A/N: So, with the amount of Richonne lovers around here I'm not sure this story will even be read. But if you are one of those who are thinking "well this is an unlikely couple, tell me, crazy person, why do you ship Rick and Sasha?" then let me tell you that I still hold onto the theory of Sasha being comic-book Andrea and that even though there's a big probability that the romantic story arc won't get adopted by Sasha in the series, I still find that it would be an interesting turn of events.

Plus, I was writing Black Wolves and a Magnolia at the time and editing Late Bloomers they Called Us and this came out of nowhere. Literally, among the tons and tons of things I write daily I just found out I had imagined and written tons of scenes between Rick and Sasha and I put them together and this came out.

And yes, it is a rough draft because I don't want to put too much focus on it. I still have Black Wolves and a Magnolia to concentrate on and that story is my main priority. This is just a set of vignettes inspired by songs, not an official story with a drafted plot.

There are 12 musical prompts and I use 3 per chapter, so the story will be four chapters long.

Anyhow... I hope you enjoy it.

Also, careful for comic-spoilers.

Hero

(Hero - Spiderman OST)

There's that question again.

Do you want to die?

They've already asked it and you've already answered. Your smile says it all: you don't.

-o-

You hold the door closed with all your strength as tens and tens of hands start pounding on every side of the RV. Your hand aches as you clutch it in a tight fist, trying to stop its bleeding. You feel lightheaded and you know the gunshots will keep the walkers coming.

There's no way out of this.

Fuck. Fuck!

You gotta make it back. You don't have a choice. You cannot die in here and leave your baby out in that world, leave Carl alone.

Gunshots resonate close and you turn towards the windshield. A car and a motorcycle are approaching. Daryl, Sasha and Abraham. You gulp. They've come to rescue you. The herd is still following them, they haven't finished their job and on top of that they've come to rescue you.

Leave the weak behind. Those were your own orders. They should drive right past you, leave you here to die, but you know they won't do that.

And you're shamefully glad.

The car horn and the start of a shooting tells you how close they are now. You open the door you've been fighting to keep closed and lunge into the mass of walkers, slashing back and forth until you create yourself your own pathway. Your legs start running towards the car coming your way, the roar of the herd thundering behind and in front of you. As you reach them and open the door to climb inside, you feel the pull on your shirt and turn around to face the walker, but your hand fails to deliver the blow.

"Rick! Careful!"

Your brain is pounding and your eyes fail to focus. The figure lunges against your chest and its foul smell numbs your senses…

Bang!

Strong arms behind you pull you inside the car and you can see from your new position on the back seat as the woman on the wheel takes her gun inside after having shot the walker that was trying to eat you.

"Hurry! They're surrounding us!" Abraham's scream thunders next to you.

"Is he alright?!" Sasha's trembling voice asks as she restarts the car.

"I don't know. He just lost his balance out there." Abraham's face comes close to you. You want to push him away, but your head doesn't seem to register the order. Your grasp on his wife-beater is weaker than you intended and you realize you're about to black out. What's happening? "Rick! Rick! Answer me, man! What's wrong?!"

You open your hand and see the blood still oozing like crazy. Shouldn't it be coagulating already? And you haven't lost so much blood to feel so lightheaded. Have you?

It was the infected knife and the fever came right away.

No.

No, it can't be.

You can't be infected, it's not possible.

"The wound..." You mumble suddenly panicking. No, it can't be.

"The wound what, Rick?!" Abraham asks for an explanation but you can't give it right away. You turn to Sasha and her eyes are so big and scared they spark something inside you.

Keep your shit together.

"The knife… was infected…" You try to explain. The words come out in a hasty blur, but both your companions seem to understand and the silence between them lingers as they look at each other and you in shock.

"Mother dick."

"What is it?!" Daryl screams outside.

"Rick's got an infected hand!"

Dead, claustrophobic silence once more before you hear a rustling and see Abraham take your machete from your weak hand.

"He's gonna have to lose it." He holds your hand in his, stretching your arm. "You keep real still, now, Sarg, we need to do this."

"Abraham, not here!" Sasha screeches.

"He's running out of time, sweetheart."

