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The silence of nighttime in the prison cells was different to that of Woodbury, and both were different to the silence of the night out beyond any walls. But each of them held their own sense of trepidation, an ominous feeling that was both terrible and unique to each place. The uneasiness that came with it was something that had long since settled in Andrea’s bones, but one she still hadn’t managed to live with. Not easily, anyway.
Tired as she was, exhausted as she felt in both body and mind, Andrea couldn’t capture peace long enough to fall into the elusive clutches of sleep. Andrea's mind couldn’t stop racing, couldn’t stop taking in each tiny sound, each shift of sleeping bodies rolling in their beds, each drip from a distant pipe onto the cold cement floor, her eyes tracing the shadows around her, expecting them to shift suddenly, to reveal some new horror or an old one returned. Despite her aching muscles, Andrea’s body longed to move, to pace, to walk out of the cell she was lying in and walk the handful of steps across the way to where Michonne was holed up in a cell of her own for the night.
There was a frog outside, or a toad, something that kept up a steady, deep croaking sound that would abate, but only for a minute or two before returning. The croaking cut off again, plunging the world around her into silence, but the rustle of sheets and the rough snore of someone deep in sleep filled the gap, until the croaking began again. Andrea squeezed her eyes closed and then, with a stretch of her limbs, she pushed herself up to sitting. When she swung her legs over the side of the prison cot, the springs squeaked underneath her, crying