A/N: I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday season! Sorry for the delay between updates-I got a little lazy over the holidays, but I'm back with a super long chapter. I just want to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing these chapters, and address a few things that came up.
Evie: I do not mind your comparisons at all; in fact, I invite them because this story really was meant to be a remix. It's funny you mentioned the Rosita/Sasha/Michonne scene because it was the impetus for me writing this fic. I wanted to know what was going on with Michonne, and "I've been sleeping" or whatever they offered was not cutting it for me, so a fic was born.
SSW: Yes, this story is going beyond season 5 and will include a little bit of spec for 6B if I can keep up. I'm excited to play with that stuff.
Hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope you all have a very happy and healthy new year!
She'd turned her morning alarm off sometime around 4:00 AM when it became clear to her that she wouldn't be needing it at all. Since getting home from the infirmary, she'd showered and put on a clean white tank top and sweat pants then settled on top of her made bed, staring at the ceiling. Noah was gone. Tara wasn't yet, but things were touch and go, and there was nothing she could do about it. She found herself pacing the room in the dead of night, switching out her sweats for her leather pants and grabbing a cardigan from her top drawer so she could walk over to the infirmary before she stopped herself, questioning how it would help. What she needed to do was sleep so that she could relieve her friends in the morning, so she tossed the cardigan on the bed and lay down again staring at the ceiling. Loss was nothing new, especially not lately with one coming right after the other, but this was the first time she'd experienced it from a place of safety where she didn't have the luxury of substituting grieving with surviving.
As the first of the early morning sun began to stream through her windows, she looked to her right seeing that the clock read 6:30 AM, finally an appropriate time to start her day; then she rolled her head to the left to search for the cardigan she'd taken off overnight, but the basket of clean laundry setting on an ottoman against the wall caught her eye. She pulled herself out of bed to take a closer look at the black t-shirt strewn across the top of the pile. In the light of day, it was obvious to her what it was. She picked it by the sleeves, letting the shirt unfold, exposing the print on the front.
"I keep meaning to ask you what the story behind your shirt is," she said pointing at the bird graphic with 'one one recording studios' written under it.
"Thrift store find," he answered with a quizzical look as he screwed the cap back onto a bottle of apple juice before turning to place it in the fridge before returning to the kitchen island where Michonne sat drinking a glass herself.
"Cool."
"Thrift store after everything went down, so it's not vintage or anything. Or maybe it is…I have no idea where this place is," he said with a grin in his typically dry manner.
"Right..." Michonne answered as she started to laugh at herself. "That was really stupid of me."
"Nah, I've always wondered myself... I could have told you anything," he said shaking his head at the missed opportunity to mess with her.
"Probably."
"It was my label. I was a pretty well-known international recording artist, had a few number one hits in Germany, you may know some of them..." he said completely straight-faced.
"OK, get the hell out of here," she laughed as she crumpled up the paper towel she'd used as a plate for her apple slices with peanut butter then tossed at his face.
She loosely folded the shirt and placed it back on top of the pile before walking around to the opposite side of the bed where the slipped on her boots before exiting her room quietly. She looked around at the doors of the neighboring bedrooms, all shut with no sign of activity, so she gingerly walked downstairs toward the living room which was quiet and dark save for the sunlight peeking through the living room shades. As she came off the last step and rounded the corner, she was surprised to find Carl, Rick, and Judith sitting at the dining table eating breakfast.
"I didn't think anyone was awake yet," she whispered as she walked up behind Carl, moving to stand next to him. Rick and Judith looked up from the spoonful of oatmeal he was guiding toward her mouth at the sound of Michonne's voice.
"I couldn't sleep," Carl mumbled.
"If one of us gets up, we all do," Rick added referring to the Grimes family's very close sleeping quarters.
She reached down and rubbed her hand over Carl's long hair which was a tousled, mess of bedhead before heading into the kitchen to make herself some tea. The kettle was already on the burner, and a quick touch against the side revealed that it was still warm, likely leftover from their oatmeal. She grabbed a bag from the box of black tea she left out on the counter then filled her mug to the brim with the water before walking back over to the dining table, yawning as she settled into the chair across from Carl.
"Sorry if we woke you, too," he apologized, having looked up at the sound of her yawn.
"Not at all," she answered after taking a sip of her tea which had already cooled to the perfect drinking temperature. "I couldn't sleep myself. I decided to get up so I could check in on Tara and whoever else is there with her. I'm sure it was a long night for them."
