It came to her slowly.

A fleeting image that tempted her. Bold colors and strokes that, she could neither write, nor speak. A constantly moving and breathing tapestry, changing with every second.

It would not let her sleep, it wanted her to chase it before it leaped away from her forever. It kept her on the brink of consciousness, just enough to let her reality and dreams dance with each other. She knew what this was.

This feeling in her heart she could not write or speak… But she wanted to paint it. She wanted to paint again.

She hadn't had the urge in so long since the world had fallen all around her. The paints that Rick gave her just hours ago were calling. Long abandoned parts of her sprung out like flowers in the barren dirt.

In her dream sleep, she recounted many days in her old condo overlooking the city, days she spent spilling herself on the canvas; fishing her visions out of her mind and pinning them to the canvas. Watercolors were her favorite. She loved the flow and the bleed of them. Often times she could not tell where her and her brush ended.

She recalled time in the condo alone, as a young adult, when her art was the first furniture that she owned and, the only relief from long and stressful days as a lawyer. Then she remembered kneeling down on the floor with a swollen belly, how she painted every dream she had for her son, and the overflowing feelings she had for what was growing inside her. She remembered how she would share the canvas with Andre and how his paint strokes and painted footprints would make every piece better. Absolutely everything better. He could have been a painter…

Then it was just her and the sword as her paintbrush and the blood as her paint. But these were not those times anymore. She'd traded her brush for a sword out of necessity, what was the harm of picking it back up again?

Like in a sleepwalk, she got up before the sky started to swirl in those peerless shades of orange and pink that she had observed the morning before. It was still deep and dark out, and she could hear the crickets trilling in the distance.

With quiet, barefoot feet, she went downstairs and prepared the canvas. Instinctively, she kneeled to the floor in the living room where her locs rushed to the front of her entranced face. At first, there was a bit of hesitance to invite such a big part of her past life back into her, and the feelings associated. She thumbed the rough canvas with a slight smile, like catching up with an old friend. All hesitancy disappeared. She wanted to feel this again.

And there she was for both countless and few hours, with her vision coming undone on the blank canvas.

She sat there and tried to transcribe with paint just exactly how he made her feel, in the way that she could not write, or speak.


Michonne lost track of the time, she did not realize how the sun had ambushed her. It was a freeing feeling, to use the brush with differing pressures, sometimes soft, sometimes without reason, rather than the sword that was always a calculated swing.

She was so enthralled that she almost didn't catch Rick's quiet steps down the hall, drawing closer to the living room where she was.

Rick approached her from behind and leaned against the frame of the door. He could not see the painting by the way her body was positioned, but he could see the evidence surrounding her. She had paints on her hands and on the floor that was protected with a white blanket. The sun from the window was streaming through her locs that dangled around her shoulders as she painted. Rick thought she looked beautiful.

A small chuckle escaped his lips "Painting already, huh?" He felt contentment that he had gotten something useful to her.

"Yeah, I just had an idea that I couldn't shake." Michonne said, still painting, anxious to let him get a peak, but a curious feeling inside of her wanted him to see. She stopped painting and pushed back off her knees and onto her feet to give him a better view. "Wanna see?"

And he saw. There was something more to it than just a painting. To him it seemed like the most beautiful code. Indecipherable to him, but no less intriguing. He was taken aback by how full of emotion it was, like she'd taken her tears and used them to create watercolors. It was beauty, and she was beauty, and he was stunned.

In the silence that drifted between them, Michonne wondered if Rick knew he was gazing at her exposed heart. Michonne wanted to spout that he was her muse, let him know what it was right there, and leave it on that floor, but she knew what she had promised, and the thought fell away.

"Michonne, it's beautiful. You're incredibly talented," Rick slouched over the couch behind her, opting to not invade her space. There was more he wanted to say, but the painting left him in a daze.

"Thanks," She felt a sense of pride growing in her ribs, the warmth escaping up to meet her cheeks. "I was thinking maybe it would look nice where my katana used to be. Up above the fireplace, you know?" She motioned upward to the bare wall just in front of her. "Now that I mostly keep it in my room, this area is looking a little bare."

"Well, I think it'll work. It's going to be a great addition. You know the whole block is going to ask for commissions, you up for that?" Rick jabbed.

"Eh, That's not a bad thing, I could use a couple of feelers out there for some Big Cats." Michonne darted her eyes to Rick jokingly, as he emitted a chuckle. In his mind he added the chocolate bars to the list of things to get on the next run, along with spearmint toothpaste.

As they laughed, her eyes dropped to Rick's side to see that same tattered notebook that she had read just yesterday. Once she realized what it was, she didn't want to give it much attention, but Rick had already noticed that she was looking.

With an air of hesitation,coaxed by Michonne's offer of intimacy, he said. "Ah, I've - I've been writing." He pointed to his notebook for emphasis. It sounded like a confession, clammy and careful, like the night he told her about the guns. Michonne could only nod her head understandingly. "I've got to go off with Denise right now, but… maybe I can tell you about some of it later?"

This sparked a warm smile from Michonne. "I'd like that, Rick."

"Good, looking foward to it." He mirrored her grin. And with that, Rick got off of the couch and headed out the door.

Michonne gave her attention to her painting again. Giving it a once over, she was proud of it. It usually would take hours to days for her to finish a painting, but she felt good about leaving this one right where it was. It was perfect. She realized she'd left her heart on that canvas the way he left his heart on that page.

Deep down, she knew they would come together someday soon.


Finished! For those of you who follow me on Tumblr the top half should sound a little familiar lol. Thank you so much to those who stuck around to the end of this, encouraged me to write the next chapter and reviewed! A big thanks to my beta reader, leeeel!