Right...this fic will be focusing on Rick and Michonne's relationship from the prison to the present. This is a retelling to a degree, although a lot of it will be my interpretation and of course eventual sexy times. The plot will sway from the TV series with some different twists and I hope you enjoy!
Let the right one in
Chapter one: Visions
The cell was dark, dingy and damp. The only light from the hallway fading as the last flame from a flickering candle was softly blown out.
It was happening again. A descent into the dark depths of a fragile mind, the nightmare forcing it's victim awake with a devastating start.
Every night was the same.
No matter how exhausted, how occupied from the day's events, as soon as his eyes shut the dreams would come. A reoccurring nightmare that haunted his mind like a ghost in the night. Cruelly snatching away any sense of progress from the crippling grief and jolting his body, harshly awake.
The dream was always the same.
She stood at the edge of a high cliff waiting to jump, but he couldn't stop her. He would push through the invisible force holding him captive, finally reaching her just as she was about to fall. He would pull her arm, turning her to face him as the reality would abruptly hit him.
She was one of them. Her face looked eaten from the inside out. Decayed, rotten with flesh and bone exposed in the daylight. Her soft brown eyes no longer alive with warmth but dead beyond recognition. Even to him.
Then his body would jerk awake. The echoes of a scream ebbing into silence throughout the confined space of his cell. The disturbing image of his late wife, still played behind his eye lids as white flecks of light clouded his vision.
He wondered how many of his group in the prison would hear him each night.
No one spoke of his nightmares just like they would never speak of Lori. It was like walking on egg shells around their leader, too terrified of fuelling an outburst from just one ill advised word.
And this was how Rick liked it. How he preferred it to be.
To suffer every night with these horrid visions was one thing, but to acknowledge his crumbling sanity to the others was something he just was not prepared to do.
His inner most thoughts were private, disconnected from the rest of the group. He was never a talker when it came to his deepest feelings. It just wasn't Rick Grime's style.
So he took the full pelt of anguish onto his own shoulders. Consumed with guilt beyond belief.
It was better to do that than to speak of these worrying visions.
So he eased back down onto the uncomfortable bunk. Nestling into the pillow his watery eyes shut tight, determined but anxious to full back to sleep. At least in the day he knew he was awake. At night however the dreams were so intense, so realistic that it was like reliving her death all over again.
And he couldn't catch his breath.
The atmosphere was calm now as Rick gave in to his body's need for sleep.
Tomorrow was just another day after all.
The day was unbearably hot. The Georgia sun beating rays of heat down towards the prison without mercy.
The unrelentingly heat was no excuse for laziness, however. There were lists of jobs that needed to be done and no one was more determined than Rick.
The others had seen first hand the extent of Rick's madness. Hershel was the only one brave enough to voice an opinion on the matter, insisting to Rick that these jobs could wait until the visions had subsided.
Of course the leader had other ideas. Telling Hershel "I'm fine" in his most convincing voice, fooling no one but himself. He would rather burn to death under the intense rays of the sun, than to sit alone, unguarded with his thoughts.
So Hershel left the broken man to himself without further question. He understood that grief was a personal phenomenon and how Rick chose to deal with that grief was his business, no one else's.
The older man was just thankful Rick was no longer spending his time, locked away, deep within the prison's basement. With only the rotting remains of walkers for company.
It must have been noon when Rick spotted her.
The pig pen had been thoroughly cleaned and the crops watered. He now stood up high, perched on a look out post. Riffle held firm in one arm as the other scanned the deserted land beyond the prison gates, eyes squinting from the sunlight.
He had to re-adjust the binoculars when he first saw the figure roaming lifelessly across the yard.
Another vision?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, tightly closing his eyes until the image had dissipated from his mind. Only then did he look once more, hoping he wasn't completely losing it.
Gazing through the lens of the binoculars again, there she was as clear as day.
A lone woman, long legs striding fearlessly across the yard while walkers ignored her. She looked sullen, almost dazed as she marched and if Rick hadn't been staring so intently he would have missed the slight limp to her left leg.
She was wounded, but determined all the same and he realised she was making her way slowly towards the first gate of the prison.
Rick climbed down from the lookout post, riffle still armed. He paced cautiously towards the fence, bow legs coming to a stop just in front of the locked gate.
And now he could see her. Really see her.
She wasn't just a vision, she was flesh and blood. Desperate and needy as she clung to the fence. Fingers gripping hold of the metal wire as she met his cold gaze from the other side.
And she was staring. A longing within her eyes for a connection, for help.
Both of them looked at each other with an intense aggression. Rick was taken back by how intrigued he was by this stranger. There was a familiarity behind her eyes that he could instantly relate too. Suddenly the smell of rotten flesh hit the back of his nostrils and Rick realised her jeans were covered in walker guts.
Neither spoke, just stared. Ice blue dancing with the darkest brown Rick had ever seen.
He was oblivious to the sounds of footsteps behind him, or his son's voice calling. In that moment he felt oddly drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.
Then she reached down, her fingertips brushing over the wounded leg, causing her to wince in pain. There were walker's either side of her now. Snarling and growling at the smell of fresh blood coating human flesh.
One tired to bite her and she quickly pivoted. Avoiding the inevitable she pulled a long sword from her back, beheading the walker in one clean swipe. Rick could see she was struggling. Her leg now dragging, agonisingly behind her as she killed the walkers the other side, only more were closing in.
"Should we help?!" Carl's voice broke Rick from a haze and he cocked his riffle, shooting walkers through the wired fence just as she fell to the ground, exhausted.
The gate was then unlocked.
She was a dead weight against Rick's shoulder as he hurled her lifeless body, carefully down, onto the cold concrete of the holding cell's floor.
She had passed out. Her legs giving way from a mix of heat, exhaustion and pain. It was as though she had pushed her body to it's very limit, fighting through until she was truly gone.
Rick didn't feel best pleased about this outcome. He hadn't taken her in out of kindness, no. He was thirsting for information. The bag of supplies he had found by her side was filled with items too personal to his and his own. Baby formula, the exact brand and age Judith was using was amongst the goods. Rick couldn't help but feel she was here for a reason.
"She's dehydrated" He heard Hershel say, watching as the older man looked her over. Rick knelt down beside him, easing the injured leg straight until the wound came into view. it looked infected, angry almost, as the blood seeped into the fabric of her skin-tight jeans.
Hershel then passed Rick a bottle of water, encouraging him to try and rouse her. The water hit her skin in cool ribbons, soaking through the thin material of her tank top.
Her eyes slowly opened, long eyelashes fluttering against dark cheeks. The sight of the two men came in and out of focus as she found her bearings, suddenly acting out in panic.
"Easy...easy now. You're ok" There was kindness hidden within the southern twang of his words. She found herself drawn to his voice, sitting up to find his face inches from hers.
There was something about his eyes. A flicker of mystery behind the sharpness of blue, eyes that now focused just on her.
"Who are you?" He asked softly "Tell us your name"
She didn't answer. Not that she didn't want to, she just didn't feel it necessary. She would wait until he asked the right question.
"We can tend to that wound for you...give you a little food and water then send you on your way, but your gonna have to tell us where you got that formula from"
"The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy with a pretty girl" Her voice was low, quiet but to the point.
"What happened?" Rick asked
"Were they attacked?" Hershel wondered.
"They were taken"
"Taken by who?" Rick spat, growing impatient with her reluctance to offer all the details.
"By the same son of a bitch who shot me" She spat back, aggression coating her words.
"Hey, those are our people! You tell me where they are right now!" He yelled angrily, grabbing her thigh he squeezed down hard on the gun shot wound, causing her to yelp in surprise and pain.
She drew her legs up to her chest, snatching her wounded thigh from his punishing grasp.
"Don't you ever touch me again!"
She snarled like a caged animal, biting down hard on her lip to stop from whimpering in pain.
Suddenly a crossbow was thrust in her face, the sharp point from the arrow inches from her cheek.
"You better start talkin' or you'll have more than a gun shot wound to worry bout" The archer was tall. Strength contorting under skin slick with sweat.
The heat wasn't just getting to her after all.
She looked between the two men, eyes wild.
"Find them yourself"
That evening Hershel had stayed with her.
Once again her body had flopped. Giving in to the uncontrollable urge to rest, out like a light on the hard floor. Hershel had draped a blanket across her shoulders, not that she really needed it. The night air was warm. The holding cell stuffy.
Rick approached from behind, his eyes fixated on the motionless body just laying there. Hershel heard his footsteps, turning he exited the cell, closing the door shut behind him.
"She must of been fightin' sleep for days now. She's exhausted"
Rick snorted. He didn't care how exhausted she was. All he wanted was information on his people's whereabouts.
"She's uncomfortable down there Rick, she needs a bed"
She next awoke on the hard mattress of a bunk in another holding cell, her head dizzy from thirst and hunger. Her lips dry and cracked.
"Welcome back"
That voice again. Smooth like butter but rough round the edges, startled her in the dim light.
She could just make out the shape of his face, the curve of his jaw as he sat opposite her. Lean legs sprawled out in front of him.
"Thirsty?" He asked casually.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the heat down in the cell was unbearable.
"Well?" He asked again in aggravation. She got the feeling patience wasn't his strong point.
There was only silence at first, until Rick could sense her unease and he knew it was because of him.
"Look you can either die down here of thirst, or take the damn drink" he teased, his arm moving.
