The next morning, Rick hauled himself out of bed, his eyes bloodshot and heavy from a sleepless night. He dragged himself to the bathroom, letting the water wash over him. Stepping out into the compound, he headed straight to work, his appetite completely gone. Along the way, he prayed with every fiber of his being that Michonne was safe, that she was already making her way back to their children. For a fleeting second, he stopped in his tracks, pressing a hand against his chest as he closed his eyes. A part of him wished he had run away with her, but he knew the fallout would have destroyed everything they built. He swallowed the regret and kept walking.
When he reached the training grounds, his heart dropped. He froze, cursing under his breath. What the hell was she doing here?
There she was. Michonne. Right in front of him, effortlessly taking down five men and two women, the spectators cheering each time she dropped an opponent. As the crowd applauded, she snapped her head up. Their eyes locked. She held his gaze for a heavy, agonizing beat before coldly turning her head away.
Rick marched toward them, a volatile mix of fury and caution fueling his steps. As he approached, the crowd dispersed, sensing the tension. Michonne turned her back on him, gripping an iron training staff and striking the air in a solitary, aggressive rhythm. Rick grabbed a staff of his own and closed the distance.
Sensing his stare, she whipped around. The moment she saw the weapon in his hands, she lunged. She attacked with a fierce, punishing momentum. Rick blocked her strikes, absorbing the impact; he knew she was furious, but his own anger was boiling just beneath the surface. He countered her blows, holding back enough to not hurt her. He desperately wanted to scream, 'What the hell are you doing back here?'âbut the words choked in his throat.
Five minutes of brutal, silent clashing passed. Suddenly, she stopped mid-swing. Their eyes met again, chests heaving. She took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling the tension as she straightened her posture, standing before him like a soldier reporting to her commander. In a flat, exhausted tone, she requested the day off, stating she was spent after a night without a wink of sleep."
Rick stared at her in sheer disbelief. A sharp pang of agony pierced his chest; the cold, formal way she addressed him wasn't the Michonne he knew. It was the tone of a stranger. Straightening his posture to match her rigid military stance, he silently granted her request. Without another word, Michonne turned and headed toward the exit. Rickâs eyes anchored to her retreating figure, watching her leave, until a voice he utterly despised shattered the silence.'So, she didn't leave after all,' the voice drawled, seasoned with a smug undertone. 'I figured as much.'In an instant, the sorrow drained from Rickâs face, replaced by a stone-cold, tense mask. He whipped around to face her. She stood there, wearing a mocking, condescending smirk.'Are you stalking me now, or what?' Rick spat, his voice laced with venom.She raised her hands defensively, her smirk widening. 'Not at all. I was just passing by and thought, why not drop a greeting to the man whose life I saved?'She stepped closer, invading his space, but Rick instinctively recoiled before she could lay a finger on him, his face contorted in pure disgust. For a fraction of a second, her face fell, dark with resentment, but she masked the irritation just as quickly as it appeared
Rick scanned her from head to toe with cold indifference. Shifting his gaze, he brushed past her to resume his daily duties, leaving Jadis standing there, anchoring her stare to his retreating back.The rest of the day blurred past faster than usual. Around five in the afternoon, Michonne was wandering the compound when a collection of old television sets caught her eye. Someone had used the screens as canvasses, painting detailed portraits of various people. Captivated by the artwork, an idea struck her, and she approached the shop. When the artist looked up, she saw a young man in his early twenties; there was a haunting familiarity in his face, resembling Glenn to a degree. She offered him a small smile, which he warmly returned.'I know you,' the boy said.Michonne raised an eyebrow, silently questioning how that was possible.'Michonne, right?' he added.She remained guarded, keeping her silence as she stared at him.He continued, 'Rick used to come by here almost every month. Heâd ask me to paint portraits of you, and two other kids.''Carl and Judith,' she softly breathed.The boy nodded in confirmation. 'Youâre a lot more approachable than he was. The first time I saw him, he was entirely broken... like a ghost walking around without a soul. He hasn't been back in a long time.'Hearing this, a heavy sorrow settled over Michonne. Her heart bled with a fresh wave of agony for what Rick had endured. She took a step closer to the boy, her voice dropping into a steady, intense tone.'I need a favor,' she said." Michonne retreated to her quarters. Sitting in the quiet of her room, she pulled out the salvaged phones. She gazed intently at the screens, studying the glowing images of Carl, Judith, and RJâeach child preserved on a separate device. A quiet resolve settled over her. She knew the screen holding RJâs face carried a truth that would shatter Rick's world and piece it back together. She slipped the devices away, making a silent promise to give them to Rick when the right moment finally came.
