In the aftermath of Aiden's death, Alexandria is quiet.
It's not the safe, comfortable kind of quiet that the community is accustomed to- it's daunting and oppressive. The attitude towards the newcomers has shifted from welcoming to wary, with public opinion being that Aiden was killed through the fault of Rick's leadership. Michonne could laugh at the thought- the Alexandrians should be wary of Rick Grimes, but it's not because of what happened to Aiden.
The gun. Michonne's gun, in Carol's possession. It's been eating at Michonne. Because she knows without a doubt that Rick helped to steal it, and probably more. They likely raided the armory right when they got here. Michonne knows why, she understands it better than most. If she had a family like his, she might have done the same.
But it doesn't change the fact that he stole the guns and he threatened the security of this place. We do this together, he'd said. He also told her she was one of his people.
Rick's a goddamn liar.
So Michonne's choosing to let it simmer, choosing to torture Rick with the uncertainty. She knows she wouldn't go to Deanna with this information, but he doesn't. He doesn't know her at all anymore.
It comes to a head on a blindingly hot day in Alexandria. Michonne is overseeing the construction of an agricultural expansion- at the behest of Deanna, who has taken to locking herself in her office to draft plans day in and day out. It can't be healthy, but Michonne surely isn't in a position to judge how she copes. And the expansion is a good idea.
What isn't a good idea is allowing Spencer to be part of the construction crew. He's a live wire, the grief of losing his brother obviously shaking him. Furthermore, it seems to have radicalized his hatred of Michonne, Rick, and the rest of the outsiders.
Michonne is patrolling the worksite when she hears him.
"Watch where you're going, asshole!"
It draws the attention of much of the crew, who look up from their work to find Spencer looming over a kid Michonne recognizes as Noah, one of Rick's crew. He's holding an armful of lumber and looking up at Spencer with a confused frown.
"Sorry," Noah replies calmly. "You came out of nowhere-"
"Are you fucking talking back to me?" In an instant, Spencer has the kid pushed against the side of one of their newly constructed walls, the lumber falling out of his arms. "Do you know who I am?"
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Michonne rushes over, inserting herself brazenly between the two, fixing wide eyes on Spencer who refuses to look away from Noah. His jaw is clenched, the muscles twitching as he shoves the kid harder into the wall.
Michonne notices others stepping forward in defense. The burly redhead, Abraham, is cracking his knuckles as he approaches. Michonne stops him with a glance before turning back to Spencer. "You let him go. Now, Spencer. And then you go take a fucking walk."
He practically snarls, shooting a sideways glance her way. "I don't take orders from you people."
She doesn't want to escalate this situation. Things with Spencer are precarious as it is, and the last thing Alexandria needs is more interpersonal drama. But Noah is very obviously struggling to get a breath in as Spencer continues to mercilessly pin his chest. The kid's desperate eyes, seeking out Michonne, finally force her into action. She elbows Spencer's ribs and takes the moment of pained surprise to grab one of his arms and twist it behind his back, pushing him off of Noah firmly before releasing him.
"According to your mother, you do," she tells him, sharp and direct. He's breathing heavily, cradling his injured elbow, a permanent scowl painting his features. He steps up to her in one menacing stride and Michonne doesn't flinch, follows his seething stare the whole way.
"My mother," he hisses. "Doesn't want to say that you're the reason Aiden is dead. But I know it," Spencer turns around to face the crowd, directing his attention to his fellow Alexandrians. "MY PEOPLE," he bellows. "Know it. And you're not gonna fucking get away with it."
"Take a walk, Spencer," Michonne reiterates, loud and sharp and unflinching.
He turns back around to face her and the scowl breaks as he chuckles, a bizarre grating sound. He begins advancing towards her and Michonne steels herself for a fight, the inevitable outcome.
But then, Spencer's arms are pulled suddenly behind his back, a face appearing over his shoulder to whisper gravely into Spencer's ear. "Don't you fucking dare." It's Rick, eyes cold and voice growling. His eyes lift to meet Michonne's, the dangerous glint in them sending a jolt through her.
Spencer chuckles again, staggering as Rick roughly releases him.
"Bad cop to the rescue, huh?" Spencer laughs, verging on hysterical. "Too fucking predictable."
"You're off the crew," Michonne decides.
He raises his hands in surrender, smiling widely. "Alright. I'm gone," he concedes as he walks away, turning back only to say, "You're murderers! Everyone knows it!"
