A/N: Ciao, bellas! I just wanna quickly warn you guys - this is a Lori-centric chapter. Not to say there's no Richonne, but quite honestly, if you really aren't feeling Lori like that, you can skip this and not miss a whole lot in the forward plot. 'Cause I don't want y'all coming for me talking about how much you hate Lori, lmao. I get it, I promise. Lord knows she works my nerve every time I even try to watch S1 or 2. But! I also don't wanna constantly vilify her. Somehow, that turned into "beatification" for some people, but that's fine. If you can't romanticize your dead loved ones, why are we even here? Haha. (Speaking of why are we here: To the guest who keeps telling me they find this story boring and they're not gonna read any more, how about you actually stop reading? Seriously, why are you here? I'm just gonna keep deleting your comments, fam.) Anyway! To everyone besides that guest, I hope you enjoy! But I understand if you don't. -Ash

7 - Grace

October 14, 2014.

"Rick…"

The sound of Lori's faint voice stirred Rick from his light, uncomfortable sleep, his eyes blinking open to find his wife staring blankly into the distance. Her dry lips were parted, breathing tubes obstructing her pretty but gaunt face, while her chest heaved in her perpetual struggle to breathe. He quickly took to her side, gently running his fingers over her short hair as he studied her face under the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting. He did it all the time, he realized, searching for some sign that she was feeling better instead of worse. Desperate to find life behind her hazel eyes. The oncologists all warned them that IBC would be a rough road, but nothing they said could've properly prepared him to watch his wife die. Slowly, painfully, but surely, with each passing day.

"Rick," she repeated, weakly squeezing his hand when she felt it on her arm. "Baby..."

His expression fell even further as he internalized what her unfinished sentence was meant to say. "No," he returned, eventually settling on denial as his response.

"Listen to me." She tried to nod and perhaps quell his reaction, but she was so devoid of energy, she could barely keep her head turned. She felt the need to cry, but her tear ducts were empty, it seemed. Not because she was emotionless - quite the opposite, really - but because that was how little her body had left. "Rick, I know this isn't how you saw this going," she professed, stealing small gulps of air between words. "You thought… chemo would save me. And… you wished I would've fought harder…"

"No," he whispered again. "I just… I didn't." He swallowed hard, struggling to find the correct words… "I didn't want you to give up too quickly."

"I know. And I'm sorry," she exhaled sharply. "But I've fought… for a lot in my life. And it's how I know when it's over." She watched as his tears fell for them both, and she reached her hand to his face, attempting to wipe them but simply resting it there instead. His cheek was so warm against her cold fingers. His eyes were so blue. They looked like the Caribbean Sea. How many times had she drowned in them? "You're so beautiful," she quietly declared as a statement of fact.

Rick closed his eyes, basking in his wife's touch, his tears in a free fall. "Lori…"

She gazed at him intently, surveying him as if she could take the image with her when she left. She had memorized his face years ago, but she wanted to register all the changes since the last time she did this, back when they had Judith. There were new wrinkles and lines that came with all the laughing and crying they'd done over the years. The strands of gray that peppered his coffee brown curls. The three-day-old five o'clock shadow covering his chiseled cheeks on that particular evening. And not only did she stare, but she made it a point to listen extra hard whenever he spoke, wanting to believe she could save his voice, that syrupy southern twang, for later. But the truth was, none of this would matter once she died. It would all just stop. He would be the one that would have to go on without her. He was the one that would be trying to keep pieces of her.

I'm on my knees
Only memories are left for me to hold
Don't know how, but I'll get by
Slowly pull myself together

"Rick, I hope you know how much I loved you," Lori croaked, her thumb caressing his stubble. It was then that her tears finally surfaced, her body perhaps feeling the weight of these final moments. "You made my life what it was. I need you to know that."

"I do," he nodded, taking her hand into his; kissing her fingers. "I do."

