This is my first attempt at a fan fiction. I can't believe how much I enjoyed writing it. I've written several more chapters already and can't wait to publish them. The chapters continue to build up frantically. Kind but honest feedback is always welcomed. Hope you enjoy this!

Nightmares

It had been eight or nine days since the prison was destroyed, she couldn't remember exactly. The days immediately after it happened, put her in a fog. She remembered the flames, the corpses, the gunfire, but more than anything, she remembered Hershel. She remembered thinking that it was going to be alright. Even when she was tied up and on her knees, with dozens of guns and cold-blooded intentions behind her, she thought she would be able to get Hershel and herself out of the dangerous position they were in. Her instincts told her they could fight their way free. Her instincts were almost always spot-on. That time, Michonne's instincts were wrong.

So many of Michonne's memories haunted her these days. She replayed them in her mind over and over. It was easy to do when distractions were infrequent. During waking hours she could often push the thoughts away for long stretches but at night in her sleep, she lost complete control and her subconscious overtook her in the most terrifying ways.

Rick watched Michonne as she stirred in her sleep. He tried, for an instant, to convince himself that she was just cold or that the ground was hard. Of course that was true but he knew she was stirring from a nightmare. As he lay awake keeping watch, his bright blue eyes looked at her with empathy. Michonne was not the type of woman people felt sorry for. She was strong. She was fearless. She was even optimistic, if that was possible these days. Despite all that, Rick felt bad for her. She hadn't slept well in days. Not more than two or three hours a night. When she did manage to fall into a deep enough sleep, she was tortured with the nightmares.

Michonne continued to toss and turn as Rick debated with himself whether or not to awaken her. Should he let her get the sleep her body desperately needed, despite her obvious distress or wake her up and reassure her that whatever terror was seizing her, wasn't real? Rick felt like he was between a rock and a hard place but that was par for the course for the last two years.

Rick couldn't bear her agony any longer. He reached his hand out towards her and gently placed it on her shoulder. He leaned in, inches from her face"Michonne," he whispered calmly,"Michonne, wake up." He rocked her shoulders back and forth when Michonne suddenly sat straight up. She reached for her sword with a look on her face that said she was ready for immediate combat."Hey, hey...it's okay, there's nothing wrong. We're safe," He quietly reassured her,"you were just having a nightmare." Michonne's body relaxed and the tension fell away from her shoulders."Are you okay?" Rick asked with concern.

"I'm fine,"she said in her stoic, dead-pan voice. Rick hadn't known Michonne for very long, only a year in fact, but he did know her better than he knew most of his friends before the end of the world. He knew that she was the opposite of fine. He also knew better than to prod her or try to convince her of her emotions, no matter how obvious they were."I'll take watch,"she said as she quickly stood up. She was alert, as if she had had a full nights sleep but Rick wanted her to rest longer.

"You only slept an hour or two. Why don't you try to go back to sleep?"

"I can't. I don't want to." she said with determination. Rick knew it was no use arguing with an obstinate woman like Michonne so he lied down on the bedroll they took turns using. He looked over at Carl to make sure he was safe. He pulled a tattered, foul-smelling blanket over his body.

Rick's mind drifted to an August in his rookie year as a King County Sheriff's Deputy, walking into a garage where he found two bodies. He and his partner Shane walked in on the scene of a murder/suicide. A married couple in their late thirties badly decomposed after11 days in the stuffy, hot garage. He distinctly remembered the putrid smell of rot and decay. It's what the blanket smelled like. It's what everything smelled like. Rick closed his eyes and quickly went to sleep.