The gun feels heavy in Rick's holster as he stands outside Michonne's door. He hasn't been able to bring himself to knock yet, still unsure what he's even doing on her doorstep in the first place.

He has her gun- he could give it back, that could be the end of it. But Rick knows that by doing that, he might as well be giving up on her, might as well be letting her leave.

He'd only caught the tail end of Spencer's tirade this morning, but the words were haunting him. She had her dead boyfriend chained up following her around for months before she came here. Rick hates that he can't stop thinking about it, feels as if he's violating Michonne just by knowing it. But the image conjured by those words is something Rick hasn't been able to escape. He thinks of how he'd been after Lori's death, the way it ate him up and made him into something he didn't recognize. Spencer's words didn't disgust Rick, didn't horrify him. They made him ache with understanding.

Rick can't begin to think of who he would've been if he'd lost Carl along the way. He's sure it would be something inhuman, unrecognizable. He's not sure he'd still be standing. It's a testament to Michonne's strength that she is- and Rick knows, in a way that is so innate to them, why she feels the need to leave Alexandria now.

She had her dead boyfriend chained up following her around for months before she came here. It's a reminder of how far removed they are from the people they used to be. But Rick can only think of how it connects them here and now.

Here and now. That's what Rick needs to focus on. If he wants Michonne to stay, he needs to put all the shit behind him. That starts with an apology, it starts with the gun.

Rick knocks on the door.

She opens it, puffy-eyed and frowning up at him. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice monotone and gravelly.

Rick's taken aback as he looks at, recognizing instantly that she's been crying. "Are you alright?"

Knowing she's been caught, Michonne's frown deepens and she turns her head to wipe her face. "I'm fine. What do you want?"

"I want to say I'm sorry. For everything-"

"Rick, don't-"

"If you're leaving, I need you to hear it, Michonne," Rick cuts her off softly, sternly. She's still standing resolutely in the doorway, no intention of letting him inside. "Please."

She crosses her arms protectively over her chest and leans against the doorframe. "Be quick."

Rick nods, taking a deep breath as he gathers his thoughts. "I don't think I ever put it to bed, what happened with us. It never felt like a clean cut- maybe it did for you, I'm sure it did. But I was still living in our house, sleeping in our bed. You were just… you were everywhere, Michonne. You were my whole life. And then you weren't and I… I didn't want to see how that could be my fault, 'cause how could I live with that? It was… It was wrong, I was wrong. And I'm sorry I punished you, I'm sorry I stopped letting you see Carl, I'm so sorry. Just because…" His breath catches and he closes his eyes with a sigh, trying to muster the resolve. "Just because I fucked up doesn't mean you should lose your family."

She's looking at him with wide eyes, brows furrowed and mouth pinched, caught on the precipice of screaming or crying. It's a painful thing to face, but Rick forces himself to see it, forces himself to continue. "That's still true, Michonne. You don't have to leave, you've got people here-" She shakes her head at that, eyes shut tightly. "You do." He steps closer. "You've got people who will be walking out those gates with you if Deanna tries to make you go. Alright? I- I'll, I'll bury all of it. I'll leave you be- we settle this with Spencer and then I won't bother you again but just… just don't leave, Michonne. You don't deserve it."

He holds out the gun for her, but she doesn't look at it. She's still looking at Rick with an expression he can't begin to parse. She shakes her head again and Rick takes another impossible step closer, the gun practically cradled between them. Her breath hitches and she looks down at it. "Rick…"

But before she can continue, a loud crash and a scream sound from inside. In an instant, Michonne is grabbing the gun out of his hand and bolting into the darkened house, Rick following after quickly. Michonne comes to a halt when she reaches the kitchen, gun poised and chest heaving as they stop to face Spencer. He's got Enid in his clutches, a gun to her temple, smiling wickedly at Rick and Michone.

"Uh uh uh," he sing-songs. Michonne's got her gun trained on him, her jaw ticking in constrained rage as she trains her eyes on Enid's terrified expression. "I'd put the gun down if I were you."