"Thank you for being here," she nodded back, swallowing despite her dry throat. "And I don't just mean this," she appended, referring to her illness. Any husband worth his salt would see his wife through cancer, and Rick was worth much more than that. "Thank you for being a witness to my life. Thank you for endlessly standing beside me." Her quiet voice broke even more as she thought of their many mostly happy years together. "We had eighteen years, and they weren't perfect, but they were good." Lori tried to smile at him, but he only buried his face in her arm. She sniffled, feeling his hot tears on her skin. "You were good."

Rick had been trying to ready himself for this moment for months now, and still, he felt blindsided. He felt as though she was being robbed. She deserved more time. They deserved more time. Their kids… "I should call your dad," he nodded, attempting to sober himself. "Have him bring the kids down."

"No," she tried to shake her head, adamant that she didn't want this for them. "I've told them everything I can. But I know what it's like to watch my mother die, and I don't… I can't let them."

He nodded, recognizing then that Lori knew, when they left the house the prior morning, she wouldn't be coming back to it. She'd made it clear that she didn't want to die at home, wanting the house to remain a happy place for Carl and Judith, but he wished he'd known that the last time was the last time. He would've recorded more of her with them. Taken more pictures. Savored the moment. It was all happening so quickly.

There's no escape, so keep me safe
This feels so unreal

"Rick, you tell them," she begged him, demanding his gaze as her tone and timbre strengthened just a bit. "Tell them every day if you have to. But you make sure they always know that they were the best thing I ever did."

They were both sobbing so hard, they could barely see each other through the blur of tears. But it was about feeling, being close to one another in these final moments. Rick moved from his seat and carefully climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her as best he could. He wanted to hold on tightly, for all the times he wouldn't be able to after this, but his touch remained tender. He kissed the top of her head, his tears seeping into her hair, and he gently rocked her back and forth.

Nothing comes easily
Fill this empty space

"Anguilla," Lori reminded him in a weak whisper, imagining the picturesque island she and Michonne had spoken of making their home for the last several years. "You promised you'd take me."

"I will."

She quietly groaned in pain as she repositioned her body so that she could see him. One more time. And she stared up at his lovely, heartbroken face, touching her fingers to his cheek. One more time. "Promise me you'll be happy after me, Rick."

Rick closed his eyes, a fresh set of tears falling, and he let out a shaky sigh. He didn't know how to make that promise. He couldn't even imagine waking up after her, much less finding some happy ending waiting on the other side of this. The kids would keep him happy. He knew that. But he also knew that wasn't what she meant. She wanted him to love again. "I'm gonna try," he promised instead. He didn't know how, but he could give her that much. "I will."

With that tiny peace of mind, Lori relaxed. She let her eyes fall closed, her body rested in Rick's strong embrace. The fight to breathe, the struggle to speak, the pain that had claimed nearly every part of her body, it all evaporated into nothingness. A slow fade to black. She was already on that island... "Goodnight, love."

Nothing is like it seems
Turn my grief to grace

Present day.

Much to the delight of Rick and company, Christmas Eve turned out to be a beautiful day on the island - perfectly warm thanks to the beachy breeze, without a visible cloud in the sky, leaving the sun to shine on its own. Even a painting couldn't have captured a more perfect scene for Lori's memorial.

The gorgeous day began with the group gathering for breakfast on the beach just outside Michonne's place, where they scattered her ashes together, and basked in happy memories of their friend. By midday, with the sun high in the sky, the majority of the group had split into factions, mostly couples, stationed across the landscape, where they would leave a little bit more of her to soak up the island - Shane and Andrea had taken to Shoal Bay to spend their day; Morgan and Jenny went exploring the caves of Fountain Cavern National Park; while Carol and Daryl made a hike to Anguillita. Meanwhile, Rick had chartered a boat for himself and the kids to sail the waters of the Prickly Pear Cays - Judith's selection for one of her mother's final resting places. Mainly because she liked the name.