"And if you cut his hand without proper treatment, he's gonna bleed to death like my brother!"

It seems like a no win situation.

Then leave me behind, you want to say. You've failed to come back and these are the rules if someone does. You have to abide them too. You told them to leave the weak behind. You're the weak one now. You're not going to make it.

"Kill me… leave me here…" You mumble. "Take care of Judith… Carl…" They both look at you in shock, but you know what you're telling them. "It's an order, Abraham! Leave me here!" The redhead gulps and looks at Sasha, who shakes her head.

Stupid, loyal friends. You won't get there in time and neither will they if they…

"I'm sorry, Sarg. Gonna have to disobey you." You scream, irritated, and lunge towards the door, but Abraham's arms reduce you in less than a second, keeping you still. From the corner of your eye you catch Sasha's big brown eyes fixed on you.

"We need to take him back and pray we get there in time." Her voice is trembling, like it was when she lost Bob and Tyreese.

"You do that!" Daryl screams from outside. "I'll keep on leading the herd!"

"By yourself?!"

"We got no choice! Go on!"

Sasha seems to hesitate for a moment, but starts driving faster and Daryl's figure loses itself in the distance. The rest of the trip proceeds in a stupor.

You hear the gate open and close and Carl's voice screeching.

"What happened to my dad?!"

"A doctor! We need a doctor quick!"

"Denise." A dark skinned man climbs inside the car next to Sasha, looking at Abraham and you in the back seat. "I'll lead you to her. Down the street, quickly."

Something tightens around your hand so hard you scream in pain.

"Ok, hang on man. I'm cutting the blood circulation." Abraham whispers. "Are we there yet?! He ain't got much time!"

"We here!"

"Help me get him out." The door opens and Heath and Abraham are leading you inside a house and lying you against a bed. "Denise!"

You can see the faces in front of you. Denise, your son, Michonne, Heath, Carl… Morgan wraps his arms around Michonne and Carl, pulling them aside and then there's just unfamiliar faces…

These people whom you labeled weak swarming around you, trying to save your weak-ass life.

"Take a deep breath."

Slash!

Your scream pierces the air as the blow makes your wrist burn and the world around you fades.

"Rick, stay with us, man. Stay with us."

And then there's just darkness.

Lost Soul

(Kryptonite - Three Doors Down)

Alexandria is a mess, Maggie and Carol are a mess, Deanna is a mess. You didn't think you would say this, but things look even more shitty now than ever. Morgan, at least, seems to have come back to his senses and is taking control over things like cleaning the streets and rebuilding the walls. You help as much as you can and try to keep Maggie out of the streets and Carol out of trouble. Both women are going through a crisis thinking Daryl and Glenn are dead, which is most likely what happened.

Michonne is still as strong as always, but even she looks disoriented. She follows Morgan's every word like a hound dog and you wonder whether she doesn't trust herself anymore. You've sneaked on the conversations she's had with Heath while on watch and you've heard her blame herself for Glenn's disappearance and the death of some other guy you didn't know.

You wish you could go to her and ask her what's wrong, but you know you don't have the right to.

You refused her help when she tried to do the same, so why would she do the opposite with you?

You've been walking the streets of Alexandria in circles tonight. Your watch-round in the now crumbling watchtower ended up an hour ago, but you know you won't be able to sleep tonight. You wish you had shot something. There was no sight of walkers, not a single one. Which is weird as hell. Where are all the rejects from the horde Daryl lead away?

Your finger not pulling from that trigger makes you feel alien and frustrated. Shooting is the only thing that keeps you alive nowadays.

It shouldn't be. Tyreese wouldn't want it that way. Neither would Bob. You stop in front of the small clinic as you see Carl exit through the door. You flash him a smile he doesn't correspond, but you didn't expect him to. You are forcing yourself to smile even when you don't feel like it. Something to remind yourself this world is still worth it.

"Carl." He stops in front of you and cleans his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He's been crying. You put a hand on his shoulder and he turns to look at you hard, making you withdraw.

There's something in Carl's cold blues that scares you.

"I need to… go check on Judith." He whispers and you nod.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah." You can see right through his lie, but don't inquire further.

"Your dad's gonna make it."

