Lemonade

Summary: Will Rick be able to comfort Michonne when she needs him?

A/N: This chapter is all Richonne hurt/comfort. I hope you like it!

…

Chapter 3 – I'm Your Family Now

Rick Grimes pushed aside the curtain to his empty cell and felt a pang of loneliness.

Beth brought Judith's crib into her cell for the night whenever he took a late shift on watch. He would see his daughter in a few hours but he still missed her presence.

Rick slowly undid his gun belt and kicked off his boots. Finally he laid down and fell into an uneasy sleep.

A soft noise pulled Rick into wakefulness. He sat up half way, his eyes straining to focus in the dark. He held his breath, sure that there was another presence nearby.

"Rick…" a whisper came from the doorway.

Rick could just make out a figure standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He knew instinctively that it was her.

"Michonne," he said, getting up and crossing the short distance between them.

"You're back," he smiled, relief falling over his shoulders like a bucket of cool water.

Michonne didn't say anything. She raised her head to look at him but it was so dark inside the prison that he could barely make out her features.

Rick turned and fumbled for his camp lantern, clicking the dial to the lowest setting. The small room filled with shadows.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Rick asked, concerned by Michonne's silence.

"No, I'm okay," she shook her head and took a few steps into the lantern's dim glow.

Her eyes drifted towards a cardboard box full of Judith's clothes.

"Daryl's hurt pretty bad. Cuts on his legs. Hershel's fixing him up, over in D Block. Hershel says he'll be okay," Michonne told him.

Rick nodded somberly, "Okay."

Michonne seemed to be staring off into space. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. As usual, she wore her katana slung over her shoulder. There were dark smears on the hilt.

A new fear flickered in Rick's heart. Michonne's arms hung limply at her sides.

Rick reached out and took ahold of one wrist and then the other, bringing her hands up into the light. She didn't protest. Her hands were sticky with blood.

"Mich-" Rick began but was cut off.

"Got cut on the barbed wire," Michonne explained before he could jump to conclusions.

"I wasn't bit. I promise. I'm okay," she said sincerely, meeting his troubled eyes.

He looked her over more closely and, satisfied that she seemed to be telling the truth, returned his attention to her hands.

"We should get Hershel to…" Rick trailed off, remembering that the veterinarian was busy.

"I'll take care of it," Rick decided, instructing her, "Sit down."

Michonne obeyed, sitting on the edge of his bed, her shoulders hunched. Rick shifted through his boxes until he found the spare gauze, left over from when he'd injured his hand several weeks ago.

He turned the lantern a little brighter and sat down next to Michonne. The way her dreadlocks fell forwards hid her face from view.

Cautious, Rick reached out and gently pulled her arm towards the light. Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch, much cooler than it should have been. Her clothes were wet and dark water was slowly pooling around her mud-caked boots.

"Michonne, you're freezing. What happened?" Rick asked.

She took a ragged breath and let it out slowly. She didn't answer. Rick was reminded of how she was when she first arrived at the prison, closed off and reluctant to talk.

He decided not to ask any more questions, at least not until morning, and instead went about applying first aid. Attempting to be gentle but efficient, he removed her leather gloves. Next he poured water over her hands and dried them with a spare towel.

There were red cuts marring several of her fingers. Rick hesitated, not sure he had the skill or the materials to properly bandage each one.

In the end, he kept her fingers together and wound gauze around her hands until they looked like mittens. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than nothing. Hershel or Carol could fix it up properly in the morning.

"The truck broke down," Michonne broke the silence, her voice sounding distant even though she was sitting right beside Rick.

"Should have stopped there, turned around. But we didn't. We were almost to the warehouse, so we kept going. The whole place was overrun…" she continued the story.

As she spoke, Rick felt some unnamed disquiet gnawing at him.

"We had to run. And swim. We ended up crossing a muddy river. Daryl said it was the Yellowjacket," Michonne recounted, finally explaining why she was so cold.

"I know you're tired, but you really need to get out of those wet clothes, get warm," Rick spoke, worried that she would catch a cold or something more serious.

"Mhmm," Michonne agreed absently, but didn't make any move to leave.

The task of standing up, walking to her cell and finding clean clothes was simply not feasible given her exhaustion. Fortunately, Rick had another solution.

"Here, wear these for now," he said, retrieving a box of his own spare clothes.

He pulled out a worn farming shirt and then decided to let her choose what to wear. He got up and crossed the room, intending to give her some privacy.

"Uh, Rick…?" Michonne stopped him.

Rick turned back to see Michonne awkwardly attempting to unzip her leather vest. Moving the small zipper with her hands bandaged up like mittens was proving difficult. Frustrated, she gave up and looked at Rick with a defeated expression.

"Oh, uh, here," Rick unzipped her vest and gently eased it over her shoulders, dropping the muddy garment onto the ground.

Standing so close to her, whatever happened next, Rick would follow her lead. Whatever she needed from him, he would give it.

