===== Prison: Cell Block C =====
Michonne's gaze followed the movement of her blade as it glided through the air in a deadly arc, its keen edge reflecting the light of the rising sun. Her heart raced, her body instinctively moving to strike down her target with lethal efficiency. The walker fell lifeless at her feet, its head severed from its body. And then she swung again and again...and again. Decapitating walker after walker in a flurry of desperate fury.
Blood sprayed the air, a crimson mist clinging to her skin. The stench of rotting flesh and putrid gore invaded her senses. Still, she swung, her mind lost to the madness of the moment. Andre needed her. Her baby needed her. He was screaming for her but she couldn't see him through the horde of walkers.
"Mike! Terry!" she called out, her voice strained with urgency, but there was no response save for the relentless shuffle of decaying feet.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a symphony of fear and desperation echoing in her ears. She fought on, driven by the primal instinct to protect her son at any cost.
"Andre! Where are you?" she cried out, her voice cracking with emotion.
But there was only silence, broken only by the haunting wails of the undead. And then Mike was standing beside her, his face twisted with anger and accusation.
"It's your fault," he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. "You couldn't protect us. You couldn't save him. Your own son, Michonne. You couldn't protect your son. You're a failure."
"No, it's not my fault. I'm not a failure," she cried out, her words laced with anguish. "I'm not a failure!"
"Yes, you are. You're a failure," he repeated, his voice taunting and cruel.
Michonne screamed, her eyes widening with terror as she watched the horde descend upon Mike, ripping him apart, devouring him before her eyes. And then, it was Terry's turn, his body being torn limb from limb.
She struggled to fight off the walkers, swinging her blade wildly, but there were too many of them.
"Mommy! Help me, Mommy!" Andre's desperate voice called out to her, and Michonne turned to see her baby boy surrounded by a sea of the dead, their gnarled hands grasping for him.
In the distance, she caught sight of Rick, playing with Judith and Carl as if nothing were amiss. His laughter mingled with the sounds of her son's cries, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them.
Rick!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with anguish. "Help me! Help Andre!"
But he remained oblivious to her pleas, lost in the illusion of safety he had created with his family.
"Damn it, Rick, do something!" she demanded, her body tensing with anger and frustration.
Rick's head turned slightly, and Michonne's gaze locked with his, the piercing blue of his eyes burning through the haze of her terror. His expression was calm, almost serene. And then, his lips curved into a faint smile, the faintest hint of amusement reflected in his eyes.
"Let go, Michonne," he whispered, his voice laced with an unsettling finality.
"No!" she yelled, her voice cracking with desperation.
"Let go."
"I can't! Please, Rick, help me!"
Rick's features softened, and he stepped towards her, his arm outstretched. "Michonne. Let go. I've got you."
Michonne woke with a gasp, her heart hammering against her chest. The familiar weight of Andre's body pressed against her. She pulled him close, the sound of his gentle breathing a comforting presence amidst the turmoil of her thoughts.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Her throat felt raw, as if she had been screaming for hours. She swallowed hard, a bitter taste lingering on her tongue.
With measured breaths, she calmed herself, the nightmare fading to the recesses of her mind. Andre was safe. She was safe. They were together, and that was all that mattered.
She tightened her hold on her son, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. In his sleep, he nuzzled against her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
She needed to tell Rick. She had been avoiding him after the group dinner, her secret had been weighing heavy on her. She couldn't figure out the right words or the right time to share with him that Andre was his son. That he had another person who needed him. She feared his reaction, knowing that Rick had made it clear he wasn't interested in a relationship with her.
A knot formed in her throat. She swallowed hard, the memory of Rick's rejection all those years ago stinging more than she cared to admit. But she had to tell him. She couldn't keep hiding Andre, hiding the truth from him. He deserved to know.
The sun rose, bathing the prison in a warm, golden glow.
Michonne closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the rays of light to soothe her frayed nerves. She would talk to Rick. Today.
======= Prison Exterior: Woods =====
Restlessness gnawed at him, intensifying with each passing moment he spent confined within the prison walls. Rick recognized the urgent need for solitude, a rare commodity in their relentless struggle for survival. He craved the space to contemplate his desires and chart his path forward. Entrusting Hershel with the daily responsibilities, he sought respite from the incessant demands of leadership. Releasing the pent-up rage he had been holding onto, confronting the ghost of Lori, and holding Judith for the first time helped him shed some of the mental burden he had been carrying. Yet, despite this cathartic moment, Rick knew there was still more for him to do. He needed to be a better version of himself, he just didn't know what that looked like after the turn.
