They'd arrived at the gates of Alexandria in the late afternoon, Aiden's body wrapped in a tarp in the bed of the truck. Deanna had been there waiting- and as they all stepped out of their cars, Rick could pinpoint the exact moment that Deanna realized her son was dead. He saw it in the dulling of Deanna's eyes and the hardening of her face. There wasn't a moment of doubt, of disbelief. It was immediate, piercing acceptance. She hadn't broken down, hadn't wept, she'd simply demanded to meet with them.
That was hours ago. She'd interviewed them as a group first, then individually. Rosita had gone, then Glenn, then Rick, then finally, Michonne- each recounting the past two days as Deanna stared back at them with empty eyes, forcing more detail out of them. He could tell she was waiting to hear something, some piece of information that would make it all click, something that none of them would ever be able to give her. It didn't stop her from trying.
The sun had been setting when Rick walked out of the house and sent Michonne in, but it's dark now as he stands waiting on Deanna's front porch. He's still in his clothes from this morning, uncomfortably stiff with dried blood. He feels starkly out of place looking out on the scenic suburban street, the warm glow of candle-lit houses in the dark. It's the kind of thing Lori would have loved, the kind of life she was always chasing. Part of Rick thinks he's just not wired for that life anymore, that maybe the version of him that could have existed here doesn't exist anymore. He's starting to wonder if it ever did.
The front door opens with a whine and Rick turns around to face Michonne. She's just as bloody and tattered as he is, somehow more exhausted now than she was an hour ago when she'd gone in. It's hard to know where her head's at when he doesn't really know her anymore. He thinks of her soft voice as she spoke to Aiden, her head resting on Rick's shoulder, her driving the knife through Aiden's skull. The stoic, practiced grace she'd handled the day with- it speaks to years of impossible choices, unspeakable pain. Part of Rick wants to know all of it, all of her. The other part can't seem to bear looking her in the eye.
"Hey there," he greets as she saddles up beside him, leaning on the porch railing.
"You didn't have to wait up," she says, voice rough.
"I needed the time to think." He fixes her with a sidelong glance, considering the pained look in her eyes. "How'd it go?"
Michonne lets out a shuddery breath and runs a hand over her face, flakes of dried blood falling away as she does so. "We shouldn't have let her do it right away."
"Reg tried to stop her," Rick reminds her softly. "Maybe she needed to hear it."
"Not like that, no one should have to hear it like that."
Her words linger for a long moment, both of them staring out at the neighborhood in silence. They'd been forced to stare down the barrel of Deanna's grief today, forced to answer her million questions, forced to retell the tale of her son's death. Rick hasn't experienced the enormity of that grief, but Michonne has. He knows that the reminder is burning bright within her, it comes off of her in waves.
"I'm not sure how much longer we'll be sticking around, " Rick murmurs. "I've got a feeling Deanna might send us packing after today."
Michonne makes a dismissive sound. "She's not going to do that."
"I let her son die out there," Rick reminds her coldly.
Michonne turns to face him sharply. "Her son died protecting this place, so that all of this," she gestures to the peaceful street before them. "Would be safe. That includes your people, Rick, Deanna knows that."
They lapse into silence again. He knows she's right, he's just looking for an out. It's frustrating him to no end that he can't seem to find one.
"I should go pick up Enid," Michonne announces quietly, pushing herself away from the railing. "Maybe try to get some sleep."
Rick follows suit, stands to his full height in front of her. "I'll walk ya.'"
She nods once and turns, moreso leading him as they make their way onto the Alexandria streets. With her a few steps ahead of him he takes note of the gun hanging from her belt.
"Haven't seen you use that." Michonne's head turns towards the sound of Rick's voice, her brows furrowed. He nods towards her hip. "Your gun- I don't think you used it once while we were out there."
Michonne shrugs, turning her attention back to the street before them. "My gun's been missing. Guess I'm not quite acquainted with this one yet"
"Missing?" Rick inquires, a sinking feeling in his gut.
"I always check out the same one when I go on runs," she explains. "It wasn't there this time."
Although Rick's got a pretty good idea about where her gun is, he tries to school his features under her discerning gaze. The lawyer in her is shining through, a familiar look. He always used to say she had a superpower for knowing if people were telling the truth. Rick wonders if she still has it now.