Nothing could've quite prepared Rick for the sight of his wife reduced to a pile of ash - five pounds of it, to be more precise. And not the powder soft ash so often depicted in movies when loved ones' remains are inevitably spilled. It was coarse and gritty, with bone fragments mixed in. Prior to that morning, he'd never ventured to actually look into her urn, despite all the time it sat on his bedroom mantle. But finally forced to face it as they divided Lori into six equal parts, each couple receiving their own thermos-like scattering urn, he was taken aback by the sight.

"You okay, Dad?" Carl asked cautiously as he approached his father. He'd been quiet all day, which wasn't a surprise - his dad always fell contemplative when his mother came up for too long. But they were in the middle of the water, on the cusp of quite literally letting her go, and he just wanted to be sure that his dad was still up for the task.

Rick smiled ruefully as he dragged his gaze from the gorgeous view to his beautiful boy, running his hand over his hair as he pulled him close. "I'm all right," he promised. "How 'bout you?"

"I'm okay," he nodded, smiling because he believed him. "Better than I thought I'd be."

Rick smirked in agreement as he gestured to Judith at the back of the small boat. "What's your sister up to?"

"She's 'examining' the sails," Carl both chuckled and rolled his eyes, glancing back at his curious little sister as she stared into the sky. "You'd think she's never been on a boat before."

"Let's be glad every experience is still an experience for her," Rick advised before calling for his daughter. "Judith!"

"I'm coming," she yelled back, running across the deck to meet them, clutching her ziplock bag full of flowers as she did. "Is it time yet?"

"It is time yet," he grinned as she drew closer. Her sandy curls were rather messy from the breeze, which he imagined Lori would've enjoyed. "Come here."

"Daddy, are you gonna cry again?" she asked in the innocent way that only a child could.

Rick chuckled, knowing that he wasn't one to hide his emotions, particularly when it came to their mother, and he appreciated that his daughter knew that about him. But this, he hoped, would be more sentimental than sad for their family. "Maybe a little," he allowed, sweeping Judith into his arms before planting a kiss on her temple. "You ready?"

"Uh huh," she nodded.

Together, the three of them made their way to the bow of the boat, ensuring they'd be upwind of any flying remains, and Carl untwisted the cap of the large metal tube containing his mom before looking to his dad expectantly.

"Go on," Rick encouraged him with a brief smile.

"Be careful!" Judith was quick to add before he could begin.

With a small laugh, Carl did as told, slowly and cautiously pouring the ashes into the air, the three of them watching as some of them flitted into the breeze, while some of the larger clusters dropped straight into the water. Carl's gaze turned sullen as he observed the clear water in front of them turn gray, his mother soaking it all up.

"You're up," Rick noted, lightly pinching Judith's arm.

"Oh." She was quick to unzip her plastic bag, picking out a handful of pink and yellow stemless flowers from the assortment she'd picked with Andre that morning. She gently threw them into the water so that they dotted the gray trail of ash, leaving a rather beautiful sight behind. "Look," she proudly pointed out to her brother.

Carl smiled at her excitement as he nodded, "It's beautiful, Jude."

Rick set Judith back on her feet in order to retrieve his phone, wanting to capture pictures of the moment for later, as he'd asked of everyone. He would print and frame them eventually, he figured - perhaps for that now-empty mantle back home. With the sun beaming down on them and the wonderfully vivid flowers decorating the water, it did look quite a bit like a painting.

"Should we switch now?" Carl asked, offering the half-full urn to his father.

"Yeah," Rick decided, taking the flowers from Judith instead. "Help your sister spread some," he directed, raising his phone once more. He'd spent much of the trip trying to capture the seconds Carl spent with Judith. Savor the moments, as it were. The endless picture-taking was more Lori's thing, back… before. But he was enjoying honoring that tradition, knowing that these moments would be few and far between once Carl went off to college.

