I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters.
Michonne stops for a moment, running the back of a gloved hand across her sweating forehead. She breathes deeply, still trying to fully process what has taken place over the past four hours or so. Blinking in the sunlight, she looks around at the rest of the camp. The sight is decidedly grisly, there's no denying that. The bodies of fallen comrades are only distinguishable from the bodies of walkers by the absence of rot. She cringes inwardly when her eyes land on a walker that stumbled into the fire before being shot. It burns and blackens, skin peeling away from the heat of the flames that are rapidly dying down. She averts her eyes, choosing to take in the rest of the camp instead.
Rick and Glenn are busy lining up bodies to be buried. Glenn was particularly adamant about this job after Daryl hinted that he wanted to just burn all of the bodies instead of taking the time and risk of burying them. It took her a little off guard to see the young man so upset, but she finds that she can sympathize. The idea of taking the bodies of people they knew and throwing them carelessly into a fire turns her stomach. She didn't know anyone in this camp very well and even she knows better than that. Sure, she understands the safety concern, but she also knows deep down that that is probably not what Daryl really cares about.
Instead of fighting to get his way Daryl has busied himself with shooting their dead comrades in the head to be sure that they don't reanimate. She finds herself struggling not to wince every time she hears the sound of his arrow connecting with a skull. There are so many dead. Michonne sighs and shakes her head. If only they had gotten here sooner. If only the people back in the city hadn't distracted them and made them take longer than necessary. She understands why Rick did what he did, and there was no way she would have wanted them to leave Glenn behind. But while those people gained guns as protection the small group of survivors lost people. Their best form of protection.
She turns around, preparing to get back to work when her eyes land on Carl and the little girl sitting on the steps of the RV in the shade. They take in the scene with wide eyes and childish innocence and Michonne finds herself wishing that they would go inside instead of watching. The sight is too horrible for children their age. But she also knows that they can't remain innocent; that being innocent in a world such as this is dangerous. This is a different world now and the children need to see what is happening so they can be mentally armed against it.
She walks over and crouches down on the kids' level, trying to catch their eyes. They look past her, visibly flinching every time Daryl drives an arrow into the head of a corpse. It's brutal that they have to see this and Michonne can see tears welling in both children's eyes. They have to grow up and accept what has happened to their world, but they also don't have to be subjected to such brutality.
"Hey," she says, waving a hand to try to get their attention. When they continue to ignore her she grabs Carl's chin and forces his face around to look at her. He jumps at the contact, pulling away though her touch is gentle. His wide eyes finally focus on her, tears finally winning out as he gives into childish sobs. He practically jumps into her arms and she holds him tightly the way she knows children like to be held when they are upset.
She locks eyes with the girl who is watching Carl. Her expression is blank even as she takes in everything that is happening around her. Michonne recognizes the expression—the girl is trying to shut out everything that is going on around her. Michonne cautiously reaches out for her but the girl jerks away.
"Ok," she says, pulling her hand away and holding it up so the little girl can see. "It's ok. You don't have to trust me. I understand."
The girl watches her for a moment longer. "My daddy says you're a—" she cuts herself off, face screwed up as though she is having some sort of internal battle with herself. There is a long pause. The girl takes a shuddering breath and says, "I don't believe what my daddy says. He says bad words." She stares hard at Michonne. "I don't think you're a bad word."
Michonne allows a small smile to cross her face despite herself. "I try not to be," she replies. Carl has stopped crying, his sobs reduced to sniffles as he listens to their conversation. The girl lowers her gaze to the ground.
"I don't have to listen to my daddy anymore anyway," she mumbles so low that Michonne almost doesn't catch her words. She can hear sadness in the girl's voice, but there is a hint of hope there as well. It's small, but it's there.
"That's true," Michonne says, just as quietly as the girl. She reaches a hand out again cautiously and this time the child takes it. She doesn't break down and cry like Carl, but there is a desperation in the way she squeezes Michonne's fingers. It's such an adult gesture that Michonne finds herself taken aback.