Michonne's words echoed in his mind, urging him to reconcile the past and present, to face the demons that haunted him. But how could he move on when the memories lingered? He wished he could ask her but she had been avoiding him the past few days, whenever he entered a room, she would leave. He couldn't tell if he did something else to upset her but he had too if she couldn't stay in the same room as him.
As the sun blazed above him, Rick trekked back to the prison after a day of seeking the tranquility of solitude. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his machete, his footsteps carrying him further into the dense forest. The steady rhythm of his breathing was interrupted by the rustle of leaves in the wind and a bird call.
He looked up to see Daryl perched in a tree, his crossbow poised, scanning the forest floor for game. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of Rick's lips, his gaze meeting Daryl's.
"Catch anything?" Rick inquired, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.
Daryl shook his head and jumped down, his boots landing with a thud. "Not yet," he grunted, his expression a mixture of irritation and resignation.
Rick chuckled. "Maybe next time," he offered, his voice tinged with wry humor.
"Yeah, maybe," Daryl muttered, his brow furrowed. "Still on vacation?"
"Wouldn't call it that," Rick replied, his tone weary. "Who's guarding Merle?"
"T-Dog," Daryl responded, coming to a halt in front of Rick.
"Sure that's smart? Given their history?" Rick's voice held a note of caution, knowing all too well the animosity that simmered between Merle and T-Dog after their ordeal on the rooftop. Merle's unabashed racism only added fuel to the fire.
"Well, there's no easy choice when it comes to guarding Merle," Daryl admitted, his expression grim. "Either folks wanna take him out themselves, or he starts spewing his poison to someone who don't know no better."
Rick scratched the corner of his nose with his thumb, a gesture of contemplation. "Yeah, I can see that," he conceded, his voice tinged with resignation.
They walked in silence as they made their way back to the prison. Emerging from the dense woods, the chain-linked fence of the prison came into view. Oddly enough, a sense of home enveloped Rick—a comforting wave of familiarity washed over him, unexpectedly grounding him.
He observed Hershel and Maggie in the front yard of the prison, their figures silhouetted against the backdrop of the sprawling fields. They were preparing for the upcoming planting season, a crucial task in ensuring the community's long-term survival. Hershel's presence was a reassuring sight, his years of farming experience evident in the way he meticulously inspected the soil and assessed the conditions for planting.
Rick couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as he watched them work. In another time, he would have eagerly joined them, drawing upon his own upbringing on a vegetable farm. But now, after everything they had been through, he felt strangely disconnected from that part of his past. The simplicity of farm life seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh realities of their current existence. Despite his desire to contribute, Rick couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, unsure of how to navigate his old life in this mess.
"I wanted to thank ya again for lettin' my brother stay here," Daryl grunted, his voice carrying a mix of appreciation and concern.
Rick glanced at him, his expression serious as they started walking back towards the outer gate of the prison. "He can't stay in that cell forever. We'll need to find a permanent solution for him soon," Rick replied with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to leave, but I'll admit, finding a solution where we both get what we want isn't easy."
Daryl nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "Yeah, I get it. Ain't like we got a ton of options here," he muttered, his gaze scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. "Just know I ain't plannin' on causin' you more headaches than I have to. But Merle's my brother, and I gotta look out for him."
Rick nodded silently. He wished that Merle were the type of man who deserved such unwavering dedication rather than merely lucking into having a devoted brother.
He gazed over the hill toward the prison yard and caught sight of Michonne with Andre, both engrossed in their practice with their katanas, though Andre's was a wooden replica. His attention was drawn as Michonne paused to instruct Andre, guiding him through the motions with a keen eye for improvement. A lazy smile formed on his face at the sight.
Daryl shot a sidelong glance at Rick, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ya know, Rick, I gotta say... I've noticed a change in you," he remarked, his tone teasing. "Seem more focused, somehow. Wouldn't happen to be because of Xena the warrior princess over there, would it?"
He snapped his head towards Daryl at the sudden question, his expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment.
"What are you talkin' about, Daryl?" Rick asked, his tone slightly defensive as he attempted to brush off the teasing remark.
Daryl snorted, his expression betraying a hint of amusement. "C'mon, Rick, ya know exactly what I mean," he retorted. "Ever since Michonne showed up, you've been sharper than a tack. Not that ya weren't sharp before, but now... ya got your mojo back. Ya ain't lost in your own head anymore."
Rick scoffed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he struggled to maintain a semblance of composure. "Look, it's nothin' like that," he insisted, his words laced with protest. "We're just... she's just familiar is all."