After a few snapshots, he switched his phone to record mode, grinning at the sight of Carl picking up his little sister, holding her hand steady as she poured from the metal tube rather generously. The two of them smiling as the ashes sailed through the air, and Rick used his free hand to sprinkle in blue and pink petals, leaving a rainbow in their trail.

Judith began to wave as they floated away from the beautiful imagery, and she capped off the moment with that disarming five-year-old charm of hers, and two simple, poignant words: "Goodbye, Mommy."

I feel the cold, loneliness unfold
Like from another world
Come what may, I won't fade away
But I know I might change

As evening rolled around, the sun beginning to set, Rick and Michonne found themselves standing atop the breathtaking Crocus Hill - the highest point in Anguilla, two hundred feet up from the sea, offering sprawling views of the entire island. Michonne had chosen a secluded area as her resting place for Lori, knowing she would make it a point to come back to that spot often. And while she'd planned to spread her ashes alone, wanting that time solely for herself and her friend... so she thought. But when Rick offered to join her, she didn't hesitate to accept. Because she'd learned over the past twenty years, and the past week especially, everything was just a little bit better with him.

"Thank you for being here with me," she said out loud as she stared out to the horizon. She was clutching her urn with both hands, holding it against her chest.

"Of course," Rick replied. He stood a few feet behind her, wanting to give her the space to grieve. But he noticed that she didn't seem to be moving, and he wondered if he should say or do something more.

"I'm okay," she declared, his silence allowing her to read his worried mind. She wiped at the tears that were threatening to spill and turned back to him. "It's just… I dunno. This is it."

"She left a long time ago," Rick quietly reminded her. "This is just… another goodbye."

"I've never been good at those," she admitted, thinking of how she held on to most things for far too long. From instruction manuals to grudges to high school sweethearts. Her eyes flitted to the rocky ground, staring at all the cracks and crevices where her friend would soon rest. She thought of how her ashes were part of the water now; how the sea would take her all over the world. It made her smile to think some piece of Lori could be anywhere she went.

"What is it?" Rick asked, noticing her small grin this time.

Michonne only shook her head, stirred from her musings, and finally removed the cap from the urn. She briefly closed her eyes as a calm wind passed and then began her mission, pouring a bit of the remains at her feet. She continued around the edges of the cliff, listening to the sound of the grains hitting the ground and the waves crashing below. The sun seemed to be racing from the sky, but she took her time, making sure that her friend became part of that hill.

Nothing comes easily
Fill this empty space

Rick watched Michonne like she was a movie. The way the setting sun reflected off of her skin, giving her an orange glow. The breeze blowing through her thick locs and her coral-colored dress. She looked like the sunset personified. And she was so graceful in even the simplest of tasks - dusting ash from her fingers or wiping her tears. There was melancholy in all of her movements. He wanted to hug her, but the moment didn't seem appropriate for it.

After a while, Michonne turned back to Rick, offering him the urn - the final remnants of Lori. "I think you should," she gently urged him.

He was hesitant to intrude on her moment, but he also didn't want to decline the offer to scatter the last of his wife's ashes. As much as he enjoyed and probably needed that time with his children, he'd forgotten to take some for himself. Michonne was giving him that chance. And so, he gratefully accepted the canister and stepped to the edge of the bluff beside his friend. He turned the urn on its side and lightly shook, letting the contents fly into the breeze. The two of them watched as the soft ash drifted away until it disappeared into the darkness. And Rick let his eyes fall closed, imagining the ghost of his brilliant wife enjoying her time there. Blissfully floating in the sea, relaxing on the beach, sailing through the air. The things he'd been doing all week long, he was finally getting to share them with her. They'd made it to Anguilla as promised.

As the breeze kissed his cheek and he heard Michonne sniffle, his eyes fluttered open and a tear slipped out unexpectedly. But he nodded, feeling like he'd gotten exactly what he needed from this. He wiped his face and took a long, deep breath before whispering, "Goodnight, love."

