"So what are we doing here, Mike?"

Michonne stared at her boyfriend who was sitting on the edge of their bed, his head down, refusing to make eye contact with her.

They had been through this so many times before throughout the last couple of months. But this time… this time it seemed final. They were tired of the arguing and one giving the other the cold shoulder. By the feel of the tension in the room and Mike's delayed response, Michonne knew that all of it would be over in just a matter of minutes.

"I can't do this anymore, Chonne," he finally said, his voice low.

Michonne paused, waiting for the second part of his answer, an explanation of why. Instead, he just sat there, his head still low, refusing to even look at her after his low blow.

"Why?" she asked. Her voice came out stern as anger started to bubble inside of her. After committing herself to this relationship and loving this man for five years, she felt she deserved an explanation of his sudden withdrawal away from her. He had been acting strange lately, keeping his distance from her and staying out later than normal. She was convinced there was someone else, but she needed to hear the words come from his mouth.

"It's just not working out," he said, finally looking up at her. His eyes were filled with sadness and his facial features looked worn, as if he had aged suddenly. "I lost my job. The business deal with Terry has gone down the drain. I'm wiped out."

Michonne crossed her arms and frowned. "And why didn't you tell me all of this before? I could have helped you, Mike. I could have-"

"Could have what, Michonne?" he asked, standing up, his fist balling with anger and frustration. "There's nothing you could have done. There is no happy ending here. This isn't the life I imagined us having. You think you could have helped? Then tell me what the answer is here."

They stared at each other for a few moments, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Just looking at Mike's face made Michonne wished she had a knife with her now. How dare he do this to her? They had had some hard moments, but nothing like this.

She looked down at the ground. She was never one to give up, but if this is what he wanted, then so be it. "I guess there isn't an answer here."

Mike nodded. He exhaled and ran a hand over the top of his head. He reached out to touch her arm, causing Michonne to flinch at the contact. His touch that she once craved and loved was a sad reminder of what she lost. "I'm sorry," he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes baring into his, hoping he saw the pain and disappointment that she had towards him. "You always are."

Michonne sighed and placed her hands on her hips as she looked around her apartment. For the first time since she moved back to her hometown Atlanta two months ago, her new place was free of all boxes. Everything was unpacked and put away in their rightful place. All of her furniture had finally arrived. Everything was good.

Now only if she could get her personal life in order.

She glanced at the clock on her wall. She had exactly an hour to go and grab the birthday gift she had on hold for her father at the nearby bookstore before heading out to his party at her parents' house. After grabbing her cell phone from the kitchen table where a stack of her work papers sat and her sweater from off of the couch, she left out of her high rise apartment building and onto the busy street.

The decision to move back to Atlanta was really a last minute decision Michonne had made about six months ago. It had been a year since her breakup with Mike and she was still living in their- or rather, her- apartment, since he had moved out the day after he gave up on their relationship. She felt like she was in a rut, drowning with no hope of coming to the surface. She worked extra hours to avoid going home to an empty place and rarely slept in her bed to avoid the empty space next to her that had been previously occupied for so long; the couch had became her new sleeping place. Her old apartment felt lonely and cold with memories being brought up that did not help the healing process. It wasn't until her best friend Andrea asked her for what seemed to be the hundredth time to move back to Atlanta, even offering her the guest room at her townhouse until she found a place of her own.

"Anything you need, Chonne," Andrea had said during their one of weekly phone conversations. "I just hate that you're through this alone."

Michonne realized then that it was time for a change of scenery. She had spent the last ten years in New York after her graduation from law school and still worked for the same law firm she interned with post graduation. However, her friends and parents still lived in Atlanta plus there was a position open at the law firm where Andrea worked that was more than willing to take her in. Everything fell into place and she hoped that being around her loved ones would pull her back to the surface.

She pulled open the door to the bookstore, the bell that was hanging on the knob ringing from the sudden movement. The place was a small mom and pop store that had been in business for as long as she could remember; her father, an avid reader, would often bring her there often when she was a kid. There were bookcases that reached as high as the ceiling, showcasing everything from the classics to comic books. People would get lost and lose track of time whenever they walked in.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" A young girl with shoulder length blond hair and a broad smile said from behind the counter a few feet away from the front door. Michonne glanced at her nametag: Beth.

"Hi, Beth. I believe you're the one I talked to earlier this week, about putting the anthology on hold?"

"Oh, yes. I have it right here." Beth reached underneath the counter and pulled out the hardback book. "Would you like for me to wrap it?"

After paying, Michonne walked down one of the aisles, promising herself a couple minutes and browsing and she would head out. Her mother was a very particular person when it came to her party itinerary and she did not want to mess that up tonight and face therwrath.

Just as she was about to round the corner, she bumped into someone and her bag fell to the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said as she started to bend down to pick up the bag. The man stopped her by holding up his hand and doing it for her, also picking up a comic book that she assumed was his.

"It's not a problem. I should be the one apologizing," the man said in a deep southern drawl. When he straightened up, Michonne could see that he was a handsome man with curly brown hair and a salt and pepper stubble, giving him a distinguished but yet rough look. It was his eyes that made her breath catch; they were strikingly blue but yet she could see that they mirrored her own, full of sadness and pain. She instantly wondered what his story was.

He seemed to be thinking the same as they just stood there, staring at each other, his hand still outstretched with his fingers wrapped around the bag. Michonne quickly came to her senses and thanked him as she accepted the bag, her face feeling hot and flushed. She looked down at the comic book in his hand and gave a small smile as she read the title.

"Black Panther, huh?" she said, raising her eyebrows and nodding towards the comic book, her interest now sparked. "Didn't strike you as the type."

The man tilted his head and squinted. "And why is that?"

She shrugged, a smirk on her face. Her eyes scanned over him. He was wearing what looked to be a sheriff's uniform- brown pants and a two tone brown and tan button up shirt with a King's County Sherriff Department badge embroidered on the sleeve. "I can't imagine a deputy reading a comic book about superheroes when most of you think of yourselves as one."

The man chuckled as he looked down at the ground then back up at her, amused at the playful look in her eyes. "Well, you're right. About the type part, not the 'I think of myself as a superhero' part. I'm picking this up for my son. He's recently gotten into reading comic books so I've been by here at least once a week in the search for more. He goes through them like crazy."

"Next time you should pick out Civil War. He'll enjoy it."

The man nodded. "I'll let him know." He paused for a minute, hesitant, as if contemplating something. Then he held out his hand, "Rick Grimes."

"Michonne Hayes," she said, accepting his handshake. He was about to continue on when she interrupted. "Um, I'm sorry, Mr. Grimes, but I really should get going. I have somewhere to be in about another thirty minutes."

"Oh, of course," he said, disappointed. "Hopefully next time I come in here, you'll be able to help me find this Civil War book."

She gave a tight smile. The conversation had turned flirty, a road she did not and was not ready to take just yet. Flirting led to dating and dating turned into potentially falling in love. This wasn't part of her self-healing process.

"Maybe," she offered simply. "It was nice meeting you, Rick Grimes."

Rick watched as she walked away and out of the bookstore, unable to keep his eyes off of her. He couldn't help but think that would not be the last time he would see Michonne Hayes. And he silently hoped that that was true.