A/N: Inspiration has struck again. And so, without further ado, the sequel to Married at First Sight. Enjoy!

"Michonne!" Rick tore through the underbrush, branches and thorns ripping at his clothing and skin. He scarcely felt them. His body was consumed with panic, with searing hot fear. "Michonne!" He called his wife's name out into the darkness.

There was no answer, just the moaning of walkers in the distances and the sobs of their son behind them. Rick turned back to the toddler instinctively, unable to decide whether to embrace the urge to rush back towards him, or the urge to rush forward.

"Rick!" Glenn's voice preceeded his appearance. Rick plunged ahead, picking his way through the inky surroundings, machete in hand, swinging wildly. "Rick!" his friend forcefully pulled him back, nearly jerking him to the ground.

"Let me go," Rick grunted, scrambling to get his footing. His heart was pounding in his ears, his stomach seemed to be fighting its way up his throat, and his veins felt as though they were filled with liquid flames.

"Rick, stop," Glenn's voice hinged on the edge of desperation, his trademark calm nearly shot. "Think of Carl."

His son's name halted Rick's motion. "Carl," he repeated blearily, a promise echoing in his ears. He turned around again, spotting the little boy in Tyrese's arms. The sight calmed him marginally.

"Yes, Carl," Glenn repeated, stepping in front of his friend and leader. "He can't lose you both, Rick."

The energy rushed out of Rick like air out of a balloon. He tilted forward, nearly falling to his knees. Glenn caught him, pulling him up, setting him right.

"Michonne," his wife's name fell from his lips. Rick was tired, so tired. His muscles burned, his chest heaved, and tears had begun to gather behind his eyes.

"You two have a plan, remember?" Glenn swallowed thickly, wiping moisture from his own face. "Remember?" he prompted Rick again.

Rick nodded, shaking his head wildly. "Protect Carl," the words hurt as they left his throat. He had screamed himself raw.

"Carl is the priority," Glenn seized Rick's arm, turning him forcefully.

In the distance, the fires still burned, their flames casting a hellish red glow on the trees. Smoke clouded thickly in the air. Rick choked on it. Glenn wordlessly handed him a rag to cover his nose and mouth.

"Where's Daryl?" Rick's senses were returning one at a time, the panic subsiding and evolving into an emotion he was well-familiar with.

"Mobilizing," Glenn fell in step, bolstered already.

"Sasha, Maggie?" Rick sped his steps up.

"Putting out the fire." Glenn lifted his weapon, covering them.

"Carol has the kids?" Rick ordered his thoughts, strategizing.

"They're all safe. Tyrese and Morgan were there." Glenn recounted. Rick felt the twinges of relief. Hershel Jr, Carl, Sophia, Dwayne…they had made it.

"And the rest?" his heart skipped a beat, already knowing part of the answer.

"T-Dog took a hit, but he's still standing. Dale's unconscious, it's not looking good. And Michonne…"

Glenn broke off.

Michonne was gone.

"I need a weapon. And you and Daryl," Rick sped up his pace. "Maggie and Sasha are in charge. Safety is the priority. Anybody able to stand needs to be wielding a gun or fixing the fence," the orders came naturally. They had planned for this.

"What are we doing?" Glenn asked, ducking around small fires as they approached the remains of the southern wall.

"We're getting her back," Rick paused to kiss his son, committing the smell of Carl's hair, the softness of his skin to memory. Then he charged through the hole in the fence, ignoring the heat, ignoring his discomfort, ignoring the pain.

Rage was all he felt now. It was all he would feel until his wife was back.

"Good," Glenn nodded gravely.

"Let's go," Rick instructed, heading for the nearest car.

-l-l-l-l-

Pain.

It was the first thing Michonne registered. The pain was so intense that it roused her from her sleep, waking her up in a panic. She felt the cold press of concrete beneath her cheek, the burn of rope around her wrist, the taste of blood in her mouth.

She took a moment, refusing to open her eyes, trying to will this nightmare away. She couldn't be here. Her day had started safe and warm in her bed, Rick beside her.

"Rick," she whispered his name in the darkness of their bedroom. He shifted beside her, the muscles of his back rippling beneath the covers. Michonne leaned forward, pressing her lips to the smooth, warm skin, her hands snaking around his narrow waist. "Rick," she repeated his name.

"What's wrong, baby?" his voice was raspy, rumbling into the quiet of their room and sending a chill through her. She loved her husband's voice, whether he was barking out authoritative instructions, rumbling out motivational speeches, or whispering affections in her ear. Still, his bedroom voice was best.

"Do you hear that?" she continued her task of kissing the back of his neck, tracing patterns into his bed-warmed skin.

"No," he rolled over, his face creased in concern, his hair plastered to the side of his head. "What is it?" he squinted towards the window.

"Nothing," she smiled, her intentions becoming clear. "No one's up, no one's at the door.

He grinned back at her, catching on. "Yeah?" his voice took on the smoky timbre that Michonne had been baiting him for. "What do you think we should do with our free time?'

"I've got a few ideas," she swung her leg over his waist, flushing with pleasure as he settled contently beneath her. His hands came up to grasp her. She let out a contented sigh.

"I think I've got a few too," his palms skimmed her body slowly, leisurely as he sat up to catch her lips with his.

Michonne melted against her husband, relishing their seldom-found alone time together.

She could feel the echoes of his kisses on her skin, the comforting pressure of his hands. It gave her the strength to flutter her eyes open.