Nothing is like it was
Turn my grief to grace

Michonne gave her friend a sidelong glance, smiling despite all her tears, because she could see the calm in him. The closure that came with laying his wife to rest was written all over his face. He was sad, she assumed, but he seemed to be... at peace.

Noticing her gaze, Rick nodded again and took her hand into his, assuring her that he was all right. "We should head on home," he said in a raspy whisper.

She nodded back, accepting his hand and going one step further, interlocking their long fingers as they started the fairly long walk back to the bed and breakfast. It was a quiet, almost silent walk, their footsteps the only conversation, but it wasn't a solemn one. It was serene. The two of them enjoying the ambience of darkness settling over the island, navigating the streets side-by-side, hand-in-hand.

By the time they arrived back home, as Rick called it, it seemed that everyone else had retired for the night. Understandably so, after the emotional drain that came with a day like this. It was only then, standing in the courtyard of the resort, facing the option to say their good nights, that Rick and Michonne separated; but just barely, as there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that they didn't want to leave one another. Not for the night, at least. Maybe not ever. And it had nothing to do with sex, because they didn't need to see each other naked to experience intimacy. It was about being close, finally, after years of forcing themselves not to be.

Nothing comes easily
Where do I begin?

And with that, as well as the knowledge that their children were safely tucked away with their friends - their family, really - Rick followed Michonne back to her villa. They entered her quiet, pristine home, where the ocean breeze gently blew through her open balcony doors, and they continued up to her bedroom, where the all-white decor felt like a version of heaven.

They kicked off their sandals, attempting to shed all the other emotions of the day along with them, and with nervous, somber smiles, climbed into bed together. On top of the bedspread, but undeniably cozy as Rick spooned Michonne, resting his arm across her waist, inhaling her almond-scented hair as he closed his eyes. He could feel himself falling…

I just wanna feel your embrace

"Rick?" Michonne whispered his name, not wanting to wake him if he'd already found slumber. His soft steady breaths had nearly lulled her there herself.

"Yeah?" he answered, his eyes still closed, his thumb gently, absently caressing her stomach.

She grinned to herself upon hearing his voice, as if to confirm for her skeptical mind that this was real. This wasn't some dream she would soon wake up from. He was there. She rested her hand over his, his warm skin another affirmation. "Do you feel free?" she asked him.

Rick replied with the tiniest of smiles, remembering when he'd asked her that same question not even a week ago as they spoke of her impending divorce. Recalling that when he left for the airport six days ago, he was afraid of this very concept. The thought of letting go of his wife, no longer being anchored to anything - anyone - was terrifying. Now, it felt like a gift. "I do," he whispered.

Michonne nodded gently against her pillow, happy for him; quietly wondering what it might mean for them and the remainder of their time together. "Good..."

October 12, 2014.

"You want anything?" Michonne asked, although obviously distracted from any potential response as she scanned the menu unfolded in her hands. She knew the answer, but tended to ask anyway, mostly out of habit.

"Just some wonton soup," Lori quietly returned, reaching for her nightstand to grab the baby monitor. "You know what you want?"

"Yep." She set down the menu between them and accepted the monitor that they'd been using as a walkie-talkie to communicate with the rest of the house. "Rick, we're ready," she announced, glancing at Lori as she awaited a response.

It took longer than usual, but an answer eventually came in the form of Carl on the other side. "He's already on his way up."

"Thank you," Michonne returned sweetly. She offered a smile to her friend as she passed back the transmitter and then resettled into her pillows with a sigh. They still had another hour and a half before The Good Wife, and they'd exhausted everything else on the DVR. "What do you wanna watch until nine?"

"Isn't it time for Real Housewives?"

"Still another half hour."

"Well shit." Lori let out a disappointed sigh and slightly shook her head. "We don't have to watch anything then..."

