Chapter Text
They were headed home, finally. Dust kicked up from the dirt road as Rick drove, the truckbed bountiful with supplies after several days of hard scavenging. Michonne peered out the passenger window, always watching, always on alert.
”There’s a house over there,” Michonne observed as they traveled through a field, spotting a small cottage.
“You wanna check it out?” Rick asked.
“Why not?” she answered. “Could be worth it, you never know. Just one more quick stop.”
Several walkers ambled in the vicinity, slow and mindless guards of the territory. The air was stagnant with the scent of death as they exited the vehicle. Michonne drew her weapon, making her way towards the house, hardly breaking a sweat as she sliced a hulking corpse with expert ease as she had done a thousand times before. Two more walkers descended upon her, grotesque animated skeletons with a craving for flesh. She tightened her grip on the katana, glancing across the grassy field where Rick was dispatching a few walkers of his own.
A smirk spread on Michonne‘s lips as she focused once again on the walkers approaching. The sun caught the metal of her weapon, lighting it ablaze like a white, blinding torch. In a flash, she ran the blade straight through the putrid, gaping mouth of the first, then sliced off the top of the cranium of the second in a seamless, fluid motion. Both collapsed with a satisfying thud. Adrenaline rushed in Michonne’s veins as her heart beat wild with the sweet swell of victory.
But then she screamed in an explosion of pain - a terrible wail ripping from her throat as teeth sank into the junction of her shoulder and neck. She hadn’t noticed a third walker coming up from behind. The katana fell from her hands. Blood gushed forth as she tried to lurch away, grasping at her belt for the small knife she carried. Her screams continued as she plunged the knife into the eye socket of the walker, the last walker she would ever kill.
Time slowed. Michonne sank to the ground, fell sprawled onto her back. She saw Rick running towards her, his face a complete contortion of horror. “Michonne!” he screamed, his voice sounding murky to her dying ears, as if she were underwater.
Rick reached her and fell to his knees. “No, no, no, no, no, no,” he repeated, brimming with tears, his voice choking out the syllables. His clothes were soaked with blood, hair matted in sweat. “Michonne,” Rick whispered hoarsely, grabbing hold of her weakening hand, “No, please don’t...please no....”
Michonne’s heart broke at the sight of Rick. Her dear Rick, who had lost so much already, who had lost his son only a short time ago. And now she was going to leave him too.
“Rick,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “We knew this would happen someday, we knew it. Remember how we talked about this?”
Rick couldn’t answer her, only bowed his head, his tears forming tiny, glistening rivers on his dirt-covered face.
“One of us will die,” she continued, “and the other one must keep going. Keep working towards the goal. Keep Carl’s dream alive. All of it.”
“I, I can’t do it without you,” Rick pleaded, low and quivering.
“You can,” Michonne replied. “And you will,” she stressed the last word with as much intensity as she could muster. “You will do this, for Carl...for me...”
Rick heaved a sob, gripping her hand harder. Dark blood pooled on the grass under her head, escaping like liquid sand in an hourglass, her life running out of time.
“Rick, promise me,” Michonne rasped, growing weaker. “Promise me that you won’t go to that dark place you went to after Carl died. Because that’s not you, Rick. Don’t go to that dark place, not over me.”
Fresh tears sprang from Rick’s eyes. How it was possible to shed so many tears these last few months was a mystery. Clasping her hand tightly with one hand, he gently stroked her face with the other. “I promise.”
Michonne smiled, final tears shedding as her eyes shuttered closed. She sucked in a breath. “Love you,” she mouthed, barely audible.
Then she was gone.
They gathered around the gravesite, forming a crescent shape. The air hung still with the smell of freshly dug dirt, a sadly familiar scent to those in attendance. The earth once again swallowing its inhabitant whole, taking yet another victim in its never-ending hunger for the living.
Father Gabriel stood beside the plot, delivering the eulogy in subdued and soothing tones, a small silver cross on a chain dangling from his hands. When it was over, the mourners slowly departed. One by one, they approached Rick - who remained silent and motionless - conveyed their condolences in hushed and sorrowful whispers, words that provided little comfort to a man who had lost so dearly in such a short period of time.
Daryl came up and placed a firm hand on Rick’s shoulder, a man of few words, only exchanging a grim and somber expression with a small nod of his head before stepping away.
“If there’s anything I can do,” offered Tara with a tearful face.
Rosita touched Rick on the arm. “I’m so sorry. We’re here for you,” she said. “Take a few days off or however much time you need, okay?”