Silence.

"I know." As he turns his back to you, you resume your walk, but an impulse makes you stop yourself and call the boy back. He stops, not turning towards you but listening.

"Is someone still in there?"

"Michonne." Pause. "I couldn't convince her to leave Rick's side and it looks as if she's gonna faint."

Oh, right. So that's why she wasn't on watch-duty tonight.

"I'll take care of her. Go home." Carl doesn't need to be told twice. Sighing, you walk towards the house and open the door. Denise is sleeping in a corner, cradling her legs to her chest. She rarely leaves this place now that there's more than one person in delicate condition. You find a blanket and throw it over the woman's trembling figure before resuming your search. You find Michonne on the other side of the room, resting her head on Rick's chest, apparently sleeping. The sight makes a pang of rage cross you, but you force yourself to ignore it, not entirely sure of what it means. You approach the woman and shake her shoulder, waking her. "Michonne…" She lifts her head and as soon as she recognizes you those chocolate eyes grow stone-hard. "Go rest."

"Sasha…" She stretches her arms over her head and her bones crack hard enough to make the entire house wake up.

"You're exhausted, you haven't stopped."

"Neither have you." She looks at you and the silence lingers between you two for a while.

"Listen… I just want you to know that you were right; I should've let it go. I should've accepted your help." The woman seems surprised by your statement. You expect her to act hostile or maybe arrogant about it, but she doesn't.

"It's ok." She just says softly. "It's hard the first time you… lose everything."

You gulp at that. It is the first and the last time you lose everything. You're not going to live long enough to watch Alexandria and all your friends die before you.

"I don't know what happened out there, but… you did what you could." You start. "We don't know if Glenn is still alive or not, but maybe… just maybe…"

"Don't patronize me, Sasha. You know you don't believe it yourself." Michonne sighs and buries her face in her hands. For a second you think she's going to cry. "I told him he was gonna make it."

"Glenn?" Michonne shakes her head.

"David. I told him. I was wrong."

Oh. The guy you don't know.

"Will you accept my help now?" You ask her. "I just want you to go rest."

You stay silent for a while, looking at Rick in front of you. Asleep like this he looks so peaceful. His right stump is wrapped in bloody bandages and seeing it makes you wonder what this is going to mean for the community and the group.

Rick can make it without one hand, but he's gonna have to get used to it. His authority has been undermined quite a lot since the attack of the Wolves on Alexandria. From what you heard, Jessie is still trying to convince them to stay on Rick's side, but things don't look that peachy. Not that they ever were, but at least before you seemed to have the security Rick was in charge.

Now that Morgan is instead, will they collide?

Michonne finally gets up and puts a hand on your shoulder before walking slowly towards the door. You seat next to Rick, wrapped in your thoughts. The blanket is a little uneven and you pull it up so that it covers his stomach completely. You care an awful lot about him, you realize. It's weird; the first time you saw him you were sure he was one of the most dangerous men in this world. He may still be, but you'd prefer him over anyone else.

As you look over his features, enjoying the way his handsome face seems finally free from all grief and worry, his eyes open and his stump flies up to your hand, pushing it away clumsily in what you suspect was an effort to grab you. He winces in pain and lifts his head, but an impulse makes you push him back down. His eyes are still firmly set on yours, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"Lo… Lori…" He whispers and you narrow your eyes.

His wife?

"No, Rick. It's me." It takes a while for him to recognize you.

"S-Sasha…" He finally says. He lifts his stump towards you, but as his eyes fix on it panic crosses his face. He seems to be remembering everything now. "Judith… Carl!" He lunges forward and your whole strength is not enough to stop him. Behind you you hear Denise get up.

"Take it easy." You turn his face towards you. "Rick! They're safe! Take it easy now."

"They're safe?"

"Yeah." You help him lay down again and he takes a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on his stump.

"I… could swear I can still feel it here…" He mumbles more to himself than to you. Takes you a few seconds to realize he's talking about his hand. You've heard about ghost-limbs before and how the person can still feel them even years after the amputation. It's normal.

There must be a million questions swarming inside his head right now. You wish you could give him some of the answers. The least you can do is offer him your help.

