A powerful flash sped out of the polaroid, accompanied by a loud noise, and Michonne jumped. The instant tightening of her bruised muscles made her wince. "Well, that's that," she murmured as she turned the camera around and pulled the picture that crawled out.

Her eyes flitted to the brown polish that perfectly adorned her nails, and she smiled before focusing on the blurry image. She liked the way the setting sun hit the bedroom through the two narrow windows. Too bad she'd failed to do it justice.

The door across from her opened, and Rick entered. He was fresh from a much-needed shower, clad in a white towel, and the clothes he'd worn were hanging on his other arm. "Don't waste those," he cautioned as he locked the door. "There are eight left now."

"I'd completely forgotten how to work one of these," Michonne said as she lifted her picture to show it to him.

Rick walked the short distance to the little alcove he'd set up for her return home from the infirmary. It consisted of a round table and two chairs next to the first window. Michonne wasn't one to be cooped up, but going up and down the stairs wasn't great for her either.

Rick took the picture from her and smiled at the blurry product. "I did better," he said. He set the picture on the table and reached into the pocket of his jeans.

"You took the first picture?" Michonne asked, surprised.

"Yep. I saw the perfect scene and couldn't resist."

Michonne didn't know what he was about to show her. She doubted that he'd really come across a perfect scene, considering what he'd been doing. The three communities' first offensive against Negan and the Saviors was over, and Rick was home safe, so her head had stopped pounding an hour and a half ago.

Rick pulled out the picture and held it behind his back.

"Really?" Michonne deadpanned. "It can't be that breathtaking."

"Oh, it is," he promised. "Close your eyes."

"Oh, my God." Nevertheless, she covered her eyes with both hands.

Rick held the picture at a nice distance from her face and told her to open her eyes. Michonne took the picture from him and looked at what was the opposite of a breathtaking scene. Scraps of metal littered the ground; something that she couldn't identify was on fire; a film of smoke smeared the image, and in the foreground was a walker with its face missing attached to a downed fence.

"What is this?" she asked quietly.

"The Sanctuary," Rick answered.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she looked at him. He looked the definition of cocky.

"You see this thing right here?" he asked as he pulled her attention to a metal structure that was partly ripped and turned on its side. It was behind the smoke, and she couldn't tell what it was supposed to be either.

"Inside of it, taking shelter, hiding, is Negan. And his bat."

A smirk slowly pulled at Michonne's lips. "Are you serious?" she asked as she stared at the structure, trying to see the devil himself.

"Mmm-hmm. I had him pinned. He couldn't do shit. Couldn't go anywhere. All he could do was take it. I kind of lost it, blacked out," he admitted with a tilt of his head. "Gabriel pulled me back, reminded me that it wasn't about me."

Michonne's smile dimmed at the mention of Gabriel. The only casualty from their side. But they were prepared for this. They had all, everyone, talked about this. No matter what, they had to keep moving. Negan was the goal. Taking apart his empire, not simply killing him. If they killed him, his ideals would live on, and no one wanted to take that risk. Neither Alexandria, nor Hilltop, nor the Kingdom wanted to create a power vacuum that one of Negan's lieutenants could just fill. Before they could kill Negan the man, they had to transform him into one. They were going to strip his name of all power. "I am Negan" was going to be worthless by the time they were done. And then they'd kill the man.

"I saw the camera, and I knew I had to bring you the closest thing to you being there," Rick said.

"I love it. Fucking coward. I wonder how he felt."

"He wasn't prepared, Michonne," Rick said as he left her to fold the clothes he'd be wearing when he set off early the next morning. He'd gone commando today, so there was no underwear to discard.

"I still can't believe he was a sitting duck," Michonne said, eyes focused on the part of Negan's leg that she could see.

"He's been winning for so long; it's made him weak. He didn't think he needed to be vigilant. I guess I know a little something about that."

"That'll probably change now," Michonne said. The first offensive was over, but the day itself wasn't. Negan could retaliate, but since they'd taken out all of his lieutenants and most of his lookouts, he was probably busy trying to guess the extent of the damage while he waited out the walkers at his front door. Unless the walkers had gotten him before he could seek...sanctuary inside of the building.

The faction had decided during the planning stage that the chances of Negan laying siege on Alexandria, Hilltop, or the Kingdom at the outset of all of the trouble they were going to give him were low, but they all had their defenses up.

"You're right," Michonne said as she gazed at the photo. "This is the perfect scenery. For now."

"I'll bring you more," Rick promised as he returned.

"Don't remind me that I can't join you guys any time soon. Tell me about blacking out."