"Because y'all were just friends before all of this," Daryl interjected disbelievingly. "You sure nothing happened between you two?"
Rick paused, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "Nothing I'm ready to talk about," he finally answered. "But we were together when me and Lori were separated for almost a year. I've moved on and so has she."
Daryl raised a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze appraising. "Right," he drawled, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"It's true, Daryl. I love Michonne. I always will. She's a part of me. But it's different now," Rick explained. "I've changed. The world's changed. I'm not the same man I was before, and she's not the same woman either. I have responsibilities now, a family to take care of. And Michonne, she has her son. We both have our priorities."
Daryl shook his head, an amused grin forming on his face.
"Ya sure, Rick?" he prodded, his voice tinged with a hint of teasing. "Because it seems like you ain't as immune to her charms as ya claim. Hell, when I brought you into her cell the first night she was here, the way you looked at her, man, I almost thought you were gonna jump her right there."
Rick couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, alright. I think you're overanalyzing it a bit," he remarked.
"No way. It's clear as day," Daryl insisted. "It's pretty obvious ya got the hots for her."
Rick nodded, his brow furrowing in thought as he caught Michonne's eyes in the distance. She gave a small wave, and Rick instinctively ran a hand through his hair, feeling a jolt of nervous energy coursing through him. Leaning against the fence that separated him, he tilted his head in wonder. What was the meaning behind her gesture? Was she signaling a truce between them? She offered a small smile before turning her attention back to Andre who was running towards Carl.
"Yeah, but what does she feel about me?" he muttered softly to himself, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of activity. Uncertainty flickered across his features, his gaze lingering on Michonne's retreating figure
Daryl chuckled at Rick's reaction before giving his friend a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Yeah, you got it bad," he remarked, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "But you better do somethin' about it fast. Been seeing the new guy, Tyrese, sniffin' around her."
Daryl rolled his eyes, a look of exasperation etched on his features. "C'mon, Rick, we both know ya ain't like that. And I ain't sayin' ya gotta mark your territory or anythin'," he replied. "Just make sure she knows where you stand. You ain't a lost puppy."
Rick's attention snapped to a loud horn blaring in the distance. His gaze locked onto a white box truck adorned with the ominous words 'Woodbury Defense Coalition,' hurtling toward the prison with reckless abandon. It barreled through both perimeter fences before finally stopping after it crashed into the wall next to the prison entrance. The cargo door of the box truck opened, unleashing a horde of walkers.
"Son of a bitch!" Rick shouted.
"Fuck! What the hell was that? Daryl replied.
A sudden cacophony of gunfire deafened Rick to any response he might have made, each shot reverberating through the prison yard like thunder. Amidst the chaos, Carol's screams cut through the air, a sharp, chilling sound that sent a shiver down Rick's spine. He cast a frantic glance towards where Michonne and the children had been, and saw Beth quickly duck into the building, leaving the door open as makeshift cover. Judith and Beth were safe but Michonne, Andre and Carl weren't as lucky.
Rick watched in terror as the ground in front of the trio erupted in violent bursts of dust and concrete, forming a chaotic dance of debris. With lightning reflexes, Michonne snatched up the toddler and yanked Carl down, instinctively shielding them from the hailstorm of bullets by throwing herself to the ground.
Rick tracked where the gunfire came from and saw an unknown man in the tower closest to the yard. Rick's demeanor shifted in an instant. His jaw clenched in fury, and his hands twitched as they itched to grip his Python. His entire body shook as rage coursed through his veins, threatening to burst forth and take out the bastard who dared to fire on his family. His mind was a jumble of thoughts as he raced to get to his children.
He couldn't lose them. Not now. Not after everything. He wouldn't allow it.
Without a word, Rick charged forward, his movements fueled by a raw, savage instinct honed through countless battles for survival. The gunfire continued to echo around him, but he was deaf to it now, his focus singularly fixed on reaching Michonne and the children. His hatchet in hand as he surged through the horde of walkers released from the truck. Rick hacked at every corpse in his path, the adrenaline rush and the primal desire to protect his family spurring him onward.
Rick fought his way through the crowd of walkers, finally emerging on the other side. He could see that Michonne and the kids were pinned down behind the picnic table, struggling to fend off the roaming dead while the tower shooter took aim on them, keeping them from making a run for safety.
Michonne's sword flashed through the air with deadly accuracy, severing the rotted flesh of every walker that drew near, but each one dropped only to be replaced by another. Carl struggled to keep Andre from being swarmed as he fired wildly at the approaching corpses.