Rick is quickly taking stock of the scene, searching for a plan, a tactic. He's unarmed, and a quick scan of his surroundings reveals nothing he could feasibly use. But he's still behind Michonne, somewhat concealed near the kitchen doorway, so he attempts to duck out of sight in hopes of sneaking around to attack Spencer from behind.

"Tell your boyfriend to come out here, I want him to see this too!"

Rick's stomach drops and he sighs, stepping into the kitchen.

"Well this is too cute," Spencer says. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"What do you want, Spencer?" Michonne grits out.

"I thought it was obvious," Spencer laughs, looking around the kitchen as if at an imaginary audience. "I want you Michonne."

The words make Rick sick to his stomach. There's a grotesque duality to them that he knows Michonne hears as well. He balls his fists at his sides, rocks on his heels as he resists the urge to charge Spencer now.

"Well you've got me," Michonne announces, Rick's eyes shooting over to her the minute she does. "Now let. Her. Go."

"Not so fast, Michonne, this is fun." Spencer laughs as he clutches Enid closer, pulling him into something that resembles a hug but feels far more sinister as the gun remains at her temple. Enid closes her eyes and swallows hard.

Michonne's grip on her gun tightens, eyes widening. Rick steps forward, a hand raised placatingly. "What's your plan here? You think you'll get away with whatever this is? That gun goes off, everyone in this goddamn place hears it. You think you're safe then?"

Spencer grins, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You know Rick, I do-"

"What? Because your mommy runs the place?" Rick is quick to interject, eyes squinting dangerously. "You think there's a world where this works out for you? Do you see who you're talking to?"

Spencer scoffs, turning to lock eyes with Michonne. "Do you hear this guy? You see who you're talking to? Come on. Michonne, what do you see in him?"

Michonne is truly seething now, teeth bared as she says, "Let her go, Spencer, or I swear to god-"

"What?" Spencer goads, swaying him and Enid. "You can't fucking kill me. Can you imagine what my mom would do to your people? I can shoot this gun as much as I want-" To make his point, Spencer waves the gun at the ceiling, firing off a few shots that leave plaster dust sprinkling onto them. "And you won't do a thi-"

With his gun off of Enid, she takes the small window of opportunity to shoot Spencer clear through his forearm. He cries out, the gun falling out of his hand as Enid manages to slip out of his grasp.

"Enid! Go!" Michonne calls out, momentarily unaware of Spencer gearing up to charge at her. Rick intercepts, tackling Spencer. Any hope of restraining him flies out the window the minute they tumble to the ground, landing hit after hit as they roll across the kitchen floor. It's an immediate brawl- Rick's on top, pinning Spencer's good arm while the blood-covered one swings out blindly, streaking across Rick's face. Rick is blinking the blood out of his eyes, his fists operating on instinct alone. He's got the immediate upper hand now that they're both unarmed. But they've fallen near the kitchen island and Spencer manages to grab the leg of a barstool, crashing it clumsily against Rick's head. Through dumb luck, it strikes him hard across the temple, disorienting him. Rick's ears ring and his vision blurs, and he doesn't even realize that Spencer has pinned him until the kid's fist is striking him, further knocking the world off its axis.

He's distantly aware of Spencer getting off of him, and a drowsy sort of alarm fills Rick knowing that Michonne is next. He tries to call out for her but it comes out as a groan as the world blurs to nothing.

—

Michonne's eyes are stuck on Rick's unconscious form as Spencer lumbers towards her. Her gun is trained on him, finger poised over the trigger, and it feels like the moment she's been waiting for. She can kill him, she can leave, and this can be over.

There's only one way this ends, Deanna. You know that. Rick's words from this morning are ringing through her mind, ghostly as she stares at his unmoving form. With rage and grief coursing like hot oil through her veins, the answer should feel simple. But it isn't, it never is, and Michonne can't bring herself to pull the trigger yet.

"Look what you fucking did!" Spencer yells, closing in on her as he waves his bloodied arm. She trains the gun between his eyes, steps forward so that Spencer is forced to stop in his tracks. "You put a hole through my arm! You're a fucking psycho."