Rick rounded the table and kissed her on the lips, because he couldn't resist. Kissing and holding hands have been the extent of their intimacy since she began her recovery. He's been enjoying himself and so has she, but he could tell that she was going to ask for more any day now.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. She'd been released from the infirmary four days ago. He'd been both relieved and worried about her coming home. He'd been relieved, because he'd missed having her in the house, and her coming home meant that she was closer to being completely healed. He'd been worried, because he was busy planning to take down Negan and his empire, so he wouldn't be able to hover over her like he wanted to.

She's been doing a good job of taking it easy and resting, however. She knew that it was the only way to guarantee that she'd be out there with them as soon as possible.

Rick grabbed her hands and kissed each in turn before answering her question. "Seeing him like that was a rush. Cowering? Trying to stay safe while I rained down on him? I wanted to keep him like that for as long as possible, and I got lost in it. I wasn't tryin' to kill him. I didn't forget the plan. I wanted to keep him there for as long as possible. Hiding from me. From me."

Intense sadism radiated from his gaze, and Michonne loved it. Negan had forced him at his lowest. She didn't fault him for wanting to show Negan how tall he was standing now. Taller than him. Like it should be.

She tucked away a wet curl, caressing his ear in the process.

There was the look in her eyes that told Rick that it would be any day now.

"We're not wasting any more films on Negan," Michonne decided. "There are eight left, so we can take pictures of Carl and Judith, of us."

"Here," he said. He picked up the camera and aimed at her.

"No!" she exclaimed, raising her hands to block her face. "I don't look my best right now, Rick."

"Bullshit. Move your hands."

"No."

"I'm not kidding, Michonne. Let me take a picture for the road."

"Ugh."

"Come on."

She rolled her eyes and put her hands down. Giving him a deadpan look, she asked, "Is this really how you want me?"

"Yes, it is. But not looking like that. Gimme something real."

Michonne gingerly straightened her posture and tried to think of a pose worthy of keeping him company on the road. Clearly, he was just going to take a picture of her face, but she needed to think about how her face should look. She checked to make sure the collar of her jean shirt was turned down. It was Rick's shirt. She was sharing his wardrobe for the moment, because slipping her arms through a button up shirt was easier on her torso than pulling a tank top over her head.

Her confidence rose, and she tilted her head down just so and smiled. She didn't show teeth, because the stretching would be too much on her jaw.

Rick stood and moved his seat back so that the flash wouldn't be harsh on her face. When he aimed the camera, her smiled transformed into a genuine one, and her face relaxed. He took the picture.

He pulled the photo and stared at the vision it had captured. "You're so beautiful," he said with a shake of his head.

"Let me see."

He stood again and moved the chair to the table, and he handed her the picture.

She didn't look as bad as she felt, Michonne decided. She didn't look like she was in recovery at all. She actually looked rested. And totally not stressed. She'd secretly named this the Rick Effect. Spending time with him never failed to dwarf everything that worried her.

"Your turn," she said, causing him to raise his eyebrows. "I need something to hold me over while you're on the road, too."

"Should I put some clothes on?" Rick drawled with a slow tilt of his head.

Michonne grinned. "No." She slowly rose from her seat as the image she wanted solidified in her mind.

Rick watched her attentively, in case she needed his help. He wasn't surprised that she wanted a naked picture of him. Hell, he was thinking of asking for a naked picture of her, too. It wasn't the type of picture that he'd want a Savior to steal from him if he ever got caught, so he wouldn't take it on the road, but he wanted a naked picture of her in his possession.

Michonne walked to their floor bed, and everything fucking hurt. It used to be worse, though. Breathing used to hurt, because her ribcage was battered. She used to have to mumble to avoid the fiery pain in her jaw. Her face used to be swollen. She used to spend the whole day with a headache, and the only way to escape it was to force herself to sleep. The headache used to be so bad that she cried for lack of relief. The pain medication they did have was not strong enough to significantly dull a thing.

Everything hurt, but it had been much, much worse the first two weeks after the garbage turned on them. That was what she'd privately started calling them after the betrayal. Garbage. They called themselves Scavengers, and that should have been her first clue to keep an eye on them. A group with a noun for a name couldn't be trusted. Scavengers, Saviors, Claimers. A group named after its location? Sure. More trustworthy. That was normal and like the old world. Alexandria. Hilltop. The Kingdom. Oceanside.

Scavengers. She didn't plan to make that mistake again.

"Get rid of the towel," she said to Rick. She heard him hang it on the chair. He walked past her, and she ogled his ass. She had been surprised to find that the saggy jeans he wore didn't quite do his butt justice. There wasn't much back there, but what existed was pert, and it sat on top of strong thighs. Thighs she could grope for days.

Rick lowered to the bed and displayed himself unabashedly. "How do you want me?" he asked. "Photograph me like one of your French boys."

The Titanic reference made Michonne chuckle. "I've been more into Country boys for a while now."