"Well," Rick drawls, gathering himself. "Guess you don't need it- not with this thang." He nudges the sheathed katana hanging across her back, watches as her expression relaxes, successfully breaking the moment of tension. If her suspicion remains, she doesn't show it. Rick can at least be grateful for that.
"Carl said you told him all about how badass it is," Michonne replies coolly, mockery in her tone. "His words, not mine."
Rick chuckles and looks down. "What can I say? Us Grimes boys have always been obsessed with you."
The ghost of a smile crosses Michonne's face at his words, and Rick's heart beats thunderously at the sight. It's something he used to say before, when Carl would insist on sitting next to her during movie nights or when he rushed to show her the bugs he dug out of the yard. The phrase 'Mish, look!' was a common one in their house back then. It must be genetic, Rick would say with his lips close to her ear. You've got us Grimes boys wrapped around your finger. It made her smile then too.
"You know he asked me to give him lessons."
"Oh yeah?"
She nods. "He and Enid. I told them we'd start when I got back."
Rick scoffs, smiles gently at the thought of his son. "Probably tryin' to impress her."
"Oh he's definitely got a bit of a crush," Michonne affirms with a nod and a laugh. "I probably shouldn't have let her stay over while we were gone but Carl's a good kid."
"He is," Rick nods. "And we had a little chat about it before I left."
"Oh that sounds fun."
"Hmm, it was," Rick confirms, remembering the uncomfortable conversation they'd had when Carl told him that Enid would be staying at their house while Rick was gone. It was hard to give up the old-world fatherly instinct to say absolutely not. But it's like Michonne said, Carl's a good kid, that's something Rick can trust. "Seems like Enid's a good kid too."
Michonne glances over at him, then turns away with a long nod. "Yeah. She is. I think Carl brings it out of her."
There's a weightiness to the way she talks about the young girl that makes Rick curious. "Did you meet her here or..?"
"Here," Michonne confirms. "We were both alone. She doesn't think so, but she needs someone to look out for her."
Alone. The grief imbued in the single word is enough to overwhelm Rick, and he resists the urge to run away from it- from her. He's still embarrassed by the terrible way he acted the night before. We can keep pretending nothing's happening, she'd said. Maybe that's better.
All Rick's done from the moment he got to Alexandria is pretend. He's done with that.
"You're a good someone to have," he tells her earnestly.
She stops short, looking up at him with furrowed brows as if she's searching for the dig. When she realizes there isn't one, her eyes soften and she frowns sadly, graciously, so tender that Rick has to look away.
"I'm sorry about last night," he says, resting his hands on his hips. "I was an asshole."
She nods and he isn't sure if she's accepting his apology or agreeing that he was an asshole. It feels like a bit of both. Either way, she turns and continues walking towards the house. It's just up ahead now, the bottom story windows illuminated with candlelight.
"I should've told you about Judith," Rick concedes.
"No, I was wrong," Michonne shakes her head. "You don't owe me that-"
"I do, Michonne, I-" He stops and takes a deep breath. They've reached the porch now and Rick is beginning to dread watching her walk away. "You're a part of Carl's life-"
"Don't say that if you don't mean it, Rick-"
"I mean it," he promises. "We need as many people as we can get nowadays. And anyone who cares about Carl the way you do is one of my people."
"So where does that leave us? What are we doing, Rick?"
It leaves him at a loss, staring at her dolefully. He can't help but think of their kiss, can't help but let his eyes drift to her lips. It's dangerous, how easily he's able to fall back into her, how quickly he forgets the years cushioned between them. Rick looks at her now and he doesn't see the Michonne who drifted away from him, the Michonne who left him, the Michonne who moved to another city and got pregnant with another man's baby. All he sees is the Michonne he loved so furiously, maybe that version persists through all of it.
Before he can muster a reply, the front door opens and Carl appears, holding a grumpy Judith in his arms. "You're back," he greets with a smile. "I thought I heard you guys."
Rick and Michonne snap quickly out of their tense reverie, turning to face the young boy.
"What are you doing up?" Rick asks, walking over to cradle a hand against Judith's head. The little girl whines and reaches for him. He takes her willingly, resting her against his shoulder and shushing her quietly.