"I'll help you get used to shooting with your other hand." He turns to look at you. "Hope I can, I mean…"

"Thank you." He tells you and his intense gaze stirs something inside you, making you feel uncomfortable.

You turn around to find Denise staring from her corner.

"You need someone to watch over him?" You ask. She shakes her head, no, and you decide to leave Rick to rest. As you get up, though, your leader's left hand takes yours without warning and the contact makes goosebumps crawl down your spine.

"Stay… please… I need…" You sigh and turn to look at him. Your hand is trembling under his firm grasp and you are not sure of why exactly. You still decide to do what he says; for a change. He falls asleep with his hand still holding yours and you stand watch over him until sunrise, trying to entertain yourself with thoughts of Bob and your brother to avoid the rush of blood in your head.

Companion

(Give me Love - Ed Sheeran)

"Rick… This is your good hand now. This one. Not the other. Learn to trust it. No more trembling."

She sounds frustrated, but it's probably the tiredness talking because you know she hasn't stopped with the lessons since she got up at six o'clock in the morning. Hard-work the whole day, training a bunch of people whose shooting ability can be rated in negative numbers and now a cripple like you, who keeps on fucking up his aim every time his hand starts shaking. You are not used to your left hand doing all the work. Keep on getting your stump in between every time you try to grab something. You can still feel your hand as if it was a part of your body, completely forgetting that it's no longer there.

"Im trying." You excuse yourself, trying to sound apologetic. The words come in a harsh tone and she grows cautious.

"I know." She whispers. You look at her for a little while and notice the heavy bags under her eyes. How long's it been since she got a good night's sleep? None of you get it anymore, but damn, she looks tired. "Focus." She chastises you and you turn your sight towards the target, chastising yourself for concentrating on trivial crap. You take a deep breath, focusing completely on the weight of the gun in your hand, and pull the trigger. The can you were aiming at falls and your mouth twitches up. Not thinking too much you start shooting the ones around you. "Like that. Yes!"

Sasha's words sound cheerful once you manage to get it right. It is not what it used to be before; you need more focus and a lot more time to aim, but it's progress nonetheless.

"I'm gonna have to depend on you a lot more now." You comment, embarrassed. As if it wasn't enough with all her work in this place, now she has to take care of you. She sighs before giving you a tired smile. Your eyes linger on it, as it is something you seldom see nowadays.

"Don't worry about it, won't last long. Out of all my students, you're the best I've got." Her grim comment makes you laugh softly. My, my. Ole Sasha has a sense of humor after all. Not that you knew enough of her before to notice whether she did or didn't. It is only lately that you two seem conjoined at the hip, what with you getting used to your current situation and the rest of the people around you withdrawing into their own world. Even Carl seems more distant than before, mourning the disappearance of some girl from the community he used to fancy. Michonne and Morgan are quite busy with each other, Daryl and Glenn are still disappeared with Abraham, Carol and Maggie out there looking for them. And then there's you two, not knowing exactly what to do to keep your calm in such an urgent state.

After you were well enough to get out of bed again you tried to regain your control and strength over the community, only to find most of its people doubting you even more. There was danger out there and you ignored it, instead taking your best people out of the walls, where they were needed, and drawing then into the woods. Your plan was a recipe for disaster. Or at least that's how they see it. They seem to have completely left out the part where the giant horde would have destroyed you all in due time had you not done something about it.

They trust Morgan much more. It sort of enrages you to a certain extent. You need to find a way to assert your leadership again, but you're in no condition to do so if you cannot even fight well. Morgan said it better once you got out of the hospital: Get used to that hand first and regain control over your own abilities. Once you do that, you can start thinking about recovering this community's trust. You have me here now, and I'll take care of things as best I can. You have to listen to him; at least this once. He's right and you trust him to keep things under control. After all, he saved your life once. Didn't he?

"You notice we haven't seen many walkers at the wall yet?" Sasha comments next to you a couple hours later, as you both make your way back to the community. "I was on watch last night and spotted five or six. But there should be more. There were certainly more that split from the herd we were leading." She gulps before continuing. "Where are they swarming?"

"I don't know, but they'll be coming this way soon enough, and by that time we gotta be prepared."

