowers they'd cut from the backyard earlier that day. Michonne had directed the activity since her current condition prevented any movement requiring a bend of more than 45 degrees.

Carl had carefully cut the flowers under her watchful eyes, using the gardening shears to delicately clip the bougainvillea which had grown like a weed across the trellis covering their back patio. The bright violet petals an almost eerie reminder of the beauty that once was, and what they were all committed to bringing back.

They'd stolen a few blooms, but not enough to jeopardize the future growth of the plant, as he'd been taught so long ago. Carl pulled a lead-glass vase from an upper cupboard, filled it with water from the sink, and placed the flowers haphazardly into the vase.

"Now let's move on to lesson number five," Michonne called out, watching him pause to pull a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and fill a glass, before retrieving the flowers from the countertop. "We're not quite done yet."

"Wait a minute!" Carl grumbled, walking back to the dining room, vase in one hand and a glass of tea for Michonne in the other. "How is there more? I thought number five was setting the table and that was it."

"That was four and a half," Michonne sighed, feigning exasperation as she took the tea from his outstretched hand. "Lesson five is setting the appropriate ambiance."

"Ok… so what exactly does that mean?" Carl queried, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It depends on what scene you want for this dinner. Do you want this to be fun and playful? Or romantic?"

The minute she said the word, she knew she had Carl in the crosshairs. She watched as the tips of his ears reddened; a deeper hue slowly made its way down his neck, finally ending with a light blush scattered across his cheeks. She chuckled quietly as she watched him fidget in front of her.

Just like his father; way too easy to tease.

"Romantic, I guess," Carl mumbled.

"Then romantic it is! Let's get out the candles."

Carl placed the vase in front of her, knowing she'd want a chance to rearrange the flowers, while he retrieved the candles and their holders from atop sideboard. She looked at the lovely blooms, practically glowing as the final remnants of light streamed in from the windows. The violet moving from lilac to deep purple depending on how she moved the vase on the table.

The grace to find beautiful in this cruel world and share it with her children. This was always what the fight was about. Thinking back to their first big step forward, she smiled to herself, as her fingers trace along a single, delicate petal.


"There's a group out there callin' themselves 'the Saviors'. Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha ran into 'em on the road. They've been taking from communities like the Hilltop for a while now. They'll be comin' for us next. We can't afford to let that happen. We needa' strike first and eliminate the threat."

Rick paused for a moment, taking in the rapt, yet cautious faces looking up at him from the pews of Alexandria's church.

"Look at me. Thought I had everythin' figured out. Thought I knew everythin' I needed to know 'bout making it in this world. But I didn't. I don't. There's a whole new world out there, beyond those gates. There are people out there, people just like us. Good people who want to live and let live. People who want to rebuild society. Make it even better than it was before. You saw what we brought back today. There's more of that beyond those gates. This is not about just survivin'. It's about thrivin'."

His eyes landed on more than a few doubtful faces. He understood the skepticism. Hell, they had every right to still be suspicious of him. He couldn't imagine standing here in front of them a few months ago. The Alexandrians never would have trusted him. She wouldn't have trusted him.

He wouldn't have trusted himself either. Not with the way his jumbled mind almost led him down a path of complete destruction. He could see that now. This was his chance to prove his worth, to be the leader they needed. To build this – whatever this was – for Carl, for Judith, and for her too.

It never quite left his mind how the herd actually brought Alexandria together and made them a community. The singular moment when adversaries became friends, family even. The catalyst for all that was to come.

He scanned the room, landing on Carl in the front row grinning up at him as he cradled a drowsy Judith in his arms. He smiled down at his son. After all, this was really for them. A chance, in this world gone to hell, to create a lasting legacy for his children. Something that they could use to build a better future.

He turned his attention to the right, eyes quickly searching for her. Seeking out the subtle encouragement she never failed to cast his way. Coming back from the Hilltop, Michonne at his side, his mind electric. They enthusiastically discussed the possibilities Jesus had laid bare, going back and forth on opportunities to carve out a real future for all of them.

Finally, his eyes met hers. She returned his smile, rolling her eyes slightly as he held her gaze. While she stood to the side of the alter next to Spencer, he still felt her beside him. Wanting more crept into his mind more times than he cared to admit, but that ship had long since sailed. He would hold down the pinpricks of pain he felt about her absence and settle for the comfort of their renewed friendship.