"It's not even late," Carl complains. "Plus Jude's the one that was up, I was downstairs making her a bottle."
The level of responsibility his teenage son has taken on never fails to make Rick's heart clench. "I thought Carol was supposed to be watching her-"
"It's fine Dad, really," Carl assures him earnestly. His gaze turns towards Michonne. "Why's Michonne here?"
Rick looks over at the woman in question. Her gaze is locked on the baby in his arms, expression frozen with a grief so reminiscent of what he saw in Deanna today. A striking hauntedness to it, a crippling resignation. It's clearer now than it's ever been that she lost her son, the child Rick never knew. The child he'd resented the existence of for too long. Rick nearly loses his breath at the glaring proof, at the guilt that comes with it.
Michonne straightens, gathering herself before Rick can even try to assist. "I was just picking up Enid."
Carl seems to realize Michonne's distress and remorse crashes over him as he looks over at Judith. "Oh, Michonne… I'm sorry, I didn't think-"
"It's fine, Carl, don't be sorry," Michonne stops him gently with a hand on his arm. There's a forced smile on her face, her lip wobbling imperceptibly.
"Enid's already asleep," Carl tells her softly. "I can go get her-"
"No, no," Michonne stops him, squeezing his shoulder. "Just tell her to head home in the morning, yeah?"
"Yeah." Carl is still unsure, sends a look Rick's way for guidance. Rick has nothing to offer.
"How old is she?" Michonne asks, eyes fixed on Judith once again.
"Around ten months," Rick answers, shifting the now sleeping baby so she's cradled in his arms.
Michonne's eyes are glassy, her grin sad and distant. "That's about how old you were when I met you," she tells Carl. "God, she looks just like you too."
"Really?" Carl asks, the unease from before all but gone, and it leaves Rick floored by Michonne's strength.
"Really," she nods knowingly. "She might as well be your twin."
"Unlucky little girl then," Rick jokes, feeling his heart swell with relief as it pulls a wet chuckle from Michonne.
"Hey!" Carl exclaims with indignation.
The moment of levity is broken as the front door opens once again, Carol bursting through. "Carl! Are you- oh." She stops short, sighing deeply as she takes in the scene before her. "Oh good, you guys are back."
"Carol, I don't know if you and Michonne have met," Rick greets softly, keenly aware of the sleeping baby in his arms.
Carol grins widely and sticks out a hand, which Michonne shakes warily. "We haven't, not officially. I'm Carol."
"Michonne."
"Enid's yours, right?"
Michonne seems to struggle with the question, brows furrowing. Her walls have come barreling up, giving Rick a glimpse of the Michonne that the rest of the world has been seeing. "I'm her guardian, yes."
"Well she's a sweet girl, she's welcome back anytime."
Rick can tell from Michonne's narrow-eyed gaze that she isn't buying Carol's simple housewife act, but she holds her tongue, smiling tightly back at Carol.
"Here, Rick, I'll take her," Carol offers as she reaches for Judith. Rick kisses the baby's sleeping head before handing her over, feeling Michonne's eyes follow him as he does so. "Have a good night, Michonne."
They watch Carol leave, Rick noting at the same time as Michonne the handgun in Carol's back pocket. He can see it instantly, the recognition in her eyes. It's all he needs to know that it's her missing gun, and he feels his stomach drop. The realization settles over Michonne at breakneck speed, pieces connecting, an understanding blossoming. It hardens her expression like stone as she stares at the door that just closed behind Carol.
"I should get going," she says, voice low. Her eyes are fixed on him, searching. It's the lawyer in her again, carefully choosing how to proceed.
Rick nods and rubs a hand over his face, thoughts racing. She knows they stole the guns. She could tell Deanna. She could get them kicked out. It's the first time that that prospect has scared Rick.
"We'll send Enid your way tomorrow."
Michonne nods curtly before letting him out from under the thumb of her gaze. She gives Carl a hug, closes her eyes as he hugs back tightly. She wouldn't get them kicked out, Rick realizes with a pang. She would get him kicked out.
She and Carl pull apart and she looks at Rick once more as she leaves.
"Goodnight Rick." There's a promise in it; this isn't over.
"Goodnight Michonne." Rick's certain it hasn't even begun.