"Is it OK if I tag along?"
"Of course." She glanced quickly at Rick who gave her a quick consenting nod.
"Let me go get dressed. Brush my teeth."
"And the hair," she said with a wink.
Michonne took another sip of her tea, glancing out of the side of her eye at Rick as she encircled the mug with both hands, holding it close to her mouth in preparation of the next sip. He sat there quietly feeding Judith, no smiling or playing like she was used to seeing from them in them in the mornings. The baby was uncharacteristically subdued, as well, causing Michonne to wonder if she somehow knew that her family was in mourning today.
"You should come with us," she said quietly causing Rick to look up at her again.
"I've gotta watch Judy until Carol can take her at 10:00, then I've got my shift," he hemmed.
"She can come with us."
"We shouldn't crowd them. I'll stop by later."
"Crowd them?" Michonne asked incredulously.
"Yeah," he responded simply which only caused her to frown in confusion.
"We just lost Noah, and Tara is hanging on by a thread over there," she said still whispering, but emphatically as she pointed in the in the direction of the infirmary. "This is our family, Rick...where else would you..." she trailed off shaking her head in utter confusion before hearing Carl bounding down the stairs. She tore her eyes from Rick and took another sip of tea before Carl appeared in front of her dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, his hair now tamed into a more presentable mess of hair.
"Ready," he announced.
Michonne shook her head, and pushed away from the table then walked into the kitchen to place her mug in the sink. She wasn't usually one to leave dirty dishes, but she decided she'd tend to it later since she was even more anxious to get out of the house now.
"You coming?" Carl asked his father, oblivious to the conversation that occurred in his short absence.
"I'm gonna go a little later."
"OK," Carl said as he knitted his brow at the unexpected response.
Michonne walked toward the front door, and was quickly followed by Carl. She held the door open for him, looking over at her shoulder once more at Rick as he stoically finished up breakfast with his daughter, before closing it behind her and descending the porch steps to catch up with Carl who stood waiting for her. They took off, slowly walking side by side in the direction of the clinic.
"Have you seen her yet?" he asked looking up at her as they walked. She looked down to meet his eyes which were now almost level with hers thanks to the growth spurt he was clearly going through.
"Yeah. I stopped by for a little bit last night after they stabilized her."
"Is it really bad?"
"No. She looks comfortable, like she's just sleeping."
"I just don't get it."
"Get what?" she asked, slowing her pace slightly to focus on him.
"How they could let that happen to Noah and Tara."
"Glen and Eugene did everything they could, sometimes things don't go your way out there..."
"Not them. I understand being scared or inexperienced, but I can't understand leaving someone in danger. We don't do that."
"No, we don't," she agreed hesitantly as the quiet anger simmering under his words became more clear to her. She looked up to find that they were just a few feet from the infirmary, so she stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face him so that they could continue their conversation.
"On the first day here, I told my dad that I thought these people were weak, that I was afraid they'd make us weak, and look what's happening."
"That's not what's happening. We're not weak...and neither are they, they just don't know yet; they haven't needed to, but we'll help them get there."
Carl gave her a look she knew well, one they'd come to share with each other quite often over the past year. With a blank face and slight tilt of his head, he wordlessly asked her to level with him, to cut the bullshit. She nodded her head, and sighed. I know she whispered under her breath. He had every right to be angry about what happened to his friends, but she wanted him to see it from all sides.
"Look, no one's born knowing how to handle themselves out there. We all had to learn at some point: your dad, Daryl, me, you. We can teach them. They need us."
He held her gaze for a moment as he mulled over her appeal before dropping his head, nodding in agreement as he looked back up.
"You're right," he started. "Now that we're here, and we've seen what they're like, not teaching them would be just like leaving them out there on their own, and we don't do that."
Michonne released a small sigh of relief and a proud grin developed on her face.
"Exactly. That's not who we are."
He nodded back at her then they both turned to take the last few steps toward the entrance of the infirmary. He opened the door in front of her, but stood still on the doormat, glancing back at her. She nudged him forward with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. Once they were both inside, she shut the door behind her and walked toward the small group of people clustered at the kitchen island.
"Good morning," Maggie said with a small smile as she straightened up in her seat on a bar stool.
"Good morning," Michonne said, her greeting accompanied by warm hugs for Maggie and Rosita who were seated next to each other looking out over the room so that they could keep their eyes on Tara. After embracing them, she looked up and nodded at the man who was sitting opposite them. "Pete."