Placing his hands on the dais and motioning, he continued, "Maggie worked out a deal with the Hilltop. A deal where we get regular trade with them if we– if we eliminate the 'Savior' problem. Now I know that isn't easy for y'all to here, but that's the way the world is now. Sometimes, we'll need to fight to survive."

Rick noted a few loud grumbles making their way through the building. He was losing them. Maybe this wouldn't work after all. Noticing movement to his right, he looked over to see Michonne leaving Spencer's side and joining him in front of the group.

"Rick's right," she began, letting the noise die down before continuing. "If we want more, if we want better, we're gonna have to fight for it. That's just how life is now. It's messy, it's ugly. But that's the reality for all of us. That doesn't mean there isn't any goodness here too. That's what this battle is about. Giving us the best chance possible to get to the goodness. I wouldn't be up here standing next to Rick if I didn't think this was the right call."

As she continued, Rick's attention remained solely focused on her profile. He was bowled over by the complete faith in him she'd professed. Before his breakdown, they'd created a near-perfect balance between each other's temperaments; a whole much stronger than either was individually. It had been that way with them for a long time… until it wasn't.

Maybe this chance at expanding their world would accelerate the thawing of the distance between them. With that in mind, he silently pledged to do whatever he could to recapture at least as much of what he had lost as she would grant him.

"This isn't something we want to do," she added. "It's hard, it's dangerous. But so is staying here with our supplies dwindling. This'll open us up to other communities, help us flourish. Grow. Like Rick said, this is for all of us."

A soft buzz made its way around the confines of their community's small church. He felt the change in the audience almost immediately. She'd won them over; people were getting on board. Smiling his gratitude and a silence plea to stay at the front with him, Michonne nodded in acknowledgement and remained by his side.

"Whatever you need, I'm in," Tobin said, as assenting murmurs reverberated around the small enclosed space.

"I appreciate that," Rick began, rocking back onto his heels.

Rick looked out across the sea of faces excitedly chattering away at the prospects of actually turning the tide in their favor.

"For now, let's just get everythin' we brought back inventoried," Rick stated. "Maggie's got the list of what we need to do to prepare the gardens for the seeds we brought back. She'll be out front handing out assignments as you head back to your homes."

Ducking his head to clear lingering doubts from his mind, he looked back out at the hopeful faces, now willing to take on a battle he'd brought to their gates. Soaking up the energy permeating the air, he looked over at Michonne's face, his confidence bolstered by her assured expression. It would be hard, but they could win. They would win. Walking down the steps to the pews, he said,

"All right then, let's get to work."

...

"And we place the candles like so," Michonne said, laying the candles on either side of the vase, now centered on the table. "And voila! Ambience."

Carl smiled, finally grasping the full vision of what Michonne had helped him create. This was nice.

"Did you do dinners like this? You know, before?"

"U-huh. It was sorta Mike's and my thing. He was the king of grand gestures. I didn't really bring guys around in high school because Grammy was a pretty tough audience. Besides, I had my head so deep in books growing up, I barely came up for air! She didn't play about education. She wanted me to 'fulfill my destiny' and make her proud. But Mike? Yeah, Grammy loved him a lot. 'A true gentleman,' she used to say. She didn't realize he literally charmed the pants off of everyone."

"Where'd you meet him?" Carl asked, suddenly curious about this phantom from Michonne's past, the man he'd only associated with her greatest pain and loss.

"First day of law school at Emory," she stated, taking a moment to turn and face him as Carl returned to his seat next to hers.

Carl gave her his full attention, settling in for whatever she was willing to share.

"It was the first day of this class I was taking: 'The History of Civil Disobedience.' I'm sure it will shock you to know that I was in the front row, directly across from the Professor's podium, 25 minutes early and I–"

"Wait what? So, you've been a nerd forever? I'm stunned!"

"Ok smartass," she said, playfully tapping him on the back of the head with her knuckle. "I'll give you that one since I obviously set myself up."

"Thanks for the generosity," he retorted, dodging another tap to the back of his head.

"Keep trying me boy, and we're gonna have problems," she mocked, pulling him closer and placing her arm over his.

"Now what was I saying? Right, anyway, I was early, course syllabus printed out, laptop open and ready to take notes. Prepared, as always. Always prepared to make a good first impression, yeah know? The Professor had started talking about his background and what the course would focus on when I hear this loud shuffling of feet running down the stairs of the auditorium."

"I can just see you," Carl tipping his head back and laughing. "Let me guess, you were madder than the Professor was, right?"

"I'm starting to think you know me just a little too well Mon Ami," she giggled, glancing towards him as he pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.

So dramatic, this one is, she thought, rolling her eyes.

"Are you gonna let me know finish my story, or do you want to tell your own?"

"No way," he teased, placing his arm back under hers. "I definitely wanna hear this!"

"Ok then. So this guy comes barreling down the stairs, and plops himself right next to me. There's so many empty rows, but he feels he needs to be all up in my space. I'm annoyed, a little bit irrationally disgusted even. All I can think about is how disrespectful this clown was and what Grammy would think if she witnessed such a thing."

Michonne smiled and paused as she thought back to the first time she laid eyes on Michael Terrence Anthony. The way she didn't even bother to side-eye him. How she'd turned fully towards him, eyebrows fully raised at his audacity. She remembered him returning her look, clearly mimicking her, before breaking out in what would become his signature grin, as he mouthed 'sorry' and pulled out his laptop. She remembered shaking her head and snorting, which elicited a sharp chuckle from Mike, and loud throat clearing from the Professor, drawing embarrassing attention Michonne on her first day.

"I was so annoyed with him that I could barely pay attention the entire class, which definitely wasn't my style," she continued, leaning back in her seat to rub her still-thumping belly. "He was typing quietly but furiously on his laptop, so I got curious about what he could be taking so many notes on when the Professor was basically still talking about himself."

"So, you were being nosy, huh?" Carl asked, tipping his head back to catch the twinkle in her eyes.

"Ummm… I'd prefer to call it 'investigative reporting,'" she countered, taking a sip, then placing her glass of tea back on the table.

"I'm not buying it, but you can proceed," he replied.

"Why, thank you kind sir," she mocked, reaching for another sip of her tea. "Back to Mike. At the top of his page, he had in bold 'The First Day'. I couldn't read all of it, but what I could read said, 'Just met my wife.'

"That's how it was with Mike," Michonne stated, the melancholy slowly emanating from her, like ashes in dwindling fire. "Audacious, fun, living his life aloud."

Carl looked down at the ridges in the wood of their dining table, waiting for her to continue, captivated by her story and wanting to hear more about Michonne from before. He lifted his head to meet the reflective smile on her face as she reached over to push the curtain of hair obscuring his face from her and tucking it behind his ears.

"Was that what made you love him?" Carl questioned, his eye trained on Michonne as she slowly nodded her head.

"He was easy to love," Michonne stated, shrugging at Carl's question. "A little bit careless, a lot carefree. He brought out this side of me that I didn't even know existed."

She shifted in her chair, her heavy belly and aching feet taxed from the exertions of the day.

"When it was good, it was everything. I grew so much as a person being with him. We were well-matched bef– before all of this."

"Why do you think that changed?"

Michonne wrapped her arms around her belly, pivoting away from him slightly and staring out the window into the rose bushes framing the low fence wrapping around the side yard.

"The thing with Mike was that he refused to adapt. He thought he could stay just like he was before. Jovial, playful, fun. He thought the new rules didn't apply to him."

"The new rules apply to all of us," Carl said, watching her agree with a subtle nod.

"Yeah. If he would have tried, I think we would have made it. Maybe. I think so, but I don't know anymore. I try not to dwell on all of it too much because I do believe things, even the most painful ones, happen for a reason."

"I guess I always had faith that things would turn out ok, even when it looked really, really bad for us," Carl mumbled, seeing the tears coating her eyelashes. "It's hard, but I think we'll be ok."

"That's why your mom said what she said," Michonne said, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek. "You're gonna beat this world Carl, I know it."

Carl looked down, grasping her hand.

"First, I was angry at him. Then I was mostly sad and frustrated. But when he– when he couldn't take care of our baby, I was just numb. I never thought I'd recover, I really didn't. But here I am."

"Do you forgive him?" Carl whispered, gripping her hand tighter.

"Yeah, I do," she whispered. "At least for most of it. He wasn't a guy that scared easily and this brought him to his knees. I know that. I just… There're still pieces of it that I'm working to let go. I think I'll need a bit more time for that."

Carl nodded, leaning in for a side hug, before getting up and making his way back to the kitchen. He grabbed an oven mitt from the hook besides the sink and used it to carefully lift the lid off the bubbling pot. Looking down at the thickening stew, he gave it a quick stir, before placing the lid back onto the pot and the wooden paddle back on the tray next to the store. Leaning against the countertop and staring back at Michonne in the dining room, he grinned and released a satisfied sigh.

Michonne smiled and shook her head, marveling at the evolution of this young man from the angry little boy she'd met only three short years prior. She could still see hints of the boy, but his shoulders had squared, his voice had deepened. He'd learn how to keep himself and those he loved safe. He'd learned to think beyond just making it. He demanded more for his future.

He was exactly what this world needed and she was proud. Proud for any small role she'd played in shaping the man he was to become. Proud to have risked everything for his future. Proud that when the door to the new world was opened for them, she and Rick had opted to walk right through it.


One by one, the Alexandrians rose from the pews and began exiting the church. They'd suffered a long spell of lean times since the Wolves brought a herd of destruction to their gates. The additional efforts to restore and fortify the walls had taken precious time and people away from runs, leaving their food stock precariously low and morale even lower. But as Rick had pontificated over the past several weeks, the 'law of averages' was bound to fall in their favor at some point. Now, it had.

Rick looked down at his boots, studying the wear patterns as he contemplated the best approach to accomplish what they needed to do. He didn't really think one way or another about the task at hand. If it was a matter of his family's survival or the survival of people he didn't know, the choice was obvious. Without regret, he would be willing to kill so that those he loved could live. Simple as that.

He looked up, their eyes nearly instantly finding each other for just a moment. She eventually opted to break the hold and turn in towards Spencer, who spying Rick, had possessively pulled her closer to his side. Rick dropped his head again, collecting his thoughts as he prepared for the real meeting, his family planning for the fight with the Saviors.

As the church emptied, Rick nodded at Michonne. Instinctively, she rose, gesturing to Spencer as she led the rest of their family out the door and towards the Monroe house. She had his back, for which he was grateful. It didn't reduce the nerves coursing through his body, but it did give him some semblance of relief that he was doing what he needed to do to lead Alexandria forward.

His eyes followed her out the church door. As he began walking after her, Jessie's voice stopped him.

"Rick?" she asked, prodding a sleepy Sam, who was nestled beside her. "You're not coming home? The meeting's over, so I just thought we'd be headed back–"

Rick looked over at her, still seated, her arm wrapped tightly around a dozing Sam. He sighed, not wanting to have this conversation, but knowing he must.

"We've still got a few things to go over," he replied, keeping his head lowered and his eyes firmly planted on the floor. "I'm headed over to the Monroe's. Won't be long."

"If you like, I can go with you," she eagerly said, hopeful that he'd finally include her in an activity that involved his 'family.' "I'm pretty good at playing devil's advocate, if I do say some myself. I'm here if you need another opinion on something."

He looked into her expectant eyes, then quickly looked away, knowing there was no way this conversation would end without disappointing her. The reality was that he didn't trust her with his true self, at least not the way Michonne seemed to trust Spencer. Her eyes constantly asked for more, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. He knew he was disappointing her, but also knew that safety was all he could offer her because, that was all he truly had to give her. Everything else he had belonged to another.

"Nah, that won't be necessary," he said, rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against his thumb, bringing his eyes up to rest on hers. "Sam looks tired. Why don't you take him home? I'll meet you there in a little bit."

Her eyes searched his, looking for a sign, anything that would tell her that she was in anyway living this life with him. That she had any chance of getting into his inner circle. His eyes gave her nothing, just impatience with a hint of frustration. Sighing, she gently nudged a sleepy Sam, kissing the top of his head as he let out a loud, long yawn.

"C'mon baby," she said, rising from the pew and pulling a reluctant Sam up with her. "Let's get you to bed."

She reached out to rub Rick's shoulder as she passed him, feeling him tense as her hands moved from his shoulder and down his arm. She stilled for a moment in front of him, her eyes focused on the top of Sam's head. She was saddened, but not surprised. Things hadn't exactly gone the way she'd hoped. He'd offered her safety, but not companionship. She'd clearly hoped for more than what this man was willing to give.

"Don't be too long," she mumbled, waiting for his nod before guiding Sam out the church's front doors.

"So, what exactly are you sayin'?" Rick challenged, the vein in his forehead pulsating as he sneered up at the younger man.

Michonne remained seated in the armchair by the bookshelf, aware that intervening at this point wouldn't be prudent. They both clearly had to get it out of their system. She'd stay silent with the rest of the group until both men reached an understanding, begrudgingly or not.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea Rick," Spencer countered, matching the Rick's hard gaze with one of his own. "How do we even know this Jesus guy is telling the truth? What if he's just using us to fight his own battles?"

"We are fighting his battle," Rick replied dismissively. "That's the point of all of this. We get rid of the Saviors, we build an alliance, we grow. That's what we're trying to do here."

"C'mon man," Daryl said, stepping between Rick and Spencer, placing a hand on the younger man's chest. "You've been out there plenty now. You know what this is."

"Yeah," Spencer said, sneaking a look at Michonne. "I know what this is. That's why I want to be out there."

"Spencer," Michonne began, rising from her seat and walking towards him. "We've all done this before. We've got each other's backs. It'll be fine."

"I can help is all I'm saying," he said, looking down into her eyes. "I'm not sure this trade is worth the risk, that's all I'm saying."

"You're questioning me after we came back with all this food?" Rick asked incredulously. "We brought back enough to last a couple of months! Maybe you haven't starved enough times to understand what that means, but the rest of us have."

Michonne looked on, conflicted by Spencer's outburst. She got it, she got him. He'd never had to deal with making hard decisions. Never had to pick between his loved ones starving and sacrificing others. Never really had to fight. He was getting there, but wasn't yet able to digest all the horrors of the new world order.

"Are you an' I gonna have a problem?" Rick questioned, dragging his hands down to rest on either side of his gun belt. "'Cuz if we are, then c'mon with it. Let's get it out right now. Can't afford to be takin' our eyes off of what we gotta do."

Michonne also knew part of Spencer's hesitation was solely because Rick was the one driving the ship. He'd have been fine if the plan had come from her lips. Coming from Rick, he was hardwired to reject it. Spencer dealt with their renewed closeness the best he could, knowing how much it meant to Michonne to maintain her bond with Carl and Judith, but she knew he didn't like it. He'd become fiercely protective of their relationship, especially any time he felt Rick was overstepping.

"No Rick," Spencer countered, standing his ground. "I'm just saying this is a risky move. That's it. If Michonne's ok, then I'm ok."

"Fine, then it's settled," Daryl said, moving out from between the warring men and making his way to the front door. "I'll see y'all in the mornin'."

Michonne reached out, placing her hand on Spencer's arm and giving him a gentle squeeze. She walked them over to the front door to see everyone out. Secretly, she was worried too, but taking this chance seemed worth the risk. They'd be careful. They always were. She'd try to explain that to Spencer once everyone had left.

As the group filed out, Spencer gave her shoulder a squeeze and turned to walk upstairs to bed. Rick was the last one out and paused for a moment, his intense gaze giving her that prickly, nervous feeling.

"You got a minute for me?" Rick drawled, watching as her head turned towards the stairs where Spencer had just disappeared.

She turned back to him, scrutinizing the flicker of doubt as it ripple across his eyes.

"Yeah," she said, guiding him out onto her front porch. "I got a minute for you."


A/N: *SIGH* Life has decided to be a jerk lately and it's thrown off my entire process, such as it was. Editing continues to be my Achilles' heel, which is why I just gave up and split this into two chapters. On the plus side, the second half will be posted tomorrow. So, yay. Also, there are only three more chapters. The end is near my friends!

I had an entirely different direction for this chapter, but ended up scraping it and moving somethings to a later chapter. I'm not sure it works and may re-edit at a later date.

For those still on this journey with me, thank you! I've promised myself to wrap up this story by the end of August, so there you go. Gauntlet dropped. Feel free to come for me if I don't.

And for those who read my Carchonne prompt (The Little Things) on weretheoneswhowrite's tumblr, you might notice something extra in this chapter. As always, thank you for reading!