Michonne broke his gaze, her eyes drifting around the small room. It was cluttered and looked very lived-in, Judith's few toys scattered here and there. Michonne shivered and returned her focus to the task at hand.

"I got it from here," she said, her voice still quieter than usual.

Rick nodded, "I'll be right outside."

Leaning his back against the wall beside his doorway, Rick could hear Michonne moving slowly. The night sounds of the cell block floated around him; people shifting in their sleep, mice skittering around corners, somebody snoring, somebody else returning from watch duty.

There were probably only a few hours left before dawn. Rick would check on Daryl in the morning. First he had to make sure Michonne was alright.

Rick bent his head and rubbed his eyes.

Michonne and Daryl made it back. They were both home, safe. He should feel relieved. He did feel relieved, but he couldn't shake the deep uneasiness that had settled over him.

After a few minutes, he pinned down the feeling. Worry.

Rick frowned. Since when did he worry about Michonne? She wasn't afraid of anything. Even when she gets hurt or goes for days without sleeping or eating, she doesn't complain. She's indestructible. This world, so full of destruction, can barely touch her.

But that isn't completely true, is it? Rick's thoughts spun around and around.

Michonne is only human. What if one day something happens and she doesn't come back?

Rick took a deep breath and shook his head. It was no use going down that rabbit hole. She was home now and that was enough. It had to be.

Rick looked up again, realizing that he'd been lost in his thoughts and he couldn't hear any movement inside his cell.

"Michonne?" he called softly.

There was no answer.

He pushed aside the curtain and walked inside. Michonne's clothes were in a soggy, muddy pile on the floor; vest, tank top, pants, boots, socks, underwear. Her sword lay on top of the desk. She sat on the edge of his bed, chin resting on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs.

Not sure what else to do, Rick moved the now almost empty box of clothes off the bed and sat down next to her. She was wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his farming shirts. A pair of much too big socks covered her feet.

"Hey, you should get some sleep," Rick said softly.

Michonne took a ragged breath, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. She was crying.

"What is it?" he asked hesitantly.

She didn't seem to hear him.

Rick struggled with indecision. If he went to comfort her, he knew it would be a sort of turning point. He wouldn't be able to pretend anymore. He wouldn't be able to avoid how much he cared about her, how strong his feelings for her had grown.

In the end, it wasn't really a decision at all. Michonne's tears echoed in his heart. He knew exactly how she felt, too tired and too beaten down to fight the sadness back any longer.

Rick moved close beside Michonne and wrapped his arms around her. She was tense for all of a second before she collapsed into his embrace. He held her tightly.

"I miss them, I miss them so much…" she whispered, choking back a sob, "I hate him for what he did, but…I loved him, before…"

"I know, I know," Rick said, his throat feeling tight.

He had felt that same way, too many times. Knowing they'd betrayed you, didn't believe in you anymore, but still wishing for a second chance, to make things right, to see them again. That's how it'd been with Shane. And with Lori, especially Lori.

"They're both gone and I'm still here…he never thought I would make it," Michonne cried, her voice quiet and sad, "I miss him…I miss my Andre every minute…"

"I'm sorry, Michonne," Rick said, holding her close, not knowing what else he could do. He hoped it was enough, "I'm so sorry…"

Rick's eyes were wet now too.

"You're home now, Michonne. You're safe," his voice was low as he rubbed her back soothingly, "We're your family now, okay? Me, Carl, Daryl, Carol, Glenn and Maggie and Beth…we're your family now."

Michonne gradually became calmer, the tension and the sadness slowly leaving her body. She sniffled and blew her nose on her sleeve.

Eventually Rick became aware that they'd both been quiet for some time. Michonne's breathing was slow and steady. She was asleep.

With his left arm still around her shoulders for support, he hooked his right arm under her knees and shifted her body so that she could stretch her legs out on the bed. Then he leaned back, gently lowering her down.

He realized somewhat belatedly that her head was still resting on his shoulder and they were now lying side by side on the bed. He briefly considered getting up and going to sleep on the top bunk but then Michonne mumbled something unintelligible and draped her free arm over his chest, snuggling in close.

Whether this was a good idea or not, he didn't know. The truth was he didn't want to move.

If Michonne didn't appreciate their intimate sleeping arrangement, Rick decided, well then she could always stab him with a katana in the morning. Problem solved.

Rick's eyes became heavy and, his head swimming in the warmth of Michonne's closeness, he drifted off to sleep.

…..

TBC!

A/N: Rick's first aid skills may be somewhat lacking, but I'd say he did a good job of comforting Michonne! I'd love to have a scene on the show where Rick is worried about Michonne and shows how much he cares about her.

P.S. While rewriting this story, chapter two became two chapters and the old chapter three now has some significant continuity issues. So, long story short, I'm deleting the old last two chapters and will repost the new versions. Sorry for any confusion. My short stories always seem to become longer than expected!