"Morning," he said with a nod. "I was just on my way out," he announced as he stood. "Rosita, send for me at home if you need anything. I'll be back in a few hours."
They quietly watched him leave before returning their attention toward each other. Carl left the ladies to take the empty chair next to Eugene at Tara's bedside. She watched as he sat down and quietly said something Eugene before giving him a quick pat on the back. Eugene then returned to his silent vigil, and Carl followed his lead.
"How's she doing?" Michonne asked as she returned her attention to Maggie and Rosita.
"Stable. Hanging on," Rosita answered.
"Eugene said she moved her hand last night while he was talking to her, but I don't know. Pete said that can happen, that it probably doesn't mean much," Maggie offered, trying to temper her optimism.
"Well, we'll still take it," Michonne said. "How are you two holding up?"
"Fine. We've been here all night. Eugene, too," Rosita said as she jutted her chin toward him.
"You all should get some rest."
"I will once Pete gets back," Rosita assured her. Michonne then narrowed her focus on Maggie.
"I will," she promised. "I'll go in a bit."
"Excuse me." The three women looked up to see Eugene walking toward them. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but with this room being as small as it is, I couldn't help but hear that you'd be going home."
"Mmm hmm," Maggie responded softly. No one was doing well, but her heart broke for him as he seemed to be taking Tara's injury the hardest.
"Would it be too much trouble to ask you to bring some things back for me?"
"Yes," Rosita replied brusquely causing Michonne to look at Maggie in shock. She just shook her head knowingly, assuring Michonne not to be worried. "You should be going home yourself, Eugene."
"I cannot do that, Rosita," he responded adamantly. "I promised I would not leave her side and I will not break that promise to her. Not now."
"Tara would tell you to stop being so literal... and she'd also probably say to back off, creeper."
"That may be true, but until I hear those words from her mouth, I will err on the side of caution by upholding the strictest interpretation of my promise."
"Eugene," Rosita said in exasperation.
"Carl and I will keep watch for you. If anything happens, one of us will come get you right away," Michonne offered, her gentle tone contrasting Rosita's very sharp version of tough love.
"Promise?" he asked.
"We promise," Carl called out from his seat at the bedside where he'd been watching the exchange.
"Come on. Let's go," Maggie said with a smile.
"I will be back in no more than 90 minutes," he informed Michonne as he passed her on his way out of the infirmary.
"OK," she said as she looked him square in the eye with a firm nod. Once they shut the door behind them, she walked over to take the now empty seat next to Carl, still warm from Eugene's constant presence since last night. She took in a deep breath as she looked at Tara's face. She was breathing softly and evenly, eyes closed, and no signs of trauma on her face. She looked like she was sleeping, not unconscious or in a coma, and therefore, it was hard to believe she wouldn't just wake up at any moment.
"Can you hand that to me?" she asked as she tapped Carl's arm with her hand then pointed at the bottle of lotion setting on the bedside table.
He passed her the bottle and watched curiously as she squeezed a small amount into the palm of her hand, then took Tara's hand in hers and began to massage it into her skin.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting some lotion on her hands so they don't dry out. Moving them around for her, too, since she can't do it on her own. Don't want them to tighten upon her," Michonne explained as she looked over at Carl whose face was still pinched in confusion.
"My grandmother got really sick when I was in college so I went home every chance I could to visit. This is something I used to do for her. I'd save the crosswords from the paper every day, too, and then I'd work through all of them with her at her bedside. She'd been doing them every day since she was around your age, so I didn't want her to miss out."
"Was she..." Carl trailed off as his eyes drifted back to Tara, unsure of what to call this state.
"She was in a coma for a couple weeks before she passed," Michonne confirmed before catching herself, "but she was older and sick before, so..."
"I know. I was out of it for a few days when I got shot," he said matter of factly.
"That's right."
"I'm not sure what my parents did while I was out, but every time I woke up, at least one of them was always there."
"I'm sure they were."
"Once I woke up, too, they never left my side. It must have been boring," he said with a small smile as he thought of his mother sitting and staring at him for hours on end.
"No," Michonne said shaking her head and matching his smile with her own. "I guarantee they were probably feeling every emotion, except that one considering how much they love you."
She gently placed Tara's hand back on the bed then grabbed the lotion, and walked around to stand on the other side of the bed where she grabbed her left hand in hers to start the process again. As she gently kneaded her hand, she looked around the silent room from this new vantage point. Tara's soft breathing was the only sound she could hear. Rosita was hunched over in her chair in the kitchen, resting her head against the granite counter top using Michonne's presence as quick chance to rest her eyes; and Carl sat in his chair with his hands clasped in his lap staring at the edge of her bed as if he didn't feel comfortable looking at her. The sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from her task, and she looked up to see Rick entering in his constable uniform with Judith in his arms. The sight of him brought her a sense of relief; despite what was going on with him lately, he was still there. Once he closed the door, Rosita slowly lifted her head off the table and Carl turned in his chair to see his father.
"Hello," he said quietly as he nodded in Rosita's direction. His greeting was met by a faint smile before she laid her head down again.
He then walked further into the room, uncomfortably avoiding the steady gazes from Michonne and his son. He sat down in the empty chair beside Carl, and turned Judith to sit in his lap, but she had other plans as she reached for her brother with both hands. Hey Judes he whispered as he opened his arms to her so that his father could pass her over.
"You made it."
Rick looked up to find Michonne still focused on him from where she stood across the bed.
"Of course I did," he answered stiffly. "How is she?"
"No change."
He made a soft, regretful sound in response then shifted his focus from Michonne to Tara. As she returned to massaging her hand, she watched as he sat there, his free hands now gripping the arm rests of the chair and his lips pressed tightly together in a straight line. He seemed uneasy, but he was there she told herself.
"Have you seen Deanna yet this morning?" she asked quietly as she released Tara's hand from hers and placed it at her side.
"Not since yesterday," he answered, his eyes lagging behind his words, not meeting hers until after he'd finished speaking.
"I should check on her. Will you be here for a little while?"
"Yeah."
"OK. I'll be back soon then." She nodded then walked around the bed to make her way toward the door.
"Hey Michonne." She stopped midway and turned back at the sound of Carl's voice.
"Yeah?"
"Can you stop at home on your way back and bring the stack of comics and the deck of cards on the shelf in my room?"
"Of course. Anything else?"
"No, that's all."
"Ok," she said softly smiling to herself. "I'll be back in a bit."
xxxx
She shut the door and stood on the steps of the Monroe townhouse for a moment, her quick visit had spanned a few hours as she sat with Deanna and Reg. Regardless of his age, a mother had lost her son. It was something that people say should never happen in that order, something that Michonne knew too well herself. Ever the optimist and professional, though, Deanna put on a brave front this morning. She'd allowed herself space to do nothing but grieve the night before, but today was a new day, she said, and they needed to carry on. Against Michonne's advisement, she didn't want to reschedule their afternoon meeting to go over plans; she wanted to maintain some normalcy, so Michonne obliged; she would present the plans she had been working on for the past week at 4:00 PM today. She walked down the steps and turned in the direction of her house to pick up the items Carl had requested along with the plans she'd been working on so that she could make her final revisions.
"Michonne."
She turned to find Dev jogging lightly to catch up with her so she stopped and took a few steps toward him to meet in middle of the street
"Hi."
"I'm sorry about Noah."
"Thank you," she said looking down at the ground for a moment, unable to handle his earnest gaze. "And I'm sorry about Aiden. I know he was a part of your crew," she added as she looked back at him, squinting her eyes, still unable to fully look at him.
"Thank you," he said rather stiffly before redirecting the focus back to her. "How are you holding up?"
She paused at his question, one she had asked of others several times that morning. It was hard to answer, but she knew it came from a place of care and concern...even helplessness in the face of someone's grief.
"I'm OK," she said with a reassuring nod.
"You mentioned 'the kids' when we were talking at the party, so I wasn't sure of he was..." Her eyes widened at his assumption.
"No. No, no...I was talking about Carl and Judith. Rick's kids. We met Noah a few weeks before we got here and took him in. He'd lost his parents and brothers..." She left the story at that as she watched his expression change from slight relief for her to a look of dismay.
"God...he didn't look a day over eighteen," he remarked genuinely affected by this young man's plight. "Where did you find him?"
"This..." she trailed off as she searched for a way to explain the horror that was Grady hospital, "place down in Atlanta. He'd befriended a girl in our group."
"Tara?"
"No, it's no one you know," she answered solemnly.
"This kind of thing was supposed to stop when you got in here. We promised you safety, right?"
"There aren't any guarantees anymore. We know that," she assured him.
"Well, I'm truly sorry, Michonne. I am."