"You think we are?" You swallow hard at her question.

No.

As the sun starts setting on the horizon you take deep breaths, trying to keep a cool head. Had your plan worked without complications you would've been able to divert the threat long enough to prepare this population against it. It may have given you a little more time; valuable time. It's hopeless now, however. The dead are coming and that means only one thing; survival of the fittest. The walls won't keep them out and when they come inside you'll all have to fight to live. You know your group will survive. They've been through worse than this. And as for the rest… the people who are getting a clear enough idea of this world by now might make it or might not. And the ones who fall behind will die. That means most of them. That's how it is. You wish you could keep your hopes up, but you know better by now.

You turn to look at her and are taken aback by the sight in front of you. She looks relaxed as she walks, her frown gone and a slight smile on her lips. Under Bob's vest, her lose shirt flows in the wind, suggesting the curves underneath, and her dark skin shimmers with a golden glow. In this light, smiling like this, she looks so pretty. Your mind jumps at the thought. Sasha is family; why is it that you're having such strange thoughts about her now?

Her gaze meets yours and something holds you two in that place for a minute that seems to stretch into eternity.

"Hey, Sasha!" The scream breaks the spell and you curse whomever it is. You turn around to find Spencer approaching you and seize him up with one of your cold gazes. He seems not to notice though. Not very observant, that stupid boy. "Hey. How's rehabilitation?" He asks you with a smile and your contempt at it shows.

"How's training?" You throw back. Sasha has told you exactly how bad a sharpshooter Spencer is still. She says he's got potential, but it's still buried deep underneath the surface.

"I was actually wondering if… maybe Sasha here… would like to join me on a round." The way his eyes fly to the woman, taking her in without shame, make you strangely mad. You don't take the time to analyze why, you just know you want him away from her. "You're the star sharpshooter, you know… and the cutest too. Not that I've seen so many… cute sharpshooters..." Spencer continues, awkwardly and you share a look with Sasha that says it all. She's just as mad with Spencer's presence as you are. "So, what you say?"

"I…" She looks at you with eyes that plead 'save me' and you hold back the urge to burst out in laughter. You might actually try and teach this boy a lesson if the situation were different, but you realize he's young and horny and Sasha is the cutest sharpshooter in business now. So you can't really blame him.

"Actually, we're not done yet." You tell Spencer as seriously as possible. Sasha's hold relaxes on the handle of her gun, but the boy doesn't notice. Again, not very observant. "Me and her, that is. I still have to get used to the machete again."

"Oh…" He mumbles confused, not quite believing it. "I thought Michonne was more likely to…"

"The answer's no, Spencer. I'm busy." She interrupts harshly, before nudging at you with her elbow to continue forward. Spencer is left standing there.

Serves him right, you think victorious. It takes a while to register that you are being senselessly protective of Sasha. What do you care if they both hit it off? It would actually be a good thing; help her get over her losses. You wince at that. The notion of someone flirting with Sasha makes you uncomfortable. You care an awful lot about her, you realize.

"That was a little rough." You comment after a little while, trying to dissipate your thoughts. She shrugs as if it wasn't a big deal. "He's hitting on you?"

"I think so."

She doesn't meet your eyes, but you don't expect her to. You can tell from a mile away she's not interested in this guy and his attentions on her make her uncomfortable.

"You want to punch him?" You certainly would like to do it for her.

"Don't go there, Rick." She whispers and you snort lightly.

Sasha is one of those women you have a hard time reading. You've never put so much effort in doing it anyways, but maybe that was a mistake of yours. She definitely has proven to be a valuable member of your group; someone you never thought you would grow so close to. There's also something in her; something you've only gotten a small glimpse at. Underneath that tough facade there's tenderness. You can tell.

Tenderness that's shown its face with Bob and Tyrese and seemed to die with them too. Is it really dead? Or is it still alive deep inside her, protecting itself from the world by an armor of inhumanity and coldness?

"Are you ok?" You ask, for once really wanting to unmask her. There's an itching curiosity inside you that needs to know. "After… Bob? Tyrese?"

She takes a while to answer.