Rick simply nodded in response. Soon, everyone had filtered out and only Rick and Gabriel were left lingering in Alexandria’s makeshift graveyard.
“You should take some time for yourself,” Gabriel said, agreeing with Rosita’s suggestion. “A few days at minimum. You didn’t take any time off after Carl. You need it.”
Rick stared at the ground, drew in a hard breath. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “yeah, okay.” Dirt covered his shoes, the same dirt that Michonne was buried under. “But what about all the construction sites? There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Your people are capable,” Gabriel replied. “Everyone will pull together. I can oversee the building projects if you’d like. I’ll come to you if there’s something urgent.”
Rick nodded in appreciation, gave Gabriel a small, tight-lipped smile. Picking his head up, he looked into the horizon where the sun was disappearing, casting a fiery orange haze upon them. Rick looked at his wristwatch out of force of habit.
“Six-thirty,” muttered Rick. “I’m supposed to…”
Gabriel nodded in understanding. “Negan.”
“Yeah,” Rick confirmed, feeling uneasy. “Could you…”
“I’ll continue to bring him his meals,” said the priest. “It’s not a problem. You go home and rest.”
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
The priest watched as Rick walked away, said a silent prayer for him. He wondered how much grief a man could take before breaking into a thousand unsalvageable pieces.
Over the next days, Rick kept himself at home, in mourning, looking after his daughter. As promised, Gabriel delivered meals to Negan three times daily. Negan, on his part, was fairly used to Gabriel and wasn’t overtly rude or obnoxious to the priest, although he did enjoy needling the man.
Negan looked up from a book as Gabriel approached with a tray.
“Hello, Negan.”
“Gabe,” Negan responded nonchalantly. “So, anything good on the menu today?”
Gabriel shrugged a little. “The standard, I guess.” He collected the empty tray and replaced it with the new one.
“Damn shame,” Negan replied as he regarded Gabriel cooly. “So where’s Rick? Still on a run?”
It was the first time Negan had mentioned Rick in the five days Gabriel was tending to him, and the priest grew nervous about how he should answer.
“No,” Gabriel said after a few beats. “He’s returned.”
The inmate raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Then where is he? Or have you been assigned to permanent Negan duty, you poor bastard?”
Gabriel considered carefully what to say. He wasn’t sure if he should inform Negan of Michonne’s death. Rick hadn’t said anything either way if Gabriel should tell Negan if the subject came up. But nonetheless, Gabriel felt such news should come from Rick himself, if Rick chose to share such information.
“Rick’s been busy dealing with a few things,” Gabriel said. “He’ll be back. He asked me to tend to you for the time being.”
“Busy, huh?” Negan scoffed. “Man’s always running around with a stick up his ass. What’s he been too busy with?”
“It’s not my place to say,” he responded, knowing it was surely an unsatisfactory answer. Surprisingly, Negan didn’t push the issue.
After more than a week, Rick decided it was time to return to his duties. Although his grief was still wrenching him inside, he felt suffocated and isolated in his own house. He needed to interact, to work and be useful. The absence of Michonne left a wide, gaping wound within Rick, but also within the home they had shared, the walls and rooms now feeling cold and barren.
Rick was grateful that all went well during his absence. His friends had picked up the slack, kept an eye on things just like they had promised. They embraced Rick warmly, welcoming him back, updating him on the current on-goings. He was eager to fall back into his routine, hoping that it would lessen the pain of the latest tragedy, even if only by a little.
And that routine included going down into the prison to deliver a hurriedly pieced together meal for Negan. Rick descended the stairs leading to the jail, balancing a tray on one hand and his set of keys clutched in the other.
Negan set his book down when he saw it was Rick approaching. “So, you finally decided to come and see me,” the inmate said. Negan noticed there was something different about the other man. Rick’s face was like a mask, brow furrowed and shoulders slumped, his movements stiff and sluggish. “So what’ve you been up to?” Negan asked conversationally, arms crossed. “Gabe wouldn’t tell me.”
Rick finished switching out the trays, forced himself to move faster. He felt a lump in his throat and a sense of dread at the question posed. “I – I’ve just been…preoccupied.” The words came out harsher than he intended.
Rick didn’t want to tell Negan about Michonne, not yet. There was no telling the reaction Negan would have. It could be actual sympathy or a smart-ass remark, or worse yet, Negan could laugh in his face, rubbing in the fact that Rick had failed yet again, unable to protect those closest around him, mercilessly reveling in Rick’s pain. Rick couldn’t bear the thought of it, he knew there was no limits to Negan’s brand of cruelty.