"Listen to yourself, Spencer, you're delusional," Michonne spits in a hushed tone. "If I'm a psychotic bitch like you say I am, it's because the world turned me into one. You were born this despicable." She steps closer to him, the barrel of her gun butting into his chest as she stares up at him. "Your poor mother. The better son died, and she got left with a sociopath-"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" He swings out at her and she ducks, coming up to pistol-whip his jaw. He falls back, cradling his already beaten face, staring down the barrel of her gun.

Michonne isn't sure why she's goading him, inciting his violence even when she can't seem to pull the trigger. Some part of her wants the fight more than she wants Spencer dead. It's about the reckoning of it all, the catharsis of watching him spin out. Up until this very moment, she would not have hesitated to kill Spencer. But now, the moment is here, and all she can do is stare wide-eyed at him as she backs towards the living room.

He's following her closely, so Michonne fires a warning shot next to his ear.

"Back the fuck off," Michonne growls.

He lunges for the gun and Michonne kicks him in the groin. He keels and she goes to hit him again with the butt of her gun but he manages to grab the offending wrist and twist it painfully until the gun drops from her hold. He leans down in an attempt to grab it but Michonne knees his chin, prompting him to quickly grab hold of her throat and pin her to the nearest wall. She claws at him, punching and kicking relentlessly, until he pushes his entire body weight against her. She's pinned, unarmed, wondering why she didn't kill him when she had the chance.

She can't speak, can't think. She's quickly losing oxygen, and she knows that she'll pass out if she doesn't act soon. It's a nauseating thought- Michonne unconscious to Spencer's whims.

But for a sick, terrifying moment, Michonne considers that this is her out. No need to pack up and go, no need to let anyone down. She could just lie down and take it and it could be over. No more hurting, no more grieving, no more fighting tooth and nail for a future that she's too fucked up to be a part of. For a brief, shameful moment, Michonne gives up on Rick and Enid and Carl and herself. For a fleeting moment, none of it seems to matter because maybe, maybe there's solace in the fact that this is the end.

Then she hears Rick groan to life, her name falling drowsily off his lips, and ice cold urgency floods Michonne. Don't leave, Michonne. You don't deserve it. A switch flips instantly, reminding Michonne with stunning clarity who she is. Who she's always been, before and after, through it all. There is no version of her that deserves to lie down and take it. There's only one way this ends.

So, Michonne frees her hand and sinks her fingers into the bloody hole in Spencer's arm. He cries out loudly, the sound ringing close to her ear. It just urges her to dig harder, sinking fingernails into the exposed flesh. He releases her and shoves her to the ground, leaving Michonne gasping painfully for air. She spots the gun on the floor behind her, just out of reach, and clambers towards it.

As she gets her hand around the grip, Spencer's foot lands hard on her wrist and she cries out. He's right above her- his swollen, bloodied face grinning down at her sickeningly. Michonne struggles through the pain, still heaving for air, and swings her leg up to kick him as hard as she can in the groin. He growls in pain, keeling over. With her wrist still pinned, Michonne rolls over to grab the gun with her good hand. But just as she does, Spencer grabs a handful of her dreads and drags her to her feet roughly, pinning her to the wall once again. She barely manages to keep a hold of the gun, but with her arms pinned and Spencer's body shadowing hers, she can't use it yet. She tucks it behind her back before he notices.

He's practically on top of her, his breath on her face and his forearms pinning her. Michonne holds her breath so that her chest doesn't touch his with every heaving inhale.

"You just couldn't do it, could you?" Spencer grins, brushing his nose against her cheek. "You know what, Michonne? I think you like it."

Her heart is beating wildly, bone-deep horror settling in her gut as he presses his lips against her jaw. She turns her head away and struggles desperately to gain leverage but his sheer size advantage makes it impossible.

With her head turned, she can see Rick struggling to get to his feet. There's blood pouring from the wound on his temple, and his limbs work sluggishly. But despite his dazed state, there's a murderous glean to his eyes, a desperation to connect his mind and body. "Michonne," he tries to call out, but his voice is gravelly and unfocused.

