A/N: Thank you all for reading. It is appreciated.


"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! Hold your fire!"

Rick could hear Maggie trudge through the tall grass surrounding the docking station where they stood. Still, he didn't turn his head from the stranger with the captivating deep brown eyes nor did he lower his Colt. He saw the muscles in her arms flex as she held her electric blade. He'd never seen a weapon quite like hers before.

Maggie reached their perimeter. "Morgan is on line," she struggled to say between pants.

She shoved their communicating tablet in his direction and Morgan appeared on the screen in Rick's periphery.

"Flame and Colt leaders, stand down. Stand down. You are allies."

Rick gritted his teeth before gazing at his friend. Ever since Morgan had taken a vow of nonviolence and left the crew to work for the Federation, Rick often found himself at odds with the man. However, he never forgot just how Morgan had saved his life when Rick was most vulnerable and that had left Rick indebted to him by Rick's own moral code. That didn't mean he didn't sometimes want to grab Morgan by the collar as he sat behind some cushy desk negotiating while Rick did the dirty work.

"Mighta been nice to let us know the crickets were gonna be screaming down on us before we came out here and almost started a fucking civil war," Abraham said. Rick watched him lower his weapon before giving the woman who had responded back to him in his own crass manner a once over.

The woman in front of him finally lowered her weapon. She deftly did something, which allowed the electricity to evaporate with a whizzing sound at the same time the entire sword disappeared from view.

He blinked a few seconds before shifting his Colt backwards in his hand, the barrel pointing upwards before he placed the safety back on. He offered her his hand to shake. She lifted one brow and ignored it, before pushing forward from the docking ramp of her ship. Her crew followed her onto the dry, red Virginia dirt.

It hadn't rained in weeks and the ground was starting to crack with its thirst.

Rick sniffed. This must be M.T., the leader of the Flames, but he was unimpressed by her level of friendliness and more than put off by her demeanor. Though he couldn't be too surprised. He had greeted her landing with a welcome party of guns rammed right into her face. Docking stations were dangerous, particularly for those onboard. Robbers sometimes risked the unknown for a shot at taking anything from unsuspecting crews-from women to entire ships. He scratched his nose knowing he'd set her and her team on edge in all the wrong ways.

Maggie increased the tablet volume and they listened to Morgan drone on a few more seconds about teamwork and capability and the Federation. Rick knew all that was important, but with one glance over at M.T., he knew she had tuned Morgan out to study his people as his folks were doing the same to hers.

Rick felt a rush through his body. This was going to be a long mission.


"Didn't mean to startle your folks back there. We'd heard you weren't coming in until tomorrow. Can't be too careful since this assassination attempt." He stood in the doorway of the foyer of one of the houses in Alexandria.

Quaint was the only word that had come to his mind when he'd seen this town. He'd been in space so long that he'd forgotten that Earth had carved out these spaces of artificial dreams back in the early twenty first century. Up until the Walker Virus, communities like these thrived for the people who aimed to have the American dream. At the thought, his hand clenched. Lori. Lori hadn't made it, but he knew President Deanna Monroe's quaint little town was exactly what she would have liked.

But looking at the world now, quaint could mean death trap and Rick wasn't exactly sure why the president of the Federation had decided to take her chances here. It had cost her. Her husband and son had been killed on the way back into town, but she insisted on staying.

He wondered how Commander M.T. had fared with President Monroe's scrutiny. He had found the woman a bit uneasy. He was there for a mission and he didn't need all the little ins and outs she found necessary to exist.

"I understand. Can't take too many risks out here," she answered.

He watched her place one of the dishes she'd just rinsed into the dishwasher of the house. This was another thing he found unsettling. He hadn't eaten on regular dishes in months. His ship came with biodegradable packages. They ate the food and Glenn and Daryl worked at putting the remains into their miniature garden onboard.

It was just as odd having a big refrigerator and marble counters and wooden cabinets. He even spotted a giant sofa in the living room.

She used a damp hand to brush some of the locs that had fallen from her headband out of her face and behind her ear. He sized her up. Without her space gear, she was lean, much tinier than he expected. He could see the defined muscles of her arms in her suit, but now he couldn't help but notice her ass in the, in his opinion, too tight black jeans she wore. He kept his eyes on the side of her face because of it. She didn't seem one for many words.

"Is there something I can get for you?" Her voice was melodic, but he detected a touch of frustration. He was just staring at her.

He cleared his throat. "Didn't want our rocky start to make this relationship awkward. These assassins are not going to stop coming after President Deanna and her son."

"We'll do the work. We'll get the job done."

Efficient and decisive. He imagined she was good at her job. She was the leader of another elite squad. He'd never heard of her and he knew that put her on his level. For these kinds of jobs, they tapped the best of the best and also those that had basically disappeared from the world. There was no official record of him.

"Also, I'm Rick Grimes, Colt Commander. Thought we could do the whole name exchange thing." He knew his Southern twang had accentuated the word 'thing'. He'd had a funky grasp on the word ever since he was a child. Some people found it charming and some people found it annoying.

She lifted the door to close the dishwasher and looked at him. "Michonne Thomas. Flame Commander. I take my job seriously. I read the briefing." She narrowed her eyes at him and gazed at his face. He felt himself attempting not to squirm. "We'll get the job done," she repeated after finally shifting her gaze.

He nodded, his boots clicked on the tile of the floor. Another one of his quirks was insisting on wearing cowboy boots when he didn't have to be suited for space travel.

"I'm sorry Morgan insisted on us living together. I know how important it is to have crew close by." He wasn't sure why Morgan had thought splitting the crews up in the various houses of Alexandria would be a good idea, but he'd found himself scheduled to live in the same house as Michonne. Morgan's orders were top of the line and could not be disputed. He wondered how Daryl was feeling about being cramped up with several of the Flame squadron and Carol. Carol was an old friend and unique assassin, a chameleon, but she'd gotten back from a mission recently and whatever she'd had to do, she was not in a good space. Rick kept clear of her some days so she could find her center. He knew working with people when they were tilting out of control was dangerous and not always for him. He valued Carol and her skills. She'd saved him a time or two.

"It's fine. Gives us more coverage. Might not have made as much sense to put the two leaders together, but all of my crew are equally as capable as I am. Anybody trying to infiltrate will die. It doesn't matter whose hands it's by."

He smiled at that. "So, I take it you don't share Morgan's stance on nonviolence."

She snorted and took a seat in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. Her own booted feet knocked the leg of the chair, causing a thump. "Morgan doesn't even share his stance on nonviolence. Why else are we out here?"

He saw the set in her shoulder relax a little when she leaned on the table. He took a seat across from her.

"Man won't kill."

"No, he'll just send his elite cabal of killers to do the job. In the old world, that's at least a charge of hiring a hit man."

He couldn't help but laugh. She was right. This was wild. She joined him, her laughter coming from her belly and he felt himself warm at the notion.

"So many things have changed." He sighed.

"They have," she replied. He could see the melancholy rest on the weight of her and he wished she was the lighthearted person she was just moments before. But things had changed and most of those changes in this world were not for the better. He'd still have Lori if they were. He'd still have Shane. He couldn't go down this path or he'd be warming more than his feelings later with the whiskey in one of the cabinets.

A loud noise crashed through their thoughts and both of them jerked upwards. Rick had his hand on his Colt before turning to the sound.

"Dad! Dad!"

He let out a breath. Carl, his teenaged son, and Judith, his three year old daughter rushed around the corner.

"It's okay. It's just my childr…" His voice trailed when he looked back at Michonne.

The calm demeanor she had displayed up until this point was gone. Her face was a mask of pain and anguish. He watched her hands shake as she grasped her sword. She looked at his children as if she'd seen a ghost.