"I don't want to die anymore if that's what you're asking…" You turn to her, surprised, and she can see in your eyes that you don't know what she's talking about. Did she want to die? When? After Tyrese died? Was that why Michonne was so worried about her? Why didn't you even notice? "You didn't know, did you?" Shame shakes your entire body as you realize how dumb you've been. So focused on taking control over this community, you forgot to watch over your own. If Sasha's like this, how are the others faring with their own problems? "It's ok. I got over it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I still have an answer to find." She mutters. "Bob would've wanted me to find it."

"And you're confident that you will?" You ask, still ashamed of yourself. The look she gives you makes you withdraw. It's the wary look of someone who doesn't want her walls trespassed. "Sorry. It's none of my business."

"It is. You're my family." She sighs. "I don't know if I will find it or not. Maybe I won't. But it's worth the try." You nod and the silence suddenly grows uncomfortable. As you approach a certain house you take a look at the porch and are surprised of seeing Jessie sitting on it, smoking. As she spots you she gets up, an expectant look in her face. She looks like she wants you to come over. You turn to Sasha and she gives you a smile and a nod. "Do you really need help with that machete-thing?"

You hesitate for a moment, not sure of the meaning of the expression in her eyes.

"No." You finally say. "I'll be fine. Get some rest… away from Spencer."

She smiles at that.

"Will do. Definitely." She comments as she starts walking away. You take a deep breath and try to clear your head from confusing thoughts, before heading towards Jessie, who's expecting you still.

"Hey."

"Hey." You rest your weight against a column. "Everything ok?" She looks at you long before shrugging.

"As far as it goes." Your mouth twitches up at that. Not quite a smile or a scowl. "How'd it go with Sasha?"

"Good." You answer simply. The wariness in her eyes catches your attention. "What?" You ask, unsure of her expression.

Why are women so hard to read?

"I think she likes you." She finally says. You laugh openly at that.

"No. She's like family."

"Maybe to you." She whispers and her tone is strangely wild. You look at her, wondering. Ever since the attack of the wolves there's a certain ferociousness to her. The manse housewife inside her seems to be dying slowly, being replaced by a woman with a feral desire to protect what's left of her family. You like that very much. It's something you wish you could see unravel in her. It's exactly what she needs to survive in this world. "I… know I've been distant to you these last months." She continues. "I was coping with everything and I…"

"I get it. I'm the man who killed your husband. You should stay away from me." She looks at you with a sly smile you've never seen in her.

A few weeks ago it would have made you want to tear her clothes off and take her right there and then. Now, however, those impulses seem to have died down a little. You still feel attracted to her, just… not as much as you were. Maybe it's the feeling that Michonne is slipping away from your fingers, growing closer to Morgan and straying farther away from you; maybe it's something else…

"No, I should get close to you. In here we don't understand it that well yet, but I know now that if I don't fight I will die and so will my children. So I'm gonna change. Become what this world needs me to become. And I need you to do it." You nod, happy to hear it from her own lips. "You said you'd take care of me, remember?"

The question takes you by surprise. She's giving you that look of desire and expectation and you realize you have a decision to make. You swallow hard. You honestly weren't expecting this. You thought there would be more time for you to settle down before you had to choose a certain woman. Jessie is still waiting for your answer and you can't back down now. So you gather yourself and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I will." You tell her, assuring. The answer's good enough and she leans to kiss you, wrapping her arms around your neck. Her lips are hungry and her hold possessive. You can see right through her; she may not want you per-se. She wants you because of what you represent. Power, security, a new set of amoral values.

She may be growing into a stronger human, but she's still weak and you can tell: she wants to latch onto your strength. Expects you will protect her and her children.

She's holding onto an alpha-male, not a man. Little does it matter to you, however. You're an alpha, you need her and your most atavistic part claimed her the moment you killed her husband. Maybe it is just the need for sex, maybe it is something else. Anyhow, you're not going to back away now that you have her in your possession.

"I was wondering… maybe you can stay with me tonight." She asks. You don't give her a verbal answer, instead traveling straight down her chin towards her neck and sucking hard on it, hearing her small whimpers.