"My name is Michonne," she says softly, wanting to introduce herself though she knows Carl has probably already told the girl everything he knows about her. "I'm sorry about your daddy. Trust me, I know it hurts. But you're safe now." Her words have more meaning than one, and even though the child is so young she can tell by the look in her eyes that she has picked up on the double meaning.
"I'm Sophia," she replies through the tears that have spilled over. "Can—can we be friends?" She looks so hopeful that Michonne can't help but smile again.
"Of course we can," she replies. Her mind screams at her to stop, to remember that she still does not intend to stay with these survivors. But her heart won't let her extinguish the hope that shines in Sophia's eyes.
Carl emerges from where he had his face pressed into Michonne's neck. "You're my friend too, right?" he asks quietly. Michonne allows the small smile to grow into a real one as she looks down at him. These children are making it harder and harder for her to remain detached, but she is beginning to find that she doesn't mind so much. She has missed interacting with children, missed the feeling of having young eyes look up to her with that childish admiration that fades so quickly as time passes.
"Of course," she repeats as he sits up and takes his seat back beside Sophia, rubbing his eyes.
There is a soft pause as something catches Sophia's attention. Michonne curiously follows her gaze to where Andrea sits cradling her sister's dead body. She has been there all night, standing vigil over the deceased girl. Michonne has seen both Rick and Dale approach her with vastly different results and figures that it would be for the best to leave the woman alone. She knows what she is going through possibly better than anyone else in the camp. She knows that she needs her time to come to terms with what has happened to her sister.
"Will you be Andrea's friend too?" Sophia pipes up, breaking Michonne's train of thought.
"I don't think she wants a friend right now," Michonne replies, cautiously forming her words as she watches the blonde stroke her sister's blood matted hair.
"But she needs one!" Sophia insists, eyes welling up again. "She has no one now." Her voice drops sadly. "She's all alone."
Michonne raises an eyebrow. "She has Dale," she says, noting the disgruntled look on the children's faces with mild amusement.
"But Dale's a boy," she states, as though that fact settles the matter. Michonne smirks at the childish ideas of friendship.
"She was going to teach me how to fish," Carl interjects, and Michonne senses another bout of crying about to start.
"Ok you two," she says, standing up. Two sets of eyes follow her movement, still clinging to their childish innocence. Her own eyes scan the campsite, hoping to find something that the children can do to lead them away from the carnage and distract them from the scene playing out all around them. She is saved from this decision by Lori coming around the side of the RV. Carl runs to her and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his head in her stomach. Lori's eyes land first on Michonne then flit to Andrea and back. Michonne notices that the distrust from a few days ago is almost completely gone. Before she can speak Carl looks up to his mother.
"Michonne said she's our friend now," he says, and Michonne is relieved to see a big smile on his face despite the tears that still threaten to leak from his eyes. Lori meets Michonne's gaze and smiles.
"Did she now?" she says, not breaking the eye contact as she gives her son a squeeze. "You're lucky you have a friend who can keep you so safe, you know that?" She looks down at Carl with a smile before reaching out to Sophia. The girl hesitates for just a moment, looking up at Michonne as though she would rather stay and finish their conversation. But she gets up anyway, taking Lori's hand. She continues to stare at Michonne who realizes that somehow she is alright with being scrutinized in such a way. It's a feeling she has found herself missing.
Lori smiles down at the children before looking up and meeting Michonne's eyes again, her expression turning suddenly serious. "Rick told me what you did for them in the city. That they never would have gotten out alive if it weren't for you. Thank you. We should have never treated you the way we did," she shakes her head, looking disgusted at herself and the rest of the group. "We were scared. But if we let the Dixon brothers in...well, we should have trusted you much sooner. I'm sorry."
Michonne nods her acceptance. "I should get back to work," she says quietly. She ruffles Carl's hair and smiles at Sophia before turning back to the carnage, secretly wishing she could stay and talk with the children rather than finish the job that lay ahead.
By now the rest of the camp has set about finishing the job of cleaning the camp site. A line has been created on the opposite side of the RV from Andrea consisting of their own dead while the dead walkers form a pile to be burned a short distance away. They would prefer the smell not be so close, but the bodies are heavy and they need to conserve their energy for finishing the task ahead—burial.