Rick grinned at the compliment. He proceeded to fix himself almost like Rose had when Jack was preparing to draw her. He put one arm up, but he laid it behind his head. He put his right foot flat on the sheet so that his knee was bent at a ninety-degree angle, and he opened his left leg just a little bit.

"Have you done this before?" Michonne asked, amused.

"No, but I figure you can't go wrong with this."

"You can't go wrong looking like that. That's what you mean," Michonne said.

Rick felt his desire for her stir. Other than those first few times where it was just plain awkward to disrobe in front of someone you've known for so long, he enjoyed being naked in front of Michonne. Ever since they went foraging for guns, just the two of them, he's felt that they hit a sexual stride, despite the fact that that trip included a very sobering acknowledgment of what starting a war with Negan might mean for their longevity. Maybe that was part of it: accepting that one of them might not survive and agreeing to go on regardless. He's felt extra close to her since that trip, even though they couldn't enjoy the plenum of their sex life at the moment. That trip had signified a new level of commitment in their relationship.

His wife was Michonne, and she had a healthy ego, so as soon as she'd returned home from the infirmary, she had introduced handjobs into their gratifying, non-hurtful makeout sessions. He had sincerely turned her down at first. And at second. At third, she'd made a stern plea for him to take her seriously. She'd said that she could move her "freakin' wrist" and told him for the tenth time to stop worrying. She'd also said that giving him a handjob would aid in her recovery, at which point the strict set of his mouth had wobbled, a smile threatening to break free.

He enjoyed being naked in front of her, because it usually meant that she was going to get naked, too. Mostly, he loved the way that she looked at him. He saw the same desire he felt for her reflected at him, so much so that it was unbelievable at times.

If she continued complimenting him, he was going to insist that she start touching him.

"I want to make sure you're not all chin when I take the picture," Michonne said as she kicked off her sandals and stepped onto the sheets.

"Have you done this before?" Rick asked.

"No, but I've been where you are. I did a boudoir photo shoot for my thirtieth birthday."

"What's that?"

"You know those pictures of women in their lingerie? Not like Victoria's Secret, but they'll be in their underwear, or a little naked, and they're posing in a bedroom or by a window? It looks very sophisticated."

"You did one of those?" Rick asked his eyes widening with intrigue.

"I did. Ready? Tilt your head down a little." She focused on him for a second to make sure he held the position, and then she pushed the button in. The flash went off, and the picture came out. The sun's golden rays streaked across his hairy chest, and he looked like a late afternoon snack.

She absentmindedly fanned herself with the picture as she walked to the table to set it down. She decided then to get the most out of him.

"Tell me about the pictures," Rick said.

It was as if he could read her mind. "I was going for a seductress vibe. The shoot was early in the morning. I got my makeup professionally done. I wore a warm brown lipstick, pretty much the color of my nails, actually," she said, holding the back of one hand up so he could see as she returned to the bed. "Smokey purple eye shadow and, I think, black nail polish. I was so fine, Rick. The studio was set up real dark, like night time."

She lowered to the bed, biting the inside of her bottom lip to contain her pants as she did so.

"I could've joined you at the table," Rick said, a hand hovering over her hip as she put the polaroid behind her.

"No," Michonne said. "I'm setting up the next shot." She propped herself on her right elbow so that she was looking down at him. She swept the locs falling over her left shoulder to the back, and, in their minimalist bedroom, she painted him a tableau of her session.

"In my favorite picture, I'm sitting on this chair: black. The chair's in a doorway, and I'm sitting at an angle facing the camera. My hair's curled and in an updo that's bunched on the left side of my forehead. I'm wearing a black push-up bra, my breasts basically spilling out. My great grandmother's pearls are dangling from my neck. My bare ass is on the chair, and I'm leaning forward, because I'm in the middle of slipping my black thong off. It's sheer. It's a couple of inches above my ankle, and on my feet are pointed, black, six-inch stiletto heels. And I'm looking at the camera like I know it wants me."

In Rick's imagination, it was him. She was sitting in the doorway, blocking his path, and looking at him like she knows he wants her. There was no camera, and when he told her to stand so that he could finish slipping the underwear off, she left evidence of her desire for him on the chair.

He licked his lips. "Did you have a second favorite?"

"I did," Michonne teased. She slipped her hand down from his warm chest to play in his still-damp pubic hair. "I'm lying on a bed, but you can barely see it, because it's a very close-up shot. The photographer's behind my head. My head is tilted up a little bit, so I can look at him. My face is in focus and everything else is a little blurry: my left hand on my left shoulder. My breasts. My stomach. My thighs, because my knees are bent. And my other hand resting on my thighs. I loved that shot, because my eyes looked like I'd never seen them before. I didn't go around thinking my eyes were beautiful. They're brown, you know? So common. But in that picture, they looked like they had power. Like they were the true focus of the shot. Like they could suck in the photographer and hide him. And my nose looked fucking perfect."