Michonne's eyes caught his and he could see the fear in her eyes as she desperately fought to hold the swarm of the dead at bay. Rick knew he had to move quickly.
"Dad!" Carl shouted, "The tower!"
The sound of gunfire was suddenly silenced, and Rick realized that the tower shooter was out of ammo. He took off towards the tower as fast as his legs would carry him, hoping to reach the tower before the man reloaded. Time seemed to slow as he closed the distance, his mind focused on a single primal instinct: protect his family at any cost.
Rick ascended the ladder with the ferocity of a wild predator, each rung beneath his feet a mere obstacle to be conquered. His muscles tensed with anticipation as he reached the top, the air thick with tension as the shooter fumbled to reload.
With a primal roar, Rick launched himself forward, crashing into the man with bone-jarring force. The impact echoed through the tower as they tumbled to the ground, metal grating biting into flesh.
A sickening thud reverberated as the man's skull collided with the unforgiving floor, his rifle clattering from his grasp. Rick's fingers curled around the man's throat like steel vices, crushing the life from him with a relentless grip.
"What the fuck did you do?!" Rick's voice reverberated with raw fury, each word laced with venom. "Who the fuck are you?!"
The man's feeble gasps for air were drowned out by Rick's relentless onslaught. "I- I'm from Woodbury," he stammered. "M-my name's Tom. Please, don't kill me, I'm just following orders. I-"
Rick's grip tightened, cutting off the man's plea for mercy. His eyes blazed with an unrelenting rage, a primal instinct driving him to mete out justice with merciless precision.
"I'm- I'm sorry," Tom whimpered, his words choked by Rick's iron grip. "I'm- I'm so-sorry. Just let me- I can help, please. I'm sorry, I-"
"Shut up!" Rick's snarl silenced the man's desperate pleas, his fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of his throat.
Tom's struggles grew weaker, his futile attempts to break free gradually subsiding. Rick's gaze bore into the man's soul, unyielding and unwavering as he watched the light of life flicker and fade from his eyes.
As Tom's body went limp beneath him, Rick remained unmoved, his grip unyielding even as bone and sinew gave way beneath his crushing force. Only when he was certain that the threat had been extinguished did he release his hold, the lifeless body sprawled at his feet a grim testament to the savagery that lurked within him.
With a heavy breath, Rick stepped over the fallen man. He turned to the exit, ready to continue the fight against the dead when his gaze locking with Michonne's wide eyes. There was no fear in her expression, only a deep understanding that mirrored his own primal instincts. She glanced down at the lifeless body, then back at Rick, her unwavering gaze a silent acknowledgment of the brutality they both knew was necessary in this world.
Without a word, Michonne withdrew her katana with a fluid motion, the gleaming blade catching the dim light as she drove it into the corpse's skull with decisive precision. The deed was done swiftly, efficiently, and without hesitation. And all the while, her eyes remained locked with Rick's, a silent reassurance that they were in this together, no matter what horrors they faced.
Flicking the blood off her blade, Michonne sheathed her sword after. Despite the grime and sweat that coated Rick's face, she approached him with gentle determination, her touch a silent reassurance amidst the chaos. Rick's breath came out in short, ragged gasps as he fought to regain his composure. Michonne's deep brown eyes radiated calm certainty as she gazed up at him. With a tender caress, she pressed a simple kiss to his lips, her voice a steady anchor in the tumultuous storm around them.
"Thank you," she murmured softly. "We're okay. The kids are safe inside."
Rick nodded, the familiar warmth of her touch chasing away the remnants of the brutal darkness within him.
The battle was not over, not by a long shot.
But for now, he could breathe.
He could live.
He could love.
With her.
With them.
And that's all that mattered.
More gunfire erupted from the prison gate. Rick looked down from the tower and saw a second truck coming through. It stopped after breaching only the outer perimeter of the prison before releasing more of the dead. He could see Maggie, Daryl and Hershel fighting there way back to the prison.
"You gotta be kidding me," Rick said. "There's another truck?"
"Rick, look," Michonne said, pointing at the other fence.
He looked where she pointed and saw a gathering of men and women positioned before a cluster of military vehicles, safely distanced from the prison's chaos. Among them, unmistakable even from this distance, stood the Governor. Though his features were obscured by the distance, Rick could almost feel the man's malevolent stare fixed on him. He raised his hand and the people of Woodbury began firing at the prison. Rick pulled Michonne down into cover.
"We have to help them," She said referring Hershel, Maggie and Daryl caught between a horde and the Governor's paramilitary. "They'll never make it."
"You're right," Rick replied. He pulled out the Walkie-Talkie clipped to his belt. "Sasha, Carol, and Glenn. There's a group outside the prison. Get to the guard towers in the front and start taking them out."
"On it," Sasha's reply came in quick.
"Everyone else, start clearing out the dead at the entrance. We have friendlies coming in," Rick commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he seized Tom's abandoned automatic rifle. Without pausing for confirmation, he descended the tower with Michonne at his heels. Together, they forged a path through the throngs of undead, their movements a deadly dance of survival. Michonne's katana sliced through rotting flesh with precise efficiency, while Rick's shots rang out with deadly accuracy, each bullet finding its mark amidst the chaos. Side by side, they fought their way to the front of the prison, a united force against the relentless tide of the dead.
As the governor's forces started to falter, their retreat becoming more apparent with each passing moment, the relentless assault wore down their ranks. A series of expertly aimed shots from Sasha sent them scrambling for cover, their once-bold advance now reduced to a desperate scramble for safety.
But the battle was far from over. Hours stretched into eternity as the survivors waged a grueling war against the relentless tide of walkers. With painstaking patience, they methodically cleared the prison grounds of the undead menace, every step forward met with the gnashing jaws of their relentless foes.
Repairing the broken fences became a laborious task, each makeshift patch a temporary defense against the encroaching threat. Box trucks were repurposed into barriers, their metal frames offering a brief respite from the onslaught while the survivors worked tirelessly to reinforce their defenses. Amidst the chaos and carnage, their determination remained unyielding, their spirits unbroken as they fought tooth and nail for their survival.
It wasn't until clean-up was done that Rick learned they lost three people in the Governor's assault. T-Dog, Axel, and Ben were dead. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't care about the deaths of Ben and Axel outside of his failure as a leader. T-Dog, though, was different. T-Dog had been one of the first people to welcome him when he returned to the Atlanta camp and had always had his back since then. T-Dog was a good man, and Rick would miss him.
"You alright, man?" Daryl asked as he approached.
Rick shook his head. "Not really. This place was supposed to be our safe haven. But we keep losing people."
"It ain't your fault," Daryl said.
"Yes, it is. I should have been getting us ready for an attack instead of just waiting for one. We should have hit them first, wiped them all out. Now, look at us. Look at the prison. Our home."
"Yeah," Daryl sighed, his eyes scanning the carnage around them. "That's a tough break. But you still got plenty of people. That's more than most folks have got. And as for this place, well, it's seen better days, but it's nothin' we can't fix."
"I hope you're right," Rick replied, his voice heavy with weariness.
Quiet footsteps approached, Michonne walked up to the duo with an air of nervousness about her.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," Rick replied, his tone matching her's. His mind went to the kiss they shared in the tower during the battle. He couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Hey, Daryl. Uh, Rick. I need to talk to you. Somewhere private."
Daryl shrugged. "Alright. I'll catch up with you later."
"Yeah. See you," Rick replied.
After Daryl departed for the cafeteria, Michonne and Rick went in the opposite direction, their steps purposeful. Michonne led the way, guiding Rick to a secluded storage room tucked away within the compound. It was strategically located: close enough to the others for swift assistance if needed, yet far enough away to ensure their conversation remained shielded from prying ears. As they stepped inside, the dim light cast long shadows across the walls, lending an air of secrecy to their impromptu meeting.
With the door to the empty room closed, the pair stood alone. It was a tight fit. No matter where they stood, they were an arm's length away. Rick was the first to break the silence.
"How are Carl and Andre?" he asked.
"Carl's fine, a little banged up but he'll survive. Andre is shaken up a bit. We put him down for a nap, I told him I'd come to get him for dinner, but he needs to sleep."
"Yeah, that's probably for the best."
Another beat of silence passed.
"Does this have to do with the kiss in the tower? Do you regret it?" Rick asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Michonne smiled softly. "No."
Relief flooded through Rick, the tension that had knotted his muscles slowly unraveling at her reassuring words. Returning her smile, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
"What is it you needed to talk to me about then?"
She hesitated, her gaze flickering uncertainly as she searched for the right words, a telltale sign of the internal struggle she was experiencing. "I've been- I think we should, uh...I mean-."
"C'mon, Michonne. Whatever it is, I've got you," Rick said.
Michonne's widened in surprise and Rick tilted his head curiously at her reaction. She took a deep breath and said the last thing he expected her to say. "Andre is your son."
,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,
Upcoming: Rick and Michonne finally talk