It was getting incredibly late. She had convinced herself that Rick would come to her quartersâthat they would finally confront the fallout of his botched escape plan. But he never showed up.The night crawled by without incident, save for the heavy sorrow weighing on Michonne's chest. It stung that he hadn't bothered to explain why he played her. Eventually, exhaustion won, and she drifted into a deep sleep.The following day, and the one after that, followed the exact same agonizing pattern: Rick was actively avoiding her. Heâs the one who screwed up, and now heâs pulling this petty silent treatment? Damn it all, she thought, her frustration boiling over. Michonne reached her breaking point; she couldn't stomach it anymore. She was ready to do something reckless.By the next morning, Okafor and Thorne had finally returned to the base. Seizing her chance, Michonne secured clearance and marched directly toward Okaforâs office. She threw the door open, and just as she had anticipated, Rick was already standing inside
After stepping inside, she shut the door firmly behind her and marched forward, completely icing Rick out. Okafor motioned for her to take a seat, a faint, intrigued smile playing on his lips, while Thorne stood rigidly beside him, wearing her usual, unyielding scowl.Okafor nodded toward Michonne, inviting her to speak. 'So?' he prompted.Without beating around the bush, Michonne delivered her ultimatum. 'I want to join the elite forces. And I want to be deployed on field missions.''Absolutely not!' Rick blurted out, the objection escaping his lips before he could stop it.Both Okafor and Thorne instantly snapped their heads toward him. Realizing his blunder, Rick forced his voice into a calmer, more calculated cadence. 'Itâs impossible,' he amended quickly. 'Sheâs still a consignment, a trainee. Sheâs not ready.
Michonne stood up, locking her eyes onto Okafor. 'I thought you said you were gathering soldiersâbuilding a force capable of actually getting things done.'Okafor rose from his seat, his gaze shifting back and forth between Rick and Michonne, reading the unspoken friction in the room. A slow, calculating nod followed. 'Youâre in,' he declared. 'But you deploy with Thorne and Rick.'Michonne shot a fleeting glance at Rick, then at Thorne, before giving a firm nod of agreement. As she turned to leave the office, Okaforâs voice halted her at the threshold, dropping into a low, deadly serious tone. 'Keep your head on a swivel. Word reached me that Beale has his eyes on you.
"A violent shudder passed through Rick. He stared at Thorne in absolute disbelief, shaken by what she had just threatened.'Don't look at me like that,' Thorne snapped, her voice tightening. 'Iâm only doing what has to be done. I refuse to risk losing you too.'Rick held her gaze, his expression softening just enough to ground his words in a heavy, undeniable truth. 'You wonât have to,' he said quietly. 'Because if she wanted to make a move, she would have done it already.'Thorneâs eyes widened at his defense of the girl. She opened her mouth to argue, but Rick abruptly cut her off, dismissing her as he turned on his heel and walked away. She stood frozen in the clearing, anchoring her stunned disbelief to his retreating figure.Thorne marched straight back to the base, heading directly for Okaforâs office. She threw the door open, pacing inside with frantic, angry energy. She confronted him without preamble. 'Heâs infatuated with her. Completely compromised. Did you notice?'Okafor looked up from his desk, his face a mask of calm, unbothered certainty. 'Yes,' he answered flatly. 'I know far more than you can possibly imagine.'Thorne stared, her frustration peaking. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?''All in good time, Thorne,' Okafor replied, his tone dismissive yet heavy with hidden meaning. 'Now, go get some rest.'"
Note: I wanted to say thank you to everyone who reads my story. Also, I want to speed up the events because I suddenly had an idea for a new scenario in a world without zombies. And if any of you are interested in Rishon's pictures, I made them cleverly. Let him tell me and I will send them