On her way to join the others Michonne glances over to where Andrea still sits with her sister's body. She has been there all night, holding vigil over her deceased, and Michonne knows from experience that it's only a matter of time before Amy wakes up. She also know that she is not the only person in the camp whose mind the thought has crossed. By the dejected posture of the woman sitting by the RV she knows that there is no use in trying to move her or the body, but Michonne is worried that if something isn't done soon that more people will get hurt or killed.
"Why don't we just put a bullet through her head and be done with it?" She hears a voice off to her right and swivels around to see Daryl standing with Rick and T-Dog, looking at the same scene. "I could get a clean shot from here."
Michonne fumes, looking at the man in a way that would scare most smart people. Unfortunately, this man is not smart. Her expression does not go unnoticed by Rick and T-Dog, and Rick gives her a nod that says 'don't worry, that's not gonna happen.'
Michonne turns away from the men, looking at the sisters again. In her mind's eye she sees small hands grasping at her shirt and life fading from huge, frightened brown eyes. She knows exactly what is happening in Andrea's mind right now because the exact same storm raged in her own not long ago. Her situation ended differently, but only because she could not bear to see what she knows Andrea is holding vigil for. Her heart aches for the turmoil she knows is going on in Andrea's mind and heart. She still thinks the blonde is a little annoying, but her sympathy for the situation overrides petty annoyances.
Rick and T-Dog have successfully managed to shut Daryl up, and for his own good in Michonne's mind. She has been dying to injure the man since their first encounter and all he has done since then is confirm her dislike of him. She doesn't know where he wandered off to (to fall in the quarry and drown if it happened her way), but Rick and a few of the others are heading toward the makeshift gravesite to deepen the holes Jim dug to use to bury the bodies. She makes to follow them when there is an alarmed yell from just ahead of her. She looks up to see Jacqui stumbling away from Jim.
She is instantly on the alert. Even though she has not been with this group for very long, she has already identified Jacqui as one of the calmer members. She knows it must speak of something serious for her to be so alarmed.
"He's been bit," she hears Jacqui say as she continues to put space between herself and the man who suddenly looks like cornered prey. "Jim was bit last night." Michonne puts a hand on her shoulder in the hopes of calming the woman. She can already see a change in the other survivors' eyes; they are looking at the man as a threat when just a moment earlier he was a comrade.
Jim is stumbling over his words, trying to make excuses as he himself backs away from the advancing group. Michonne can see in his expression that he sees the same thing she does. She can almost see the group of survivors through the eyes of the man who is quickly being cornered and understands his panic well.
"No tolerance for walkers!" Daryl spits out, appearing again from wherever he had gone, his crossbow looking all too comfortable in his hands. He seems to have a special gift all his own for showing up at the first sign of trouble. She is beginning to think he can smell it. Her mind processes this thought and the sight of the crossbow before any of the other survivors have even fully wrapped their minds around what is happening. In a few long strides she leaves Jacqui's side and puts herself between Daryl's crossbow and Jim, a murderous glint in her eye.
"We don't harm the living unless we have to," she hisses, mirroring her remark to Shane the first day she found herself in these people's company. Despite the words that leave her mouth her hand itches to contradict her and reach for her sword in the face of this man who has crossed her one too many times. Daryl makes a face as though he is about to make a biting comment in return but Rick intercepts.
"We don't kill the living," he says, stepping forward. Even in the tension of the moment Michonne notes how he is becoming a leader despite his relative newness to the group. Even Shane, who seemed to be leading when she got here, listens to what he is saying. She sees him nod his agreement even as Daryl swears, not releasing his weapon.
"Y'all are shitting me," he says angrily, glaring around at the small group that has formed around the scene. "Fine, fine. Suit yourselves. Don't come cryin' to me when you get bit." He spits out the last word and turns, pushing his way through the other people. Michonne glares at his retreating back, wishing a bolt from the blue to strike him down.