That daunting, oppressive silence settles over the crew once Spencer's gone, everyone's attention turned towards Rick and Michonne.
"Back to work, everyone!" Rick calls out, hands on hips. "Pull a stunt like that and you'll be gone too!"
When he turns back to her, his gaze is like a physical weight upon her. It's smothering in its intensity, unyielding as he steps towards her.
"That guy is dangerous," Rick tells her, a warning of his intentions.
"I'll work it out," she immediately replies. "I'll talk to Deanna- don't get involved."
"Don't get involved? Michonne, that's the second time I've seen that guy try to attack you-"
"And it's the second time you've stepped in when I didn't need you to," Michonne bites back. "I can deal with Spencer, I will deal with Spencer."
"He's a threat, Michonne. To all of us."
"So what are you gonna do? Are you going to arrest him? Deanna's son? Gonna execute him in the town square? You know, I hear you've got a few guns."
It rings out in the space between them. Rick's eyes widen, head tilting as he accepts her challenge. "So we're talking about it?"
Michonne looks around, acutely aware of the few sets of eyes still on them. "Not here."
"Then show me where, Michonne, because we're talking about this," Rick gruffly replies. "Right now."
Michonne narrows her eyes at him, stomach knotting with anger. She can see the anxiety written all over his face, the fear. He truly fears what she will do with the knowledge of his theft. Rick truly thinks she's capable of turning him in, turning his people in, to face Deanna's grief-addled wrath. His people, who he claims she is a part of. Michonne is looking at him now, and she's never felt less connected to him.
"I don't think you're the one to be making demands here, Rick," she warns him, voice low. "We'll talk on my terms. Tonight, my house."
He stays frozen, staring at her for a long moment before he finally nods.
--
The air is humid despite the sun having long since set and they're sitting at the table on Michonne's back patio. With Enid asleep inside, Michonne insisted they have this conversation outdoors, trusting that it would likely come to blows. That's practically a given between them.
A citronella candle burns between them and it casts an eerie glow on Rick as he places his forearms on the table, leaning forwards to ask his question. "So what do you know?"
Michonne shrugs. "What do you think I know?"
Rick scoffs, turns away with a shake of his head. "Michonne-"
"How many did you steal? Who knew about it?"
"It was just me and two others," Rick confirms and Michonne notes that he won't give her names. "We stole a few. Not enough that you people would notice."
Michonne laughs sharply. "You people. It's back to that?"
He has the decency to look caught, dragging a hand down his face as he sighs. "This isn't… it's about security. It's about protecting my people," he tells her emphatically. "Bringing us in here and asking us to give up our weapons- after what we've been through? It's idiotic, Michonne. It's impossible."
"You think I don't know that? You think I haven't seen the things that you've seen? I understand why you did it, Rick. That's not the issue-"
"Then what's the issue, Michonne?" Rick interrupts in a hush tone, the sound cutting through the thick air like ice. "Why discuss it? Let's just move on."
What's the issue?
Michonne's having a hard time pinpointing it. She'd trusted that he was all in. That's what it took for her to agree to be constable- Michonne had been ready to leave Alexandria altogether. But she'd sat at Deanna's table and looked at Rick, and she'd trusted the commitment she saw in his eyes. That meant something to her, it meant permanence and faith and a reason to stay. A reason to fight at all.
"We do this together," Michonne echoes. "You said that, Rick. It's not about the guns, it's about you. And this place."
"This place," Rick hisses, straightening in his seat. "Is a fantasy. You don't get to live like this anymore- someday soon, it's going to fail. So if you want to tell Deanna about the guns, go right ahead, Michonne. My people don't need this place."
It settles between them for a long moment. Michonne can't sit here and convince him to try, she won't. It's not her job to make him see the potential in Alexandria, it's something he can't hear from her. Because no matter what he says, he still seems to view her as an other.
He's looking at her coldly, teeming with conviction. Just when they'd been teetering towards something friendlier, something that resembled what they'd once been, this issue of the guns has toppled that entirely. As if his faith in her is so capricious. "Your people," she muses under her breath, shaking her head.
"Did you mean it, the other night?" Michonne asks suddenly, looking up from her lap with furrowed brows. "When you said I was one of your people?"
If Rick is surprised by the question, he doesn't show it.