"I could honestly use a nap," Michonne agreed, settling on a rerun of Boardwalk Empire before muting the TV. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

"Well, laying in bed with me all weekend is hard work," Lori grinned weakly. She rested her face against her friend's shoulder, finding comfort in being close to her. "Thank you, by the way," she added, both of them quietly chuckling.

"Stop thanking me," she gently scolded her. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be." There was a knock at the door, quickly followed by Rick's appearance in the threshold, toting bottled water and an iPad, like the dutiful servant he'd been all weekend. "Just the man I wanted to see," Michonne greeted him with a long yawn. "We're ready to order."

"Just what I came for," he returned, passing her the tablet so that she could type it up, including her endless list of overly specific requests. "How are you feeling?" he directed to his wife.

"Like I'm dying," she quipped with a small cough. "Other than that…"

Michonne chuckled, but out of the corner of her eye, caught Rick's pained expression and thought it best to try for a subject change. "Has the game started yet?"

"Not yet," he cocked his head, glancing at the screen mounted in their bedroom. "...Tryin' to get back before it does."

"I think that was a hint for you to hurry up," Lori commented, listening to Michonne's fingers hurriedly tap at the screen. "I'm just getting soup," she told Rick.

"I figured as much," he nodded, his voice quiet. He was trying not to react, knowing she couldn't help her lack of appetite, but every time he looked at her, the thinness struck him hard. "I bought some ice cream this mornin' if you're interested."

"Cherry Garcia?" Michonne hoped, her face lighting up as she handed back their order.

"Of course."

She watched him read through her list, knowing he was judging her for it, and not caring. "Don't forget my duck sauce this time, please and thanks."

Rick only shook his head, chuckling as he headed back for the door. "I'll leave you ladies to it."

"Thank you, baby," Lori sent after him. She waited until she heard his footsteps trot down the staircase before she commenced conversation with her friend. "He's so uptight," she noted with a small exhale. Her illness had taken its toll on him, as to be expected, but it was so difficult to watch him - or rather, pieces of his personality - die with her.

Michonne quietly snickered in response, knowing it was true, but also understanding why. "He's worried."

"I know," she granted. "He's good that way."

"He is…"

"He also needs to get laid," she declared casually, smiling to herself when Michonne giggled animatedly. "And I feel terrible because I know he needs to, but I can't…" She shook her head again, "I can't do it."

Michonne was laughing so hard the whole bed was moving. "Jesus, Lori…"

"I'm serious," she insisted. "The last time we tried, I thought I was gonna break my hip. And it's just so dry down there." Their laughter turned into full on cackles as she recalled the awkward moment. "He's so patient. God love him. But I've been googling escorts just to see if I can find someone his type."

"Lori," Michonne shrieked amusedly. If it'd been anyone else, she would've known they were joking, but Lori was more than likely serious, which made it both funny and terrifying. "Do not buy a prostitute for your husband."

"Well he needs something!"

"Give him a handjob!" she continued to laugh. "And I know it's not the same," she added before the protest could begin, "but that's gotta be better than the alternative."

"Barely," she mumbled with another sigh. A contented one as she mindlessly stared at Michonne's hand clutching the TV remote. Her elegant fingers and the giant diamond adorning the ring. She'd always admired her hands - along with just about everything else about her best friend. So gorgeous, inside and out. "Do you remember when we first met?" she decided to ask, ignoring how random it sounded out loud.

Michonne let out a soft chuckle, recalling their first meeting, the first day of freshman orientation. Fate, or perhaps just some old computer at UGA, assigned them to one another as roommates, changing their lives forever. "I do," she nearly whispered. "That tiny dorm room..."

Lori smiled too, closing her eyes as she pictured 17-year-old Michonne Diarra. "You showed up with all those damn books and the Louis Vuitton luggage, and I just knew we were never gonna be friends. At most, I hoped I didn't hate you."