Rick turns to where she still stands protectively in front of the man. She can see in his eyes that her gesture has not gone unnoticed. She takes a quick glance around the small circle of people, seeing his expression reflected on every face. Her pulse quickens, once again finding herself the center of attention. She drops her gaze to the ground, looking at hers and Rick's feet.
"I've got it from here," she hears him say, and steps to the side without looking up. He steps past her and leads the injured man away to the RV, presumably to keep him safe from the others now vying for his life. Michonne keeps her eyes trained on the ground, though she can hear the others begin to clear away to their respective tasks. She feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see Jacqui standing by her. She isn't looking at Michonne—her eyes are trained on the now closed door of the RV where she knows Rick is trying to make Jim as comfortable as possible in the oncoming fever. Michonne shrugs her hand off and stalks over to the pile of bodies waiting to be burned.
She knows that the world has gone to shit and that the regular human values don't necessarily come into play anymore, but taking a man's life just because he was bitten seems mental to her. She knows the inevitable. She knows that Jim will eventually have to be put down. She knows it just as surely as Andrea does sitting in front of the RV waiting on her sister to reanimate. But the difference between putting a bullet through Amy's head and putting one through Jim's is simple—a pulse.
The smell of the pile of bodies is enough to make her eyes water and her stomach turn, but she needs time to gather her thoughts before facing the group again. She looks down on the rotting flesh, the flies, the empty staring eyes. These people were alive once too. She and the other survivors tend to forget that when they are trying to eat their flesh, but deep down she can't help but feel a pang of hurt for these people. She would much rather go by a bullet to the head than wander around for who knows how long, unfeeling, unthinking, slowly rotting away. But the fact that someone can so quickly forget that someone who is still alive is just that—alive—is despicable. To her it speaks of a humanity lost before its carrier is even dead.
Her hands find the sword and unsheathe it, the familiar sound of metal reaching her ears. Her whole body is tense, every muscle taut as she prepares for what she may have to do. She feels like a coiled spring, prepared to snap at any moment. To her left she notices that Rick too has pulled his gun and holds it at the ready. The other people in the group stand at attention, some armed, others watching fearfully to see the outcome of the scene playing out before them.
Amy has woken up.
Michonne can't hear exactly what is happening by the RV, choosing to keep a safe distance unless it appears that she is needed. She knows from experience that some walkers awaken groggy and slow moving. But she also knows that other awaken already hungry and geared to bite. From what she can see from this angle Amy is one of the slower moving walkers, but one can never be too sure. She doesn't want any more people bitten than can be helped.
She hopes no one has to be bitten.
Her heart hurts as she watches Andrea stroke her sister's hair one last time. Though she herself never had a sibling she has seen the level of devotion between these two sisters. And even if she hadn't it takes a lot of love to sit up all night with a dead body, covered in blood, waiting for reanimation just so a final goodbye can be said. She wonders for a moment if she would do it.
Then she remembers that she had the chance and didn't.
She almost starts as Amy begins to get her bearings and sits up. The walker's breathing rasps loud enough that even she can hear it, and she sees a blood covered hand close around a lock of Andrea's hair. Andrea is whispering something to her sister, making no move to get away, and suddenly a chilling thought crosses Michonne's mind. What if Andrea plans to go with her sister? Everyone is standing here, watching and waiting for the right moment to move in and do damage control before anyone gets hurt. But what if the woman doesn't want to be saved? What if her plan all along was to die with her sister and was only waiting the night out so she could do so?
Michonne lowers her sword slightly, brow furrowing. If the blonde truly wants to die with her sister, who is she to intervene? Though she herself has never considered ending it, she knows that there are many people who have. She wonders if she can claim the power of forcing someone to live when they want nothing more than to leave a world that has become as cruel as this one.
Before Michonne can come to a conclusion she hears the click of a gun cocking and barely has time to brace herself for the sound of the impact when Amy slumps into Andrea's arms dead a second time. She is silent, her sword dropping to her side as she allows the tension to ebb from her body. She feels her muscles unwind and takes in an unsteady breath. The sound of the blonde woman's sobs reach her ears and she notices that the rest of the group has begun to disperse to their designated tasks. She supposes she should follow and give the woman some privacy, but something roots her to the spot.