Without saying a word, Rick turned on his side, raising onto his left elbow, and he kissed her.

"That's the shot I want," he murmured against her lips.

Michonne looked down at his pelvis. "And I want that shot." She gave him a peck on the lips and then commenced the struggle to stand up. Rick didn't hesitate to help, letting her put all of her strength on him.

Michonne felt like her muscles were being forced out of rigor mortis. "I'm gonna be sick of this real soon," she said.

"So you were tryna make me horny, you pervert?" Rick asked as he handed her the camera. He then got back in position.

"Yes," Michonne confirmed. He wasn't ramrod straight, but the evidence was there, and that was all she needed. "Ready?"

"Are you zoomin'?"

"No, full body." She counted to three and then triggered the shot. She shook the picture and examined it. He looked like an adonis. She hummed her approval and went to put it on the table.

Rick changed his mind about the picture he wanted. She'd struggled to get up, so he was not going to ask her to lie back down.

As he approached her, he declared, "My turn."

He looked so determined and hungry that Michonne did not move when he took the camera from her and set it on the table.

Rick lowered to his knees and undid her pants. He took her underwear off next. He stood and commenced unbuttoning the jean shirt, his eyes boring into hers.

"I'm thinking of telling you to keep this," he said. "You look so damn good in it."

"If I keep it, it'll stop smelling like you. And that's my favorite part," she said with a phantom shrug.

Rick rubbed his nose on hers before giving her a kiss. He took the shirt off, followed by her bra.

He took a second to admire her body, which made Michonne's stomach do the wave. She reached up and took off the headband, and she ran her fingers through her hair and shook them out.

Her roots were frizzy, which made her hair appear even thicker, and Rick loved the look.

"Sit," he said.

"You wanted the upside down shot," she reminded him.

"We'll do it later. Let's do this for now." He grabbed the chair he'd been sitting in and then flipped the corner of the bed sheets over to make room on the floor. He placed the chair so that it directly faced the window. He gestured for her to sit, and then he retrieved the camera.

He knelt in front of the window and eyed her through the lens. He toyed around with his position until he found one where he wasn't blocking the fading sunlight.

Looking at her directly, he said, "Cross your right leg over the left. Right hand on your right knee. And your left hand over it."

Michonne used her arms to lift and push her breasts together while also keeping her nipples hidden.

"You know what you're doing," Rick assessed appreciatively.

Michonne smirked in response. He lifted the camera, and it wasn't hard for Michonne to figure out how she wanted to look this time. She let everything that she felt for him come through. He'd been a dream in the aftermath of her injuries, everything he did and said, his tenderness, all of it reinforced her love for him, all of it told her that she had a good man, and she'd made the right choice. On her second day home from the infirmary, he'd surprised her with a mani-pedi, complete with base coat and nail polish. In between the hours he'd spent strategizing the war, fretting about not being with her every second of the day while she recovered, and taking care of Carl and Judith, he'd gone to almost every house in Alexandria, looking for nail polish. He'd found a nail spa kit in the house that used to belong to Betsy and David.

She'd been so touched about the mani-pedi surprise that she'd started crying as he'd worked on her foot: deep, ugly sobs, because this was the man she'd thought she'd lost to a gang of walkers. This was the man who'd been shot in front of her eyes. This was the man that she could still lose.

She felt his lips press into hers now, and she blinked, focusing on the action.

"Your face is changing," Rick said.

Michonne blinked again and realized that her eyes were wet. "I was just-" Her voice was hoarse, so she cleared her throat. Her emotions started to overwhelm her, but she put up a good fight. "I was thinking about how good you've been to me. How much I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too. I always will."

"I'm happy you're home. I'm happy you're okay," she whispered, and then she broke down.

Rick set the camera down and hugged her. She held him tighter than he expected, and he trembled from the intensity of her emotions. He understood then where her mind had gone. She hated that she couldn't be out there to personally watch his back, hated that if something happened to him, it would take at least a day for her to find out, because all of the radios were being used.

She had accepted the reality that she might lose him, but it still terrified her, just like the thought of losing her terrified him. He'd stopped waiting for Father Gabriel, accepting that they had lost him in the fight.

He would not have stopped waiting if it had been Michonne. He couldn't even imagine a scenario where he would've left the compound without knowing she was leaving, too. He would've turned the place upside down looking for her and then burned it to the ground for good measure.

He could lose her, yes. So far, he hadn't figured out how to make that mean more than a simple sentence.

The picture that Rick captured exuded love. Michonne's mouth was set in a neutral line. Her brown eyes held the smile. She looked like she'd been crying, but she also looked happy. She looked soft and beautiful, her scars and bruises invisible to the eye except for the photographer's, a delicate representation of the fortitude it had taken for her to make it off of that balcony alive.

Fin