"Because I don't think you did," Michonne continues. "I think a part of you has been trying to punish me from the moment you got here."
"Punish you," Rick echoes, as if the words taste bad in his mouth. All it does is spur her on.
"It's like you're mad that I'm alive," Michonne muses with a humorless laugh. "It inconveniences you-"
"Don't do that," Rick starts, voice surprisingly soft. "It doesn't inconvenience me, don't say that."
Michonne is unphased by his discomfort, blazing on regardless. "But you don't want to deal with it. And I'm not asking you to, Rick. But I'm not going to take your shit anymore just because, after six years, you still blame me for what happened between us-"
"You left, Michonne," Rick cuts her off sharply, voice raised. "You left me. Do you expect me to forget that?"
"That's what it's about then?"
"Of course it is."
They stare at each other for a long moment, stuck in a standoff of sorts. Michonne knows deep down that this is the reason he showed up here tonight, for this. They've known it was coming, Michonne's been practically begging for it.
"Okay," Michonne murmurs into the quiet din of the night. "Then let's do it. Let's talk about it."
Rick scratches his stubble, elbow on the arm rest, as he stares at the table between them. "What is there to say, Michonne? I loved you. And Carl loved you and we had a great life. And then you left."
"I think your memory's a bit selective."
He looks up at her suddenly, brows furrowed. "What? Am I leaving out the part where you told me you were tired of being stuck with me?"
"I wasn't stuck with you, Rick, I was stuck in that place" Michonne corrected, her frustration crescendoing. "My career was going nowhere, I was the only black woman in the DA's office, in almost every room I walked into… you don't know what that's like. And I told you, I always told you I planned on moving. But you never seemed ready to hear it."
"Ready to hear that you planned to leave me?"
"I wanted you to come with me! Of course I fucking did!"
Michonne stops, takes a deep breath to abate the push of tears behind her eyes. She scoffs at herself, at the ridiculousness of this- six years and an apocalypse removed and here they are. She's still convincing him to have faith and he's still got one foot out the door. "When I got the offer in Atlanta, I was ready... But you always acted like it was so impossible for you to leave King County. And I know it was about Carl- and about Lori. I know that, Rick, but… it was my life too. I'm not sure you ever got that."
Rick stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly. He's got one hand on his hip, the other covering his mouth as he paces slightly. "You don't…" He laughs at that, leans against the table before continuing. "You don't think I got that? You don't think I knew that I was trapping you there? God, Michonne, I knew you were too good for that place from the moment I met you. I think some part of me was always waiting for you to walk out that door."
All she hears is an excuse for why wouldn't let her all the way into his life. And the tragedy of it rushes over Michonne like ice water. "I was ready to marry you, Rick! What would it have taken to prove that I wanted to be with you?"
"Not leaving."
The frustration and heartbreak leave her crawling out of her skin, and Michonne finds herself standing from her chair as well. She wraps her arms around herself and stares at the table between them, at the brightly burning candle. It's like their own personal seance. Michonne is fairly certain it'd take an exorcism to settle their accounts.
"You're being a child."
Rick sighs deeply, closing his eyes as he hangs his head. "I had a life in King county. A job, a family- I couldn't take Carl away from that, away from Lori- I couldn't just pack up-"
"I know, I know, Rick. There was me, you, and Carl and then there was everything else. And none of it seemed to agree… The whole time we were together, it felt like…" Michonne stops, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to disguise its quivering. Rick's looking at her intently now, waiting with bated breath for her next words, bracing himself for the impact. "Like I was a stop on your way back to Lori. And I spent seven years trying to convince myself that that wasn't true. But I guess it turns out I was always right."
Michonne can see it, the moment it hits him. He recoils as if she's slapped him. She might as well have. She wants to hate herself for saying it, for invoking Lori's name in the conversation. But if Rick's not going to play fair, she won't either.
"And you know what? I think you're just relieved that you have someone to be mad at about it all. Because otherwise, you'd have to look deep down and realize that I might have left, but you were the insecure piece of shit who was too scared to come with me."
It freezes them in place, leaves Michonne searching Rick's unreadable expression. He's hollowed out, his jaw clenched and his eyes looking straight past her. Michonne looks up, blinking away the angry tears that threaten to escape.
"I'm not going to tell Deanna, of course I'm not." She settles her gaze back on Rick, forcing herself into his eyeline as she says, "But I want my fucking gun back."