She could see the faint gleam of plastic from a water bottle held in his hand and her need outweighed her sense.
She nodded, with hope that she could trust him.
The water was passed her way and she drank greedily, savouring the bland flavour like it was the best thing she had ever tasted.
Rick's eyes never left her as she devoured the remains of water from the bottle. Her lips pulled free and she looked towards him, her eyes shone with gratitude.
"Thanks" She said, so softly Rick hardly heard her.
"Tell me your name" He asked again, the words delicate.
This time she answered him.
"Michonne"
"Rick" He responded.
"Hershel's gonna help fix your leg but in the meantime I suggest you start talkin'. I need to know where Maggie and Glenn are"
She could hear the desperation in his voice so she answered, part of her wishing that he had never asked.
"There's this town...West from here, called Woodbury. It's run by this guy who calls himself the Governor. Pretty boy, charming, Jim Jones type. I think they were taken there"
"Why did you come here?" Rick asked, still confused by her intentions.
"I heard your friends talking. Something about getting the supplies back to a prison"
"And how did you know where to find us?" Rick asked intrigued.
"I didn't know. I just followed the dirt track. I thought that would be my best shot"
Rick rubbed a hand through his hair, fingers gliding through the soft but tangled curls.
He was in awe that she had managed to get to the prison unharmed.
"Best shot for what?"
"For help"
The canteen was ridiculously warm, the heat penetrating from the boiler room right through to the kitchen.
Daryl sat, crossed legs resting up high on a bench, while he ate the left over remains of a can of beans. It must have been coming up to one in the morning because the prison was deathly quiet. He knew Rick would be finishing his watch from the tower any minute now and it would be his turn to take over.
The doors to the canteen swung open with force, a tired looking Rick came walking through. Daryl nodded in his direction, stuffing one last mouthful of beans before getting up. Only Rick stopped him, told him to sit back down for five more minutes.
The two men sat opposite one another on the canteen table. Rick's hair a dishevelled mess as the dampness in the air played havoc with his curls.
"Jesus it's hot tonight" he said, wiping the sweet from his brow.
Daryl studied his face. He seemed edgy, tense, but that was just Rick these days and God would everyone just get over it already
"What do you think of her...Michonne?" Rick suddenly asked, playing with his hands.
"Don't know man...she seems...different"
"Do you think we can trust her?" Rick wanted Daryl to say yes so at least if he did fuck up, it wasn't just his doing.
The archer stretched his back, resting a foot across his right knee he looked into the cold blue of the other man's eyes.
"I don't think we have a choice"
Rick sighed in frustration. He knew Daryl was right. They needed Michonne to find Woodbury, their only hope of saving Maggie and Glenn.
"As soon as we find them, she's gone"
That next morning was just as hot and Rick was up bright and early.
He was in the yard, tending to the pigs when a glimpse of feathery light fabric caught his eye, mesmerizing him into a trance. He looked for the dress but it was gone, until suddenly it was there again, right by the gate.
The bottom of the dress swayed lightly from an invisible breeze that only he could see. He followed the vision loyally, captivated by the promise it held.
He now stood by the gate, frantically tugging the keys from his back pocket he unlocked the door urgently.
And there he stood. Only for a moment as he watched the image of his wife flicker, like a TV with poor reception. Then she was by the lake and Rick couldn't help himself, he had to get to her.
Hershel now stood in the yard with Michonne in tow. He was used to this routine, as every morning he would check on Rick. Determined to pull the leader's attention away from his grief, if only for a moment.
When he spotted Rick chasing something that wasn't there he exhaled a worried breath. Michonne looked to the older man, then back towards Rick, confusion knotting her brow.
"What is he doing?" she asked.
"I wish I knew"
Michonne was laid out on her stomach, her hands flat either side of her head. She pushed up from the ground, feeling the familiar strain run through her toned arms.
She was distrubed by the sound of the cell door being unlocked, but carried on with her exercises regardless.
"You should really be restin' up" That southern charm again.
She ignored his advice. Continuing the push ups a few more mintues, stopping only when she was ready.
She could feel his eyes on her, burning through her clothes to the skin beneath as he traced every cruve.
She suddenly stopped and jumped up, standing metres away by the bunk. Rick moved forward, closing the distance between them ever so slightly.
"We're plannin' on findin' Maggie and Glenn. I need you to take me to woodbury. I need to get a feel for the place before we plan our move"
Michonne stood in the corner silent. He was asking for help and she wanted to abide.
"Your trusting me now?" She mocked, eyebrow raised.
Rick's eyes shifted round the room, he was finding her face very distracting.
"I don't have a choice" He said firmly.
She crossed her arms, meeting his eyes from across the room.
"I can take you there"
"Good. We'll leave tomorrow, bright and early. I'll come by in the mornin' to get you"