-o-

Hidden in the shadows you can see both of them on the porch kissing like there was no tomorrow -maybe there isn't- and feel the bile in the back of your throat. You've grown closer to Rick than you expected and seeing him with one of this women makes you sick. You sigh, trying to get rid of the discomfort, and turn to continue on your way, not understanding why you even stopped in the first place.

There is a voice in the back of your head, but its whisper is so low it is easy for you to ignore it. You don't need anymore confusion at this stage.

You arrive at the house and wonder whether you should actually get in and try to get some sleep. There is a deep exhaustion inside you at all times that doesn't go away but gets only worse every time you rest. You don't really want to wake up to Bob and Tyrese missing still after your dreams tried to convince you it was the other way around. And the presence of your family in the house doesn't make things easier. Most of them are gone now, but Michonne and Rosita still look at you with so much worry you just want to aim the rifle at their faces and force them to look somewhere else and leave you alone.

No. You don't need those expressions or condescending words right now. You need to be alone with your thoughts for a while. Maybe after a few moments of silence you can finally gather yourself for one night at least.

You set the rifle on one of the chairs and look at it for a while. Instinctively more than rationally, you remove the vest and cover the seat with it, and sit on the edge of the handrail, staring at it.

"Hey Bob…" You mumble. The vest doesn't respond, obviously. Not that you expected it to. Right? Does this mean you've completely lost it? After having made a bed from a pile of walkers this doesn't seem like that crazy a thing anymore. "I know it's insane to be talking to your vest right now, but I just miss you so much… I'm so lost in this world without you… without Tyrese… I still feel like I'm gonna drown. I know you believed in me. Just like you believed in everyone. Stupid man." You snicker and look at the vest as if you were expecting it to do the same. Bob's laughter resonates like a faint memory inside your head. "You and my brother would've known what to do. I don't. You would've known exactly what to tell me when I… lost myself." Silence. "You would've known the answer, wouldn't you?"

The vest keeps silent, listening to your pointless banter. You sigh, wondering what is it you expected to get out of this.

"Talking to your ghosts?" A voice asks behind you, making you jump. You turn around to find Michonne leaning on the door, a mug in her hands and that serene look seizing you up. "Don't ask the dead for answers. They know just as little as us about what's gonna come." You sigh and turn away from her. A few days ago you would've pushed her away, but the worse days of your PTSD are over now and you realize you need support somehow. Michonne sits in front of you and you both look at the vest on the chair, as if expecting for it to say something.

"Is she a better conversationalist than two walkers?" The woman asks and you snort sadly.

"No. At least those growl."

"Hmm." Michonne nods.

"It worked for you." You mumble. "It may mean you're stronger than me, I don't know. For me, however… things will never be the same."

"For no one. This is not who I was. I used to be very different. Fun, happy, cheerful… then it happened and I lost myself. And it took so much to come back from that… trust me." Michonne lends you the mug in her hands. Tea. Memories of the days of quarantine at the prison, of Hershel and Bob, come back to haunt you at the sight of it. "First time I saw you go off I saw myself reflected in your eyes. Exactly the way I lost it; and it frightened me. Thought you might never get out."

"You got out."

"Which is why I'm here, watching over you." You turn to her, a smile in your lips.

"Like an older sister?" She looks at you and smiles back and you feel something warm start to cover a certain hole inside. Yes, maybe you can give this a chance. "I keep on searching for a reason, Michonne. But every time I find it my fears overtake and the certainty is there… I will lose it all again. Bob and Tyreese wouldn't see it that way. Why did they have to die? Why wasn't it me? What's the answer?"

"I can't tell you. You have to find it yourself. Just don't try to find it in the past." Michonne gets up and walks towards the chair, retrieving Bob's vest and clutching it in her hands. She extends it to you and you take it, unsure. "The thing about hitting rock bottom… is that you cannot go further down. You've survived your darkest time. From there you can just go up." As you put the vest on again she cracks her neck and flexes her strong arms, before checking she still has the katana on her back. "I got watch-duty… see you tomorrow. Maybe."

"If you wake up."

"When have I not?" You give her a look and she smiles at it. "Bye."

"Sister?" She turns towards you as you call. "Thank you."

And with that she's gone and you are left standing there, still holding the mug in your hands.