Negan eyed Rick suspiciously at the very flimsy answer. The prisoner seemed to be waiting for Rick to elaborate, but none was forthcoming.
“I’ve got to go,” Rick said instead, turning around and heading back outside.
Rick tried his hardest to act like everything was normal, to pretend that his world had not been shaken and violently upheaved like a feather in a tornado. He had a job to do, he had to lead and to take care of responsibilities. He thought if he just threw himself back into his work and projected a fake aura of normalcy, it would eventually become reality. He mustered up all the confidence he could, gave orders and solved problems like he always had. But those closest to Rick could see through the façade, would look at him with worry and tip-toe around him like he would flail and shatter at the slightest nudge.
And among the people who were perceptive enough to see through Rick’s act was of course the last person Rick wanted to see him so broken.
Negan knew something was going on with Rick, had been biting back the urge to say something the past few days. But he knew that Rick wouldn’t open up to him, not when there was still such thick animosity between them. But now the mopey attitude was getting to Negan, and he hated that there was some big secret that Rick felt he had to hide.
“So what’s going on, Rick?” Negan said the next time his captor came to deliver his dinner.
“What? Nothing’s going on,” Rick replied with a shake of the head.
Negan gave an exasperated sigh. “Cut the crap. We both know something’s up. You haven’t been yourself since your little hiatus.”
Rick looked at the wall, hands on his hips, looking as lost as if he were somehow trapped in a maze with no exit. His mind was churning, groping for words, but none were coming out. He was irked at how easily Negan could read him.
“Come on, Rick,” Negan voiced with annoyance, “You know, I’m sick of being kept in the dark. I don’t know anything of what’s happening on the outside because you won’t tell me. Jesus, even prisoners back in the day could get a friggin’ newspaper.”
Rick stayed plastered to his spot as the seconds stretched.
“Michonne’s dead.”
The words emanated in a painful rasp, cutting his throat as if he had swallowed glass. Rick winced, remembering saying the same phrase to Negan months ago, only it was Carl's name instead of Michonne's.
“Ah, fucking hell,” Negan muttered lowly, exhaling a slow breath. He knew it had to be something like this, that someone had died, but he didn’t expect it would be her. “Rick,…I’m sorry,” he said simply, genuinely. “She was one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” he added.
Rick nodded minutely, internally relieved that Negan wasn’t being cruel like he had feared. Negan had the capacity to be reasonable at times, he could show flickers of humanity that made him seem like an actual person. It was a little jarring to Rick, during those moments. He never quite knew how to respond.
“How’d it happen?” Negan asked, and it was déjà vu all over again for Rick having this conversation.
“She…was bit,” came the hushed answer, still unbelievable to Rick’s own ears. “We were coming back from a run, spotted a cottage and, - there weren’t even that many of them,” he spoke in a daze, the images of that day rolling and skipping in his brain like an old video projector. “I…I couldn’t save her.”
It was all Rick could say and he was surprised he even said that much.
“Hey, look,” Negan started, “I know you and I will never be best buddies or anything, but, if you want to talk…”
Rick ran a hand through his heavily stubbled face, looking torn for just a second. “No,” he replied, terse. “I have to go.”
Rick returned home that night having survived another day. Although, home never felt more empty now, with Carl’s bedroom gathering dust and Michonne’s personal belongings still lingering unused and idle. The awful silence that greeted him upon entering the front door was overwhelming, causing Rick to run upstairs to Judith's room and see her in the crib, safe and sound. Picking her up, he pressed the toddler into his chest, and soon, wracking sobs escaped his throat as tears flowed down, hot and stinging, disappearing into the girl's golden curls.
Judith was the only family he had left in the world, and though she may not be of Rick's blood, she was of Lori's blood, and Carl's. Therefore, they lived on within Judith and as long as Rick had her, he would always have a piece of his wife and son.
Rick was suddenly terrified of the thought of losing her, of losing anyone else. He had lost so much. Ever since he woke up from the coma, it had been one long nightmare of losing everyone he loved and cared for – their faces flickering like an old movie reel behind his tear-stung eyes – each death compounding on the last one, too many to name, too many to remember, the images blurring together with no beginning and no end.
With a shaky breath, he set the small girl back into the crib. He slid down to the floor, exhausted and trembling, leaned his head against the wall, and let the sobs come freely.