The darkness was all-consuming, almost like a void in the middle of the world. The fringes of panic licked at Michonne but she pushed them away. She needed to focus. They had a plan.

Gingerly, she lifted her head, holding in her wince. Some of her hair was singed, if the smell was any indication, but nothing seemed broken. She flexed her limbs experimentally, tested the tightness of her bonds. Her hands were bound behind her back, securing her to the splintering chair beneath her.

She glanced around, her eyes adjusting.

Concrete. She was in a smooth room of concrete. A cell, if she had to warrant a guess. She swallowed thickly, steadying her heart. There were no cells that she knew of within 10 miles of any community in the union.

Where the hell was she?

"Rick," she breathed out her husband's name, searching her mind for the memory of what happened. The explosion had gone off on the south side of the wall just after sunset. They'd been on the porch, Carl in his lap, counting fireflies.

It had been their day off, the first in months. Neither of them had been on watch.

And the world had gone up in flames.

A dry sob escaped her without her permission. Carl had to be ok. Rick had to be ok. They had a plan.

The hollow sound of footsteps sounded just outside the doors of her cell. Michonne made a split-second decision, lowering her head back to the table and closing her eyes. She let her hair fall over her face, providing cover as she squinted through the slits of her eyelids.

The heavy metal door swung open slowly, creaking noisily until she nearly winced. She could make out the legs of her unwanted visitor, the slacks pressed into a distinct crease, as though their wearer was on their way to church.

"Rise and shine," the cultured tones assaulted her ears. Michonne tensed involuntarily. She sat up slowly, determined to look her captor in the eyes.

He smiled at her, a charming, white-toothed grin. "We've got some things to discuss, Mrs. Grimes."

-l-l-l-l-

"The Hilltop ain't seen nothing unusual," Daryl slammed the door of the car as he jumped back in, his face twisted in a scowl.

"Neither has the Kingdom," Glenn reported.

Both men looked tired, almost haggard. Rick scarcely noticed. His mind's eye was filled with the faces of his wife's parents.

"Let's go," he instructed, throwing the car in gear.

"Go where?" Daryl asked, growling around the syllable. "We don't know where they took her. We don't even know who we're fighting!" Frustration dripped from every word.

"We'll find her," Glenn insisted.

Rick stayed silent.

"What's the plan?" Glenn prompted again, gently, his dark eyes on Rick.

"We start looking," Rick's throat was raw, his body exhausted. It didn't matter. "Daryl, what's our best bet?"

There was a long silence as Daryl stared contemplatively out of the car window. Rick feared for a second that he hadn't heard him.

"East," he finally grumbled out.

"All right," Rick steered the car away from the Kingdom. Carl would be safe there with his grandparents. The Kingdom was hidden, well-armed. Alexandria could handle helping with the rebuild of the Haven.

And he would find his wife.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of their car as Rick pointed the car east.

"We'll find her," he announced, ignoring the silence.

10 miles passed. Then another 6. The forest receded into fields of yellowing grass. A walker or two ambled by. Rick sped past them all. Every so often, Daryl instructed for them to pull over so he could poke around in the dirt.

"She's strong," Glenn quietly told Rick. The two of them stood in the background, watching Daryl work. "She's probably looking for you right now."

Rick appreciated the efforts, but it did little to assuage his fears. "They knew." The idea had been tumbling in his head for hours now.

"What do you mean?" Glenn asked.

"They only took Michonne. They knew." Rick sighed, kicking dirt beneath his boots.

"They knew who she was?" Glenn's voice broke around the question. Rick nodded.

"They had to," Rick tightened his grip on his Python.

"Who could have known?" Glenn's eyes widened.

"That's what we're going to find out," Rick gripped Glenn's shoulder, heading back to the car.

-l-l-l-l-

"Who's that?" Daryl's question was sharp, his eyes suddenly trained out on the field ahead of them.

"It's not a walker," Glenn was at attention at once. "He's walking too straight."

"He's coming right at us," Daryl reported, raising his bow.

"Wait," Rick slowed the car, fingering his Python. The figure in the distance got closer and closer, the top of its dark head coming into view. Covered in blood and limping along, he may have gone unnoticed by any other group.

"Who the fuck is that?" Daryl repeated.

The figure raised dark eyes to look at them, reaching for them before collapsing to the ground.

"I don't know," Rick unlocked the car, following his gut. "But he's knows something. Let's go find out what."

Together, the three exited the car.

-l-l-l-l-

"You're going to tell me what I want to know."

Michonne glared up at her captor through her hair, the pain evaporating as red-hot anger filled her.

"Like hell," she spat, refusing to cower.

Her captor simply smiled, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "You're going to tell me, or I'm going to go back and finish the job. Maybe find that little boy of yours. Cute thing. Looks like his daddy."

His statement had it's intended affect. Michonne's blood ran cold.

"Now you're getting it," the smile widened. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

Michonne winced as she was jerked roughly to her feet and ushered out into the hallway. There was concrete in every direction she looked.

"Bet you're wondering where you are. Bet you're wondering who I am," his tone had the air of a person discussing the weather. "You'll see soon."

"What do you want with me?" Michonne ground out, breathing through the pain in her leg. Her ankle was sprained at best.

"You'll find that out soon too," he swung a door ahead of them open. The light nearly blinded her. "Let's go, Mrs. Grimes."