Title: Days of a Gun
Synopsis: In the dead of winter, Michonne is keeping her feelings for Andrea close to the vest.
Warnings: This is the second pairing I've played with (yeah, I'm pulling a Lori and cheating on Pamara with Michandrea.) after jumping into ff a few weeks ago and I legit got a migraine writing it. Not sure if that's a good sign. Also, smoking is bad for you.
Bkny's bts: After last week I concluded that Michonne and Andrea are 9000% desperately in lesbian with each other (Idc if they don't know it yet) and debated whether or not to write a bit of something for them to fill in the gaps "Seed" left open. This is the result of that. It's kind of weird to write for a couple that's been on screen together for all of 52 seconds, but whatev it was worth a shot. I may do another from Andrea's POV, depending on the response this story gets. So Lemme know what you think. Ripped the title from the Martina Topley-Bird song, jicyw.
Holed up in the gloomy attic of a two story house, Michonne listened intently to an eerie symphony of creaky floorboards, crickets, and the increasingly faint growls of the undead dragging their fetid bodies along the desolate streets of a devastated gated community.
Although she generally preferred to avoid staying in the same place for more than a week at a time, the boarded up windows on the first floor and a minimal number of entry points made the home an ideal rest stop for any would be survivors seeking shelter from walkers and the unusually frigid January weather that was sweeping through what was left of the state of Georgia.
The bitter cold gnawed at Michonne's bones, yet she was grateful for the temporary respite it brought from the ceaseless plague of man-eating corpses she'd battled for nearly a year. Her keen sight honed in on the roadway where two roamers were slowly plodding along on their way to nowhere, while a third seemed to be in a state of suspended animation. Frozen, she thought inwardly as a ghost of a smile graced her full lips.
"The sentinel..."A gentle voice sounded across through the moonlit loft.
The swordswoman resisted the urge to shift her attention away from the window to look upon the speaker. "What are you doing up?" She asked quietly as all but one of walkers made their way past the house.
"I should ask you the same thing," Came the soft reply from Andrea.
Michonne breathed a sigh. A few simple words from her unlikely companion was enough to relax the most turbulent reaches of her world-weary soul. Though they were both living through a veritable hell on earth, she was certain some kind of miracle had taken place when their paths crossed.
In their first encounter, she'd saved the tenacious survivor from certain death. But in the time that followed, Michonne had come to realize that she too had been saved in that moment. For months she'd lived an unfathomably perilous existence with nothing but her wits, her katana, and two mutilated walkers to keep her company. Each day of solitary survival chipped away at her being until she scarcely recognized who and what she was.
She was a warrior, at one with her blade and the chaos that reigned around them. She was a woman, in need of an anchor with which to secure what was left of her sanity. She was a human being, desperate to find some way to quell the pangs of loneliness that besieged her daily.
"I can take over," Andrea offered diplomatically as she stretched on the tattered mattress they'd made their bed for the past week. "You should try to get some rest."
Michonne kept vigil as if Andrea's words were never spoken. She'd been something of an insomniac even before the world fell down around her ears. But now she seldom managed to close her eyes for more than an hour at a time. And when she did manage, horrific images that made her waking hours seem pleasant in comparison plagued her dreams.
Michonne's impenetrably dark brown eyes met Andrea's strikingly pale gaze in the shadowy room for a pregnant moment before turning back to inspect the scene outside of the house. "I'm good," She replied absentmindedly.
Andrea approached the window wearing a fleece blanket about her shoulders and an look of understanding on her face. "They can barely move in this weather," She soothed as she placed a comforting hand on Michonne's cloaked shoulder.
It was true. They'd both witnessed firsthand the effect the temperature was having on the walkers. Neither knew how or why the decrepit bodies functioned as they did, but the cold seemed to freeze whatever malevolent life force they had left in them.
In an unexpected correlation, Michonne was discovering that the onslaught of winter was having quite the opposite effect on the living, or rather what remained of it. Her thoughts inexorably returned to the previous day's events.
After a relatively productive morning of scavenging through a few abandoned houses and an already ransacked hardware store, she and Andrea returned to their temporary shelter with a roofing hammer, three cans of green beans, a can of yams, and a recently expired chocolate bar.
As they approached the front door of their safe house, a chuckle cut through the circumspect silence they traveled in. She'd heard the sound of Andrea's laugh numerous times in the months they'd been together, but it still seemed peculiar to Michonne's ears. In a world where there was little humor to be found in anything, her laughter was like an aural mirage.
Michonne looked back to see Andrea stifling her mirth as she watched a thin walker struggle to gain its footing in the icy driveway.
"It's not funny, I know…" Andrea apologized lamely as Michonne fixed her with a staid look. "I'll take care of it," She finished, readying the roofing hammer in her hand to crush the walker's skull.
"Careful," Michonne warned. "The ground's-"
Andrea slipped and fell before the vigilant woman had a chance to finish her warning.
Reinvigorated by the smell of living flesh, the previously uncoordinated maneater reached out and held Andrea's left leg in a surprisingly firm grasp. With a grunt Andrea slammed her right foot into the walker's face. Its brittle facial bones crushing on impact, the geek maintained a strong grip on the woman, sliding forward across the icy driveway as she scrambled backward onto the cold wet lawn. It was a matter of seconds before a silver specter sliced through the air and severed what was left of the walker's head.
"Slippery," Michonne muttered, flicking blood away from her katana as she watched her fallen comrade stand and dust herself off.
Her cheeks flush and breaths shallow, Andrea smirked as she took a step toward the woman who'd saved her life more times than she could say offhand. "Put it on my tab," She whispered into her rescuer's ear.
Try as she might, Michonne had no retort for Andrea's playful flirtation. Her mind was too consumed with the sudden and overwhelming need to make love to the only friend she had left in the world.
The realization made the normally stoic woman take an abrupt step back from the object of newfound desire.
An inquisitive voice trespassed into Michonne's thoughts and jolted her back to the present where large snowflakes were now tumbling from the inky night sky outside of the window.
Dark brows furrowed in contemplation. It would be so easy to complicate things between them. With a single kiss everything between her and Andrea would change, for better or for worse.
Michonne had walked amongst hordes of the undead, reinvented herself in their blood, and faced death head on when others could do little else but flee in panic. But admitting her feelings for one woman was a risk she wasn't at all ready to take.
She could feel knowing eyes on her, could sense Andrea silently willing her to open up and share the burdens she'd been carrying alone so long she no longer felt encumbered by the weight of them.
"I could use some rest," Michonne said finally as she withdrew from the window and headed for the bed to futilely wait for sleep to overtake her.
"Night," Andrea murmured while pulling her blanket around her to ward off the chill she suddenly felt at the loss of the other woman's nearness.