Author's Note: This chapter has been half-finished and sitting in my drafts for almost 5 years. The Richonne revival gave me the push I needed to finish it up. Be forewarned, we're still in the angsty beginnings of this story. These are not Rick Grimes AU fluff fanfic dreams…yet.

There are definitely several more chapters left to tell in this story. Hopefully I can get it done this time. Thanks for reading!

Michonne opened her eyes, startled into consciousness by an uneasy feeling, though she wasn't sure exactly what. She lifted her head from his chest, her hand still wrapped around his.

"Mike?"

She was met by the strange, almost horn-like alarm of the ventilator. A sound she had never heard before in her life and never wanted to hear again, though she was certain it would be seared in her memory forever. She dropped her head back to his chest. That split second of hope and disorientation upon waking was dashed when she remembered that they were in the ICU. And that each passing hour he remained in this state lessened the chance of him coming back to her.

She desperately wanted to drift back to sleep and escape this hell for a little while longer, but the hospital was never quiet. With constant chatter at the nurses station, beeps and alarms, codes being called over the intercom, and hourly yelling from the old man two rooms down, you had to be in a coma or on a steady drip of propofol to get some rest. Even the adrenaline crash after the worst thirty-six hours of her life had only bought her a couple of hours.

She blinked her bleary eyes and smoothed the blanket over Mike's abdomen while her head moved with the rise and fall of his chest. It was such a steady rhythm you could tell time by it. Too perfect and precise for any human. Mechanical.

Not him.

A faint rustling noise caught her attention. She looked toward the end of the bed hoping to see his feet twitching under the sheets, but they were still. The rustling continued, and she caught movement in her periphery. She lifted her head and saw the man in the next bed trying to lift his head from the pillow. He began to cough.

The site made her blood run cold. She stood in a panic, still clinging to Mike's hand.

"Maggie," she yelled. "He's waking up!"

She heard a commotion in the hall, and a stampede of footsteps followed, reverberating through the floor. The man turned his head slightly and met her eyes. His blue eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He looked terrified. There was no familiar face to ease him back to consciousness, just her. She couldn't ever imagine leaving Mike alone in this vulnerable state. Where was his family? He needed them. She froze, not knowing what to do or say. She maintained eye contact with him, though.

"It's okay. You're okay," she said in the same calm voice she used to quiet Andre when he woke up crying in the middle of the night.

Maggie appeared in the doorway, breathless. "Mike?"

"No," Michonne said. A tear rolled down her cheek as she watched the man continue to struggle, trying to remove his nasal cannula and get out of bed.

"Rick?" she asked, adrenaline causing a lapse in confidentiality as she rushed across the room, two other nurses in tow.

"Yeah," Michonne said to herself as they encircled the man. "Rick…"

"Somebody call his wife," Maggie yelled out as she arrived at his bedside and placed her hands on his arms to calm him.

Michonne stayed by Mike's side, clinging to his hand amidst the chaos that had disrupted the quiet room. There was life again, but it wasn't his. Deep down, she knew there probably wouldn't be again. As soon as things settled down, she would call her mom and tell her to bring Andre. Mike needed them. And so did she.

Rick's eyes opened. He turned his head to see Michonne sitting up next to him, the moonlight softly illuminating her face. She looked tired. Troubled. He reached for her arm, to pull her back to bed and into his arms, thinking it was another bad dream until he heard a hoarse, barking cough from down the hall.

"It's Judith," she said as she began to peel back the covers. "I'll go check on her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep," she whispered.

As she started to get up, his hand slid down her arm. Before she slipped out of his reach, he caught her hand in his. She turned and he gazed back at her to say I see you. Thank you. She gave him a small grin and let their hands break apart as she went to their daughter. He stayed on his side, watching her until she disappeared from his sight then collapsed back onto his pillow.

Judith coughed again. He heard Michonne cooing and gently telling her that she was okay. Then he heard the creak of the antique rocking chair in the nursery as she rocked Judith back and forth. Back and forth…

His throat and mouth were so dry, he could barely speak. Trying to get words out was like walking through a dry, sandy desert, sinking and losing traction with every step. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words kept slipping away. People in white uniforms were huddled around him, holding onto his arms and legs. A bright, white light swung across his field of vision, temporarily blinding him. He had no idea where he was, just that it wasn't home. Why was he in this situation? Who were these people?

"Lori?" he finally managed. His chapped lips cracked and burned after forming her name.

"She's on her way," a woman's voice said. She had a soft, southern twang like his mother. It was calming, piercing through his confusion and fear.

"C–C–Carl?"

"Shhh. Just breathe. Everything is going to be alright. Do you know where you are, Mr. Grimes?" the calm woman asked again.

"M–M–" He was growing so tired. He didn't even know what he was trying to say or do.

"What's he saying?" one of them asked.

"I don't know," the calm woman answered.

He stopped trying to fight and let his eyes close.

"Dad?"

Rick's eyes fluttered open. The room was quiet and dark. Just a faint glow softened the edges of his periphery. He turned his head to his left and what he saw instantly grounded him. Dark hair, pale skin, freckled cheeks, and inquisitive green eyes that were studying his face.

He still didn't know where he was, but it was okay if he was here.

"Carl," he breathed out.

"Dad!" His son's eyes lit up and he dove into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Rick sucked in a sharp breath at the searing pain that ran down the left side of his chest.

"Careful, son."

"Sorry, I just missed you."

"S'okay."

He managed to lift his right arm and place it on his boy's back. Not quite a hug, but the best he could do. His eyes went to the window by his bed, it was dark outside. Lights illuminated a nearly empty parking lot. There was a steady beeping sound and an antiseptic scent lingered in the air. He was in the hospital and clearly injured.

"You're awake."

His eyes followed the voice to Lori. She sat in a chair at the foot of his bed. Legs crossed and hands resting atop a book in her lap. Her dark eyes met his. Her face was blank, unmoved by his awakening. He knew that look. He dreaded that look. The last thing he had the energy to do was try to figure out what he'd done to deserve it.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head no. Carl lifted himself from his chest and looked to his mother.

"You got shot during pursuit of two armed robbers." There was an edge to her voice.

He glanced at his son, not sure what he knew already and if this would be upsetting to him. He was quiet, subdued.

"The bullet tore through your shoulder and severed a bunch of nerves and blood vessels," she continued. She stood and walked to the bedside. Her hands went to Carl's shoulders, rubbing gently up and down his arms. "They had to keep you sedated so you wouldn't move and screw up the repairs."

Somehow he felt like he was being yelled at. He didn't remember the chase or getting to the hospital. The last thing he remembered was getting into an argument with her over his work schedule…or was it not talking enough or talking too much? Either way, whatever happened didn't seem like it was enough for a reset between the two of them.

"How long was I out?"

"Two days."

"That's all?"

"That's all," she said, shaking her head.

He studied her face for a moment. The lean, angular lines of her cheekbones looked softer to him. Almost puffy. Maybe she had been crying. And maybe the blank eyes were just fatigue from staying at his bedside. Perhaps her emotional reserves were low from the stress of the past few days. Whatever was going on between them, he was grateful to be back with his family. And grateful that she had been there for him. He reached out and touched her arm. "Thank you for taking care of me. I love you."

She stared at him for a moment, then looked upward and gulped in a quick breath. She didn't say anything, but she moved her hand from Carl's back and placed it over his.

Being in his house on a weekday didn't feel like home at all. It may well have been a foreign country. Iceland if he had to guess. He always left the house before Lori took Carl to school and came home right before they sat down for dinner, so he had no idea what her days looked like between those hours. He had been on leave for one week since being discharged from the hospital, and it was clear that his presence wasn't welcome.

After dropping Carl off at school, she came back home and helped him into the shower, changed the dressing on his wound, then got him dressed and situated his arm in its sling again. His pain meds were left on the counter and she always made an extra sandwich with Carl's lunch and left it in the fridge for him. Then she was off and wouldn't return until she came home with Carl. If not for their son, he wondered if he'd ever see her at all.

The house was too quiet, in a different way than when he'd wake up in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of the bright, sunny day and the stillness inside that made it feel so wrong. Even the TV shows were weird, though. He sat on the couch and clicked through the channels over and over again, trying to find something to watch. It was all morning shows, talk shows, game shows, and soap operas before another round of talk shows in the afternoon.

As his pain started to improve and he began to wean off of the prescription pain meds, he grew restless. He paced the house looking for ways to keep busy and contribute in any small way he could. Maybe it would win him some favor in her eyes. He tried to tidy up the best he could with one hand. He sat on the bathroom floor and decided to organize the various toiletries and supplies that became disheveled in the daily rush of morning routines.

He put the soaps and shampoos in one basket. Went through the medications and creams and tossed anything that was expired. Behind the extra rolls of toilet paper he found a small box. Pregnancy tests. He chuckled at the site because they must have been back there for almost five years. They'd tried for a year after Carl with no luck and never had a need for them since. Surely they were expired, but he checked anyway.

"Shit," he muttered to himself. They were still good for another year. He went to toss them in the garbage can, then reconsidered since there wasn't anything wrong with them. Seemed wasteful. He put them next to the box of tampons under Lori's side of the vanity.

After he was done, he sat back down on the couch. He flipped through the channels again and chose silence over soap operas. The house was so quiet, it buzzed. He was alone. Not just alone, but lonely. Deeply and truly lonely. He was usually too busy to notice, but being with only himself and his thoughts was painful. More painful than this injury.

In another week, he would probably be cleared for desk duty, but then what? He couldn't go on like this.

Rick opened his eyes and reached across the bed, but her side was empty. The feelings from his dream still lingered. There was this emptiness inside of him. Not just the absence of feeling, but like a vacuum sucking it out of him. He got out of bed and put on a white t-shirt, then began to walk downstairs. The smell of coffee wafted upstairs. With each step, more sunlight streamed through the living room windows and warmed the drafty air at his feet. He heard the clinking of dishes, running water, Michonne's soft voice, then his daughter's bubbly laugh.

When he reached the last step, he saw them together. Michonne in her blue robe bouncing Judith on her hip as she tended to a pot on the stove. The emptiness was dissipating, but he needed to feel her to do away with it completely. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her hips and rested his face against her back. She startled at first, but quickly eased into his touch.

"You scared me." She reached over her shoulder and smoothed her free hand through his curls. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he murmured into her back. "How's Judith?"

"She seems to be doing a bit better. Hopefully it's just the change in weather."

He nodded and wrapped his arms around her tighter. "Thank you for taking care of her. I can take over if you want to try to go back to bed for a bit. I know you didn't sleep well last night."

She laughed dryly and shook her head. "No, I did not, but I've got a busy day. Hopefully tonight will be better."

"Hopefully," he echoed.

She turned off the stove and moved the pot of oats off the stove then turned in his arms. Seeing her face and Judith's lifted his mood. They were real. They were here, and everything was okay. He placed a kiss atop Judith's head then wrapped his arms around Michonne again, pulling her as close to him as he could.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

She knew. She had always been able to read his moods. Before they were together, before they were even friends. There had always been an invisible string tying them together. At first it simply kept them from drifting off into bad places, but now it was a short, strong line that tethered their minds and hearts making them as close as two people could be. That's why she knew.

"Yeah. I just love you."