She watches as Dale tries to approach Andrea. He kneels beside her as Michonne had seen him do earlier. He tries to put an arm around her shoulders, but she jerks away, clinging to her sister's body like an expired lifeline. She can see that Dale is trying to talk to the woman, probably trying to convince her to allow them to bury the body, but to no avail. She is obviously consumed by grief, an emotion all too familiar to Michonne. It makes her uncomfortable, so she turns away to leave.
When she turns, Carl is standing there looking at the pair as well. There are tears in his eyes, but he doesn't allow them to spill over. She finds herself wishing once again that the child could be spared from seeing such things, and once again faces the internal battle of whether or not he should be forced to grow up before his time.
Suddenly he looks at her, and Michonne can see childish accusation in his eyes. She knows what he wants, Sophia's words echoing in her mind, but she merely cocks her head at him, brow furrowing. He breaks the eye contact and looks back at the sisters and Dale who has apparently given up and is sitting a few feet away from the two. Michonne sighs, sheathing her sword and turning back to the scene. She glances back at Carl, who gives her a small smile of encouragement.
When she reaches Andrea she stops, looking down at her. The blonde doesn't even notice her presence, too busy rocking her sister's body as though the girl can still feel the comforting gesture. She doesn't even know this woman. Why is she offering her comfort when she won't even accept it from someone who is as close to her as Dale seems to be?
And then it hits her. Andrea cared. When this group of survivors left Michonne sitting in the dirt thirsty and alone because of a selfish fear and an unwillingness to open up to someone new, Andrea cared. She brought her water and in her own childish naivety (not so unlike the boy whose eyes she can still feel boring into her back) trusted her when she didn't even know her.
She gently reaches down to put a hand on the woman's shoulder. She jumps so violently in response that Michonne feels a little guilty. She knows that her nerves are worn raw and her emotions are taking a roller coaster ride. In her current state there was probably no way she could avoid startling her. She kneels down on the ground and reaches out to brush a blood-matted strand of hair out of Amy's face. She notices how angelic the girl looks in death.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she says quietly, knowing both that the girl (only a child herself really) deserves the respect and that the situation hangs in the balance of what Michonne chooses to say. She feels rather than hears Andrea struggling to choke back a new round of sobs and hopes that she has said the right thing. She has never been good with words, especially in situation such as this. But the blonde nods and Michonne breathes a silent sigh of relief that the woman hasn't lashed out at her as she has to Dale and Rick. Her gun lies forgotten on the ground and to be safe Michonne carefully nudges it out of reach.
"We need to bury her," she murmurs, never one to beat around the bush. She sees the blonde's arm tighten around her sister's lifeless form and tenses, not liking the body language. "I didn't know her," she continues in a hurry. "But I don't think she would have wanted this. She would have wanted to go with some dignity left." Andrea's arms remain tight around the corpse, her knuckles turning white. Her face is obscured by her hair, so Michonne can't read her expression. But suddenly she goes slack as though all the energy has been drained from her. She carefully lies her sister's body down on the ground, stroking her face one last time. She nods her assent.
Michonne gets up from where she was kneeling, her knees protesting the movement. As she turns to scan the campsite for Rick, her eyes lock with Dale's. He looks shocked that she got through to Andrea but gives her a slight nod nonetheless.
Well done.
In the few months she has spent in this new world somehow she has forgotten the sounds that come with a funeral. Not to be confused with the sounds of mourning; she is all too familiar with those sounds and they are far from absent here. But the sounds of a real funeral, the respect for the dead, the solemn loved ones, have completely slipped from her memory.
She listens to the words spoken over mounds of earth that the rain will soon wash away until the graves are indiscernible from the rest of the ground. Plants will grow, flowers will bloom, animals will reclaim the land that was theirs from the beginning, and no one will remember the people that lie under this soil in graves that are far too shallow for them just because there isn't enough man power to finish the job. No one will remember that these people once laughed with their loved ones around a campfire that fades into the background of memories.
There are similar graves somewhere out there in the woods. Two of them. Smaller, but really the same. She thinks that she could find them if she tries hard enough and could regain her bearings. But would she really? Or has nature already disguised them in much the same way she knows it will disguise these?