As hard as he's trying, Rick can't help her now. She needs a distraction so that she can use her gun, and she'll have to make that distraction for herself. She catches sight of an object, glistening on the kitchen floor, and formulates her plan.

"Rick! Grab his gun!" Michonne calls out, closing her eyes against the feel of Spencer against her. Spencer falls for her ruse easily, lifting himself off of her so he can look back towards Rick. It gives Michonne just enough leverage to lift her arm, press the barrel of her gun into Spencer's stomach, and pull the trigger.

He staggers back spectacularly, collapsing at her feet. The damage of the close-range shot is catastrophic- his torso is a bloody mess and he breathes erratically as he ghosts his hands over the wound.

Finally free of him, Michonne fills her lungs for the first time since he pointed that gun at Enid. This simple act of breathing proves painful, her throat swollen from strangulation, but she's numb to it, to everything.

Michonne stands shaking with her gun trained on Spencer's head, listening only to the sounds of his panting breaths and stuttered pleas. She doesn't even notice that Rick's made his way over to her until his hand comes to rest on her shoulder.

She startles at the contact, looks over at him with wide, frantic eyes. He's leaning heavily against the wall, blinking blood out of his eyes with a grimace. But his expression is open and understanding.

"It's okay," he rushes to assure her, voice weak and gravelly still. "You're okay, Michonne. You got him."

Michonne closes her eyes against a traitorous rush of tears, biting hard on her quivering lip.

The front door bangs open and Enid, Carl, and Daryl rush in- a flurry of commotion ensuing.

"Fuckin' hell," Daryl drawls, crossbow down at his side as he examines the scene.

Carl rushes over to Rick. "Dad! Are you okay?"

"He's not," Michonne informs robotically, eyes stuck on Spencer all the while. She can't look away, taking in every moment of his writhing pain. "He got knocked out, he needs to-"

"I'm fine," Rick interjects, attempting to stand straighter and immediately swaying. Carl is there to assist, pulling his father's arm across his shoulders.

Enid moves closer, warily approaching Michonne. "Michonne? Are you ok-"

The door opens again, Maggie and Deanna rushing through this time. Deanna cries out upon seeing her son, the sound so raw and jarring that it makes Michonne flinch.

"What have you done!?" Deanna sobs, falling to her son's side.

In that moment, Michonne wonders distantly if it would've been better if it had been a head shot. It would have been cleaner, simpler. For Deanna, it would've been better- Michonne knows it without a doubt. She'd always wished Andre's death could have been quicker, painless- it's the only thing you can wish for as a mother whose child is dying. Maybe it would have been better, if she could have given that to Deanna.

But deep down, Michonne is glad it wasn't a head shot, glad it wasn't quick. She savors the sight of his suffering, and doesn't bother to wonder what kind of a monster it makes her.

"He attacked us," Rick says defensively. "He's sick, there wasn't a choice-"

"He needs a doctor," Deanna insists frantically. "He needs a doctor, someone go get the doctor- get that fucking gun out of my face!"

Michonne snaps back into her body, the numbness fading as Deanna screams at her. She realizes she's still gripping the gun tightly and stares at the outstretched limb like it doesn't belong to her. Carl reaches out to touch her forearm and Michonne turns to look at him suddenly.
"It's okay, Michonne," he says gently, uncertainly. "It's over now."

There's only one way this ends. It haunts her now, as she looks around the living room at the blood and the commotion. She's here but it has nothing to do with her anymore, her part is over, just like Carl said.

His soft voice nearly brings Michonne to tears. She bites her lip, drops the gun to her side. Michonne's hardly holding it together now, her breaths coming in stuttered fits as she hangs her head. Rick's hand comes to rest against the back of her head, petting her hair tenderly, ushering her towards him. She tries to push it all down, the terror and the pain and the cold rush of adrenaline. But it overwhelms her eventually and she turns into Rick's hold, resting her cheek against his neck and squeezing her eyes shut.

"He wanted- he tried to-"

"I know," Rick whispers, cradling her head against his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry."