Michonne's stomach was in knots as she approached the holding cell that Morgan had built. It was actually quite impressive, the fact that he'd built it almost from scratch. For the first time, she wondered what Morgan's profession was before the turn. Or maybe he'd learned some form of masonry after. They had all acquired skills after.

Wondering about Morgan's life was a good distraction from thinking about Rick, who she knew was in the holding cell. She wasn't sure why he was there. Carl hadn't been able to tell her. The boy had been a ball of agitated nerves when she'd walked into the living room, just pacing back and forth. And then she'd found out why.

Seven minutes earlier

"What's the matter?" Michonne asked in her usual quiet timber, a deep frown on her face reflecting the many things that were on her mind after coming home to double tragedies.

Carl's heart was pounding as he paced the width of the living room. "I just got in a fight with my dad. Actually, he got in a fight with me," he explained.

"A fight about what?" Michonne asked, one hand resting on the chair in front of her. She expected this to be a quick conversation. She needed to talk to Rick. She was even gearing up to tell Carl that they could go into detail about whatever he and his father had fought about later. She also wanted to tell him to take his hat off. It was almost 8:15PM, and he was inside.

Carl stopped pacing as he realized that he was most likely going to get it a second time. Michonne would not be happy about him sneaking into Negan's compound either. Michonne had never yelled at him before, so this was going to be new.

He closed and opened his fists, preparing for a second onslaught. "He was mad about...me going…"

He stopped talking and exhaled through his nose. He needed to own what he'd done. It's not like he wouldn't do it a second time, so he should stop acting like a kid and speak clearly and with conviction. No stuttering.

He focused on Michonne. She was so calm now. She had no idea that she was going to fly off the handle in less than three seconds.

"I snuck into Negan's compound," he said flatly.

Michonne jerked forward, her body reacting beyond her control, the hair on her arms standing up in alarm. "You did wha-what?"

"I...well, it was more like I went in with a hail of bullets."

"Carl, what?" she asked as she walked around the chair, feeling short of breath as her skin prickled.

Carl involuntarily took a step back. "The bullets were coming from me," he clarified. "I took them by surprise and killed a bunch of 'em, and I almost got Negan, too."

Michonne's mouth hung agape and dry. And then she snapped it shut and stood to her full height. "You're lying."

"I'm not-"

"No, you are lying. You're lying. You did not do something so stupid. Right?!" she snapped.

When Carl only stared at her, Michonne abruptly turned around and covered her face with her hands, an image of Ron Anderson's lifeless body swiping into her mind's eyes before quickly morphing into Carl's lifeless body. She imagined Negan rolling Carl's barely recognizable dead body off of the back of a jeep with his boot, as if the boy didn't deserve any respect, as if he had never belonged to anyone.

"What were you thinking?!" she exploded as she spun around, her locs swinging. "What the hell were you thinking, Carl?!"

"I was thinking that something needed to be done."

"No. That wasn't doing something. That was a display of an incredible amount of stupidity. You went in with a hail of bullets?! That was it?! That was your plan? The element of surprise?!"

When Carl didn't say anything, her fury bubbled over. "Seriously?! Carl. What part of we are handling it did you not understand?"

"We're not handling it," Carl argued. "Doing what they want is not handling it."

"Do you realize you're lucky to be alive?" Michonne asked as she advanced on him, her mouth tense as she enunciated the words. "Do you realize that it's a miracle that you walked through those gates as opposed to being dropped off in a body bag?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she shouted as she slapped the wall next to his head.

"Nothing," Carl answered with a flinch. He slipped away from her and put some distance between them. "Look, I didn't mean to scare you guys. I'm sorry for that."

"He could've killed you! Negan is-"

"I know," Carl cut her off calmly. "I know he could've."

Carl watched as she heard, really heard what he'd just said. For the second time that night, he watched someone he loved with all of his heart absorb the fact that he'd gone after Negan that morning prepared and willing to die.

"What?" Michonne asked quietly, her body numb now.

It was the smallness of their voices that tore through Carl. He would take the yelling, screaming, and cursing a thousand times over the quiet surprise, because the quiet surprise was something of a false reaction. They weren't just surprised. They were heartbroken.

"Carl?" Michonne began as tears pricked her eyes. "I know that this is not being handled as fast as you want it to-"

"It's not about fast," he assured her. "I just wanted to do something. For you, and for dad, and for everyone. I wanted to take care of it."

"And you thought this was the way? You thought this was the answer?"

Carl lowered his eye to her feet.

"I want an answer," Michonne said sternly.

Carl thought back to what had happened once he'd come face to face with Negan. Negan had taken complete control of the situation, of him, without firing a single shot.

The wound where his other eye used to be throbbed dully as he remembered how Negan had forced him to expose himself. "I just...wanted to do something," he said quietly, feeling as powerless as he had when he'd been sitting across from Negan.

"This wasn't it," Michonne said. "This conversation is not over." Disturbed, she left the living room and the house, intent on finding Rick.

Carl shuffled over to the couch and sat down. Negan had made him feel powerless. He remembered that Negan had wanted to make his father feel the same after Glenn and Abraham's deaths. His dad had been defiant and strong and that had pissed Negan off. He'd found his dad's weak spot and pushed it until his dad had cried and begged.

Negan had found his weak spot today. He'd snuck into the compound, defiant and strong. And then Negan had meticulously peeled off an insecurity that he had not thought would matter at a time like this and reduced him to tears. And he had not done what he'd set out to do. As a matter of fact, he'd helped to make things worse for his dad.

Now

Michonne didn't know how to say what she wanted to say to Carl. I don't want you risking your life. How could she tell him that she didn't want him risking his life when they essentially risked his life every time they involved him in a plan? How did she make her feelings matter to him? How did she explain the difference between what they usually did and what he'd chosen to do?

She reached the holding cell and paused. Either Rick was in there because he'd needed a breather after dealing with Carl, or he'd gone off to die privately of a heart attack. She wouldn't blame him for either, especially the latter. The boy that she cradled in her heart had essentially just told her that he'd gone on a suicide mission. She wanted to lock herself in a room to avoid dealing with a Carl who could make such decisions. And she wanted to lock Judith away with her in hopes that the little girl would never grow up to make such decisions.

If Rick had gone to the holding cell to die to escape this added layer to their new reality, she wouldn't blame him one bit.

She turned into the cell to find him squatting on the floor over something she couldn't see. She did see the hatchet on the floor, next to him. Her eyes roamed over the curvature of his back, and she thought about how much stress he was holding in. She'd tried to help with some of it today. Now, in light of Carl's ill-advised actions, in addition to Spencer and Olivia's deaths, and Eugene's abduction, she was more than likely about to add to it.

Rick shifted on his feet and turned to confirm who was behind him. The cell was dimly illuminated by the moon's light, and he saw Michonne. He wasn't surprised. He was familiar with the pattern of her walk. It was one of the many things that he hadn't realized was a fact until that magical night on the couch.

He could use some magic in his life right now. It felt like everything around him was being poisoned, including his brand new relationship.

"Hi," Michonne said as she entered the cell.

"Hi," he answered gruffly as he stood to face her.

"Carl told me you were in here. He also told me…" The conversation with Carl pressed down on her shoulders, making them more tense. Now that she knew that Rick was alive, she wanted to yank him into that room with her and Judith and lock them all inside. "He told me," she said.

Rick nodded.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

Rick titled his head to the left, a physical tick indicating the heady mix of frustration and anger that he was feeling. "Spencer's dead," he stated with disgust. "Negan gutted him after he...he tried to betray me, told Negan that I was out of control, and that he should be made leader instead, as if you fuckin' ask to lead. Olivia's dead, because Rosita took a shot at Negan and damaged his bat instead. Tomorrow morning, I'll know if I need to take Aaron to Hilltop, because the Saviors beat him up, because they found some fucking note in one of the crates we stole."

He picked up the note that he'd been absentmindedly looking at and handed it to her.

"Congrats for winning, but you still lose," Michonne read aloud. "Who wrote this?"

"I don't know. But they naturally thought we did and decided to…"

He shook his head, finding it unnecessary to finish.

"Tara told me about Spencer and Olivia. And Eugene," Michonne said as she folded the note. "I didn't know about Aaron."

"Any one of them could've been Carl. He...Negan spent all day with them, him and Judith. He was in the house…"

He lowered his head and swallowed back the rage. That was what he'd been doing since that night in the woods: swallowing back his rage and turning it into something docile and impotent.

Michonne's skin became clammy with the new information. "Where's Judith?"

"She's okay. He didn't hurt her. She's sleeping. Negan said that after what happened today, what we brought back isn't enough, so I'll have to go back out soon. Probably day after tomorrow. He didn't say when he'd be back, but I imagine he'll send his people to collect soon enough."

And then what?

Michonne didn't ask him that, because it was an unfair question to pose.

"How are you doing? With Carl," Rick specified.

Michonne shook her head. "I want to shake him, yell at him, and hide him somewhere far, far away."