Mother nature is both kind and cruel.
She feels a tear trace its way down her cheek and wipes it away quickly, startled. She hadn't even realized that she was crying. It's a weakness she doesn't like to display, but no one is paying her any mind anyway. Rick and his family are standing together in the little clump that seems to have become permanent since the man's seeming return from the dead. Shane is by Rick's side and Dale by his, hat in his hands. Carol and Sophia stand on the other side of the line of graves by what Michonne knows is their husband and father's grave. She notices that both of their faces are solemn but completely dry. Andrea crouches on the ground at the head of her sister's grave, one hand over her mouth and one in the freshly turned over dirt, unable to let her sister go even as she rests in the ground. There are tears streaming down Andrea's face and she makes no effort to wipe them away. T-Dog stands to her right, hands clasped behind his back as he speaks a prayer to finish up their little ceremony. Jacqui and the Morales family stand slightly behind Michonne, and she can hear steady sniffles coming from one or more of them. The only person missing from their party is Jim, who Rick has quarantined to the RV in an effort to keep Daryl (and anyone else wishing harm) away from him. Daryl stands slightly separate from the group, crossbow slung over his shoulder. His face is downcast as well and Michonne bows her own head as T-Dog finishes his prayer.
The group stirs, the spell of the words spoken not quite broken yet. They are silent, the only sound being that of shuffling feet and sniffling coming from several members. A few look around, unsure of what to do next. Michonne keeps her head bowed, eyes trained on the ground.
Then Andrea sits back on her heels and buries her face in her hands and the spell is broken. People begin to go their separate ways, some hugging each other, some giving Andrea a comforting pat on the shoulder in passing. She has lashed out so many times in the past twelve hours or so that people are unsure of what to do to comfort her. And as a result, comfort doesn't come.
"We should get the fires started," Michonne hears Rick say quietly to Shane, who nods. She intercepts them as they pass her.
"I can help," she says, her eyes daring anyone to contradict her. Before either of the men can say a word Glenn catches up with them.
"Me too," he says, and there is a desperation in his voice that is not reflected in Michonne's. She remembers his outburst about keeping the walkers separate from their loved ones and understands why he wants to be there.
Rick is silent for a moment, studying them both. Michonne is beginning to feel like a child under his scrutiny, but then he nods. "Alright," he says, and with a jerk of his head he begins to lead the way to where the walkers lie haphazardly in piles.
Michonne makes to follow the group but stops in her tracks when she hears someone behind her speak.
"You're bleeding."
She turns to see that Andrea has left her sister's grave and is now staring at her shoulder with a look akin to horror on her face. The dirt from her hands has mixed with her tears and the end result is both ghastly and heart-wrenching. Michonne tears her gaze away from the mournful woman and looks down at the now dirty and bloodstained bandage on her shoulder. She hadn't even noticed that it was bleeding again and figures that the physical activity of the day opened the wound afresh.
"Were you bit?" the blonde asks her, and suddenly her expression makes sense. Michonne realizes that she is thinking of Amy and Jim and quickly tries to calm the woman's nerves.
"I'm fine," she says quietly, very conscious of the men still standing behind her waiting to start the fires. She wishes they would just go on their way and stop staring. "It's not a bite." If it were a bite she would have asked to be put down already, but she chooses not to share this particular bit of information with Andrea.
Andrea nods, drawing a shaky breath and looking like she might be sick. She turns and slowly makes her way back to the RV. Michonne watches her retreating figure for a moment before turning back to where the men are waiting for her. She notices a peculiar expression on Rick's face but chooses to ignore it as she steps up to stare him in the eye.
"I accept your invitation," she says, carefully measuring the words she hadn't expected to come out of her mouth. Images of Carl and Sophia crying flash by her vision only to be replaced with Andrea's dirt streaked face. Her heart pounds and adrenaline rushes through her veins at the risk of the decision she has made so suddenly.
"I'm staying."
Guys, this chapter took me forever. I'm sorry for the wait and thank you for being patient! I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think! =]