"Yeah, I didn't quite see it for us either," she admitted with a giggle. "I remember my mom went searching the dorm to try and find me a Black roommate."

"Well I'm glad she didn't," Lori coughed, her tone turning serious. "Because I couldn't have been more wrong. Not only did you make the best best friend, but you became the great love of my life." She tilted her head upward to try and see Michonne's face, catching part of it, at least. "Through school, and all my shit with Rick, to losing my mom, and trying to learn to be a mother, the one constant was you, Michonne. You were my everything."

"Lori…" Michonne was stunned into silence, unsure what to say. "I love you, too."

"I know," she nodded against her. "And you love the kids. And even Rick. Which is why I'm asking you to keep an eye on them."

"You know you don't even have to ask."

"I have to," she insisted. "I have to make sure that someone I loved will be there for them. Someone that'll push Rick to find someone. After an appropriate amount of grieving time," she was sure to add. "Don't let him embarrass me."

Michonne smiled, appreciating that her sense of humor hadn't wavered through any of this. "You're better than me," she joked, "because I'd be looking for ways to frame him for my death so he could never be with anyone else."

"Goddamn it," Lori sighed dramatically. "Why didn't you give me this idea sooner? I could've given it a try."

"I wasn't thinking," she conceded. "So I guess the alternative is that Rick finds someone else eventually."

"Yeah… I guess I'd rather that than Carl and Judith having to visit their dad in jail for a murder he didn't commit."

"Sounds like 'The Flash'," Michonne smirked.

"Well my kids are superheroes," Lori returned, beaming brightly as she thought of them. Judith with those beautiful big eyes that questioned every little thing. And Carl, her bright baby boy, who'd handled his life being turned upside down with a grace that no thirteen-year-old should have to have. "Promise me you'll always be in their lives," she asked, taking hold of her friend's hand.

"I promise." Michonne whispered, squeezing it back. "Always."

"And promise me you'll learn to your hair down again." Even as they spoke, Michonne's long locs were tied in a bun at the top of her head. "You don't have to be the responsible one all the time," she said. "Make a mistake. Have an affair. Quit your job. Jump off a cliff. Do something that makes you and only you happy," Lori implored her. "You deserve that from the world."

"I'm not gonna have an affair," she chuckled, but nodded at the sage advice. "But I get where you're coming from."

"Remember when we made the pact to have thirty orgasms in a month?" Lori suddenly recalled with a smile in her voice.

"Oh god." Michonne laughed again as she covered her face with her free hand. "I remember not having any in the first week and then giving up."

"Give it another try." She gazed up at her seriously. "When Mike gets home, just… enjoy the hell out of that man."

Michonne closed her eyes and squeezed Lori's hand again. She was rather certain that wouldn't be happening with Mike - not anytime soon, at least - but it was a nice thought. It was nice to believe that her marriage was salvageable. "I will."

"I'm gonna be watching," Lori reminded her, still grinning. "Not in a creepy way, but... I'll know."

"There's no way to say you'll be watching someone without it sounding creepy, Lori."

"That's true," she acknowledged. But instead of reconsidering, she leaned into it, breaking out into song to express herself. "Every breath you take. Every move you make…"

Michonne stared up at the ceiling as she laughed at her friend for the umpteenth time in their short conversation. Her unfailingly hilarious, compassionate, overbearing, witty, loving best friend. Knowing that she was trying to say goodbye; that their time together was coming to an end. It was like a breakup where both people know it's over, but neither wants to say the words. Michonne felt sick to her stomach, but at the same time, relief for her friend. That this year of fighting for her life would soon be over. This illness that had ravaged her body, though not her soul, would win, but on the bright side, if she could find one, the pain would end, too. So Michonne laughed, but she also cried, a tear slipping from her eye and rolling into her ear as she came to understand that this was the last time they would ever be together.

I love you
I love you
I love you…

Lyrics: "Grace" - Kate Havnevik (You)