"Sounds about right," Rick said with a grim smile.

The poisonous silence that he was growing to detest snaked its way into the room. It weaved between them as they blinked at each other, both wanting to say something, both wanting to turn upright whatever had flipped upside down between them.

Michonne began to fold her hands, but she pushed them back down to rest at her sides, rejecting the defense mechanism. "I need to talk to you about where I was today and about what I found."

"What?" Rick asked, preparing himself for more bad news but also hoping for something good.

Michonne licked her lips. "I went out to find Negan. I wanted to get to his hideout."

Betrayal knifed through Rick, and the poison seeped into the wounds. He turned from Michonne, unable to look at her in that moment. He'd known that she was planning something. She'd been up and out of the house early for a solid week. The first two times, he'd asked her where she'd gone, and she'd answered that she was practicing long-range shooting. She felt it was important, since Sasha was at Hilltop for the time being.

It had sounded practical. But he'd also suspected that there was something more behind it. So he wasn't surprised by her admission now. Just hurt by it.

"Why?" he ground out, his back to her.

"I don't know," Michonne answered after a moment.

"You don't?" Rick asked swiftly as he faced her again. "You don't. You went looking for him, and you didn't know what you planned to do when you found him? Come on, Carl gave me more than that."

"I wanted to kill him," Michonne blurted. "I wanted to find him, and I wanted the perfect opportunity, and I wanted to put a hole in his brain without him seeing it coming."

"That's why you've been practicin'," he accused.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

"Well, I'm sorry you missed your chance. He was busy terrorizin' our son. It worked, too, because he can't even tell me what went down between them."

"What do you mean? He looked-" She realized then that she'd been so busy panicking and yelling at Carl that she hadn't taken a good look at him.

"All I could get out of him was that he didn't hurt him. He said he doesn't want to talk about it yet."

Michonne's mind tried to go wild with horrible possibilities, but she reigned it in and forced herself to concentrate on her conversation with Rick.

"I didn't get close to where he lives," she said, her tongue heavy. "I don't think so. I don't know. I found one of his people: a woman named Isabelle. All she took me to was...Rick, there are more of them than we thought. A lot more."

"I could've told you that," Rick said dismissively.

"Rick, I wanted to go with you and Aaron. But I couldn't. I had to go my way. I...I had it in my mind that I would find him, and I'd kill him, and you'd come home, and I'd tell you that we can keep what you found. We can keep what you worked so hard for, because he's dead. He's gone. I wanted it to be that easy.

After I realized what was in front of me, I killed that woman and ditched the car. I saw what's in front of me, Rick, what's in front of us, and I don't wanna move forward alone," she said as she walked to him. "I don't want to figure this out alone. I don't want it to be my way. I want it to be ours, me and you. I want to move forward with you."

Rick's eyes were trained on the cement floor. He heard her but not really. His mind was stuck on one thing. He didn't want to ask, but what the hell did he have to lose? Nothing, according to two of the three people who held his heart.

"Were you planning to die?" he asked, so softly that Michonne heard the question one second after he'd asked it.

"No," she said firmly.

Rick didn't believe her. He lifted his head, and there were tears in his eyes. "Say you'd found him, say things went wrong. How badly would you have wanted to kill him, being so close?"

"Not that badly, Rick. The point of this is for us to live. We are outnumbered by those people. It's not even close. Things went to shit today-"

"You have no idea," Rick said.

Michonne nodded. "It doesn't change the way that I feel about all of this."

The admission shocked Rick to his core. He turned from her to pick up the hatchet. "I'm gonna go shower," he said as walked past her.

"We're still alive, Rick," she plead as he walked by.

"By the grace of God," he answered promptly as he faced her. "Or Negan, I should say. You do get that, right? We are alive, because he's letting us live. Olivia was next to Carl. She was so close that he wasn't sure he wasn't hit when the gun went off. Negan was holding Judith."

The unabashed fear in his tear-filled eyes crushed Michonne. That locked room was looking so good right now. She quickly closed the distance between them and cradled his face in her hands. "I know, baby, I know."

"No, no," Rick said, shaking his head as he removed her hands from his face.

He did want her to hold him. He'd been thinking about it since he'd kissed her goodbye a few days ago. The sun had abandoned this shitty, shitty day, and he just wanted her to hold him. He wanted to curl into her and forget about everything he'd seen and everything he was dealing with. But it was all wrong. Everything was wrong. Now, she was one of the things he was dealing with.

He left her in the cell.

The poison stayed with her and simultaneously shrouded him as he headed to the house.