He took a step toward her to close the distance between them then extended his right hand and placed it on her upper arm, rubbing it gently before letting it trail down a few inches to her elbow. He cupped it in his palm, pausing for a moment then giving it a light squeeze before letting his hand fall to his side.
His comforting gesture lasted just a few seconds, but she could still feel his touch on her skin, the warmth giving way to a chill that ran up her arm to the back of her neck, and now to the back of her eyes where a stinging sensation caused her to break her gaze and look down at the ground. She clenched her eyes shut and inhaled slowly, hoping that the threat of tears would remain just that and not come to fruition. The feeling thankfully passed, and she looked back up at him, shyly mouthing thank you before clearing her throat and fully regaining her composure.
"You know I mentioned the mural to Deanna the other day, and she approved it. I was going to stop by to tell you, but then everything happened. She said you could start on the panels behind the armory." She tried to muster a smile at being able to deliver at least one bit of good news on this terrible day.
"Way back in the corner where nobody ever goes," he replied with a wry grin.
"For now," she said with a shrug. "I think she referred to it as a pilot program."
"Sounds like something she would say."
"The words arts and initiative were thrown in there somewhere, too," Michonne added with a genuine grin since he also recognized Deanna's propensity for bombast.
"You know, I was just going to slap some paint on a wall one afternoon, but now it feels like this is turning into something bigger. No pressure at all," he said as he ran his hand through his loose, wavy hair, a bemused look on his face.
"Just do what you originally set out to do."
"Would you be willing to take a look at my sketches?" he asked tentatively. "Another day, of course, when you're up to it."
She looked down the road to her house, and to the infirmary beyond that, knowing that she had obligations to uphold there then looked back at Dev. She barely knew him, nor him her, but she was drawn to him. He seemed kind, considerate, and hopeful; all things that felt like a salve to her wounded heart and mind. She could leave now and return to the tragedy that awaited her down the street, but she couldn't remember the last time someone reached out to her like he had or the last time she'd chosen comfort over the hard road, so she decided to try another way in this moment.
"I can take a look at them now. I have a few minutes to spare."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Just let me grab them then," he stammered slightly as he started to backpedal in the direction of his house, keeping his eyes on her until she joined him in walking toward his house.
He turned forward once she was by his side, and they quietly walked to his house where she waited on the porch while he went inside, coming out a couple minutes later with a black, moleskin journal in his hand. They set off for the farthest corner of the community, finding the section of the wall behind the armory. They stopped and took it in; the position of the sun and the building blocking it made it a dark, dreary corner. They shared a look of disappointment after surveying the area then he flipped open the journal, and handed it over to her.
"This page and the next," he said in almost a whisper as he showed her his sketches.
He picked at the loose button of his worn denim shirt as he watched her thoughtfully examine the first sketch before turning to the next one. He smiled as he watched her compare the sketches, now flipping back and forth between the two. She pursed her lips as she thought and traced her index finger over the sketch. He wondered what was running through her mind; he was nervous yet excited to hear her opinion. When she finally looked up, she caught him looking at her and gave him a small grin before flipping to the first page.
"This one," she said decisively as she handed it over to him.
He saw that she had chosen his sketch of an endless field of wildflowers, and smiled to himself as it wouldn't have been his choice.
"It's abstract," she explained, "but it's not too stark or cold. Quite the opposite actually. It's like looking beyond the wall to what we'd like to see. It's warm. Hopeful."
"Then that's the one," he confirmed. "So if you're not an artist yourself, where does the interest come from?" he asked impressed with the spontaneous critique she delivered, the ease with which she expressed her opinion giving away her previous experience.
"Just something I picked up..."
With that question, she closed herself off to him, as she turned to look at the wall. For someone with an obviously big heart and open mind, he found her to be incredibly guarded when it came to personal details.
"I was born in India, just outside of Chennai, but my parents sent me to live with my aunt's family in London when I was five."
She slowly looked away from the wall and focused on him, her brow furrowed in confusion at the random information he was volunteering. She was obviously interested, however, so he continued.
"They wanted me to have better educational opportunities, so I stayed in London until I received a graduate degree in economics then I took a job with a large company right out of school. I was still based in London, but I spent at least eighty percent of my time anywhere but home. I was in a different city every week, so when I had free time, I'd find the closest museum because it was one of the best things to do alone without feeling so alone."
"So that's where this came from?" she asked as she ran her fingers over the journal he held in his hands.
"It is."
"Why didn't you use your work experience to help Deanna?"
He chuckled at her quick change from nostalgia to practical matters.
