A/N: This is where things really start to get interesting.

Disclaimer: It's depressing that I don't own any of these amazing characters.

Late Bloomer

"Where the hell have you two been?"

Daryl is looking at Merle, expecting an immediate answer from his older brother, and by the way he's staring at him, Michonne knows he's figured out Merle's plan to get the job done. Confusion seems to be floating around in there too somewhere, probably because Daryl's eyes keep flicking to Michonne as if he can't believe she's not dead, hands fused to the crossbow he rarely puts down. And he wants answers, proof that Merle knocked her unconscious and intended to deliver her to the Governor, proof of his suspicions. Rick's suspicions. If Daryl knows, Rick must too.

Should she tell them the truth? Or defend Merle for saving her life? Of course, she wouldn't have needed saving if he hadn't taken her in the first place. . . .

"Scouting ahead," Michonne replies, just as Merle says, "Looking for the Governor."

She resists the urge to roll her eyes because while she'd outright lied, at least it made sense. Merle hadn't lied—he eventually would've presented her to the one-eyed dictator of Woodbury with a smile—but it would be tricky making their two stories work. Though not exactly impossible.

Michonne takes a step forward, successfully gaining Daryl's full attention. "We decided it would be best to pair up and scout the area for potential threats from the Governor. There's nothing yet, but Merle managed to find some places for traps," she reports. No chance in hell was he getting away without having to work for it. So Merle just smiles and assures Daryl he'll take care of it.

After he talks to Rick.

Which, come to think of it, she also needs to do.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap—

"Officer Friendly's waitin' for ya, sweetheart."

Michonne glances up to see a wide grin spread across the devilish face of Merle Dixon. She hates the way his eyes smile down at her like he knows her deepest, darkest secrets. As if she knows his. Like they're a team. It disgusts her. Just because she'd saved his life didn't mean he'd automatically gained an ally. Maybe he reads the opposite of this truth in her eyes, extending a hand to help her up. She simply stares, confused, conflicted. Terrified of what excepting Merle's help would mean. Michonne pushes herself to her feet without his aid. "We'll talk outside," is all she can say in an even tone, careful not to meet his gaze. She brushes past him to find Rick, hoping she can back up whatever bullshit story Merle concocted.

She finds him, head in his hands, sitting on a stool in one of the cells on the upper floor. Michonne notices how worn he appears on the outside, how dead he must be inside. Rick almost sold her out for a chance to save his family. And she can't blame him. How can she? He'd been faced with hard decisions every day since the dead began to roam the planet. She knew the choice hadn't been an easy one to make from the start.

"I'm sorry, Michonne," he mumbles to his palms. Rick's hands fall from his face, forcing himself to look at her. "I made the wrong call."

"I don't blame you, Rick. You did what you had to do."

"But I had a choice," he insists.

Michonne folds her arms and smiles sadly, leaning against the doorframe. "You had a family to protect. And it doesn't matter, anyway. Whatever Merle told you is a lie. We went looking for the Governor, scouting ahead so we could be ready."

Rick's jaw clenches. "He told me you—" He stops, unsure if he should reveal what the eldest Dixon had decided to share with him. Rick swallows hard once. "He told me you saved his life out there when he would have left you behind. Carl told me you were one of us, and this only proves that. But I need to know you're with us, Michonne. We need numbers."

She nods once. "Yeah," Michonne replies truthfully. "I'm with you."