"When is the last time you actually paid for something?" he asked in return, still chucking.
"Good point," she answered bashfully.
"I'm reasonably young, healthy, unattached, used to life on the road...being a runner just made sense. Plus it gets boring in here, so it's nice to have a change of scenery from time to time even if it's not all that pleasant out there."
"I get that."
"But if we ever see some kind of trade or commerce start to develop here, I'm your man. I'll gladly head up the First Bank of Alexandria."
"I'll hold you to that," she said with a grin as she returned her focus to the wall once again. She wanted to smile and feel good, but found herself pulling back every time she did as thoughts of her family came back into her mind. He joined in on her quiet moment, turning to look at the wall himself.
"I'd like to help," she said, her quiet voice breaking the silence between them.
"With what?"
"With this," she said with a soft chuckle as she spread her hands to gesture at the expansive blank canvas that was the rusted metal wall in front of them.
"Oh," he said as his consternation gave way to pleasant surprise. "I figured I was on my own, especially now..." he said trailing off, not feeling the need to name the obvious recent events that demanded her attention.
"This is still important, especially now. It's something for the community to enjoy, a reminder to be hopeful. Things are going to change around here given what happened on that run. There will be meetings and training sessions coming shortly, but we need this, too."
"We do."
She felt the stinging sensation starting in the back of her eyes again, but before she could quash it, she felt her eyes begin to water, and a tear fell out of the corner of her right eye leaving a trail over her cheek before sliding off of her face. She broke eye contact with him and quickly looked down, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose as she willed herself to stop.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she continued to look down for just a moment longer until she could assure herself that she'd succeeded in stopping it. She felt a warm, strong hand come into contact with her upper back, just at the start of her neck, gently rubbing circles.
"Don't be..." he said in a hushed voice as he kept his hand steadied on her back, watching for some kind of sign from her to remove it, but it didn't come. She stood still, quietly breathing in and out as she raised her head and looked forward. He could feel her shoulders relaxing under his touch until they tensed suddenly at the sound of glass shattering in the distance which was soon followed by yelling. They looked at each other, eyes wide with fear of what it could be.
"Shit," she hissed as she quickly turned, his hand falling from her back.
"What the hell is that?"
"I don't know," she said shaking her head as she took a few steps which quickly evolved into a full out run. He ran alongside her, his longs legs matching hers step for step. As they rounded the corner, she could make out Deanna's voice before they could see anything.
"Damn it, Rick! I said stop."
"Or what? You gonna kick me out?"
"Put that gun down, Rick."
Once they rounded one final corner, a group of her friends and neighbors circling Rick and Pete in the street came into view. She came up behind Carl and Enid, grasping onto his shoulder as she came to a stop with Dev at her side.
"You OK?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yeah," he answered quickly, unable to take his eyes off of the scene in front of him.
She looked up at Deanna standing directly across the circle from her, then down at the center of attention. Pete was writhing on the ground, his face bloodied; and Rick knelt on the ground, his face also covered in blood, with a gun that was not his own in his right hand.
"You still don't get it. None of you do! We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live," Rick continued wildly as he faced Deanna.
"Rick!" He turned to see Michonne, but kept on.
"You, you just sit and plan and hesitate," he said to her before turning his back to address Deanna. "You pretend like you know when you don't. You wish things weren't what they are. Well, you want to live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done. Things don't get better because you-you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here."
"That's never been more clear to me than it is right now," she said through gritted teeth.
Michonne shifted her focus between the two of them, her breathing growing more rapid and heavy as she tried to gauge the situation. In her heart of hearts, she never believed he would use that gun, but the situation only seemed to be escalating.
"Me? Me? You..." he started to laugh maniacally at her accusation. "You mean-you mean me? Your way is gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed. It's already gotten people killed. And I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen. If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by-"
She stood looking down on Rick, rendered unconscious immediately when her fist connected with the side of his head. He was slumped on the ground, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath he took. She looked just to his side and spotted the gun that had fallen from his grip. She bent over to pick it up then stood slowly and lifted her eyes to look at Deanna who was staring back at her in stunned silence. She shoved the gun in her back pocket then shook her throbbing hand at her side.
"Rosita, Glenn, Tobin, can you come help me with these two?" she asked as she picked them out of the crowd. "Everyone else move along."
She waited until the crowd finally began to disperse then knelt at Rick's side and brushed a blood soaked curl that was stuck to his bloodied forehead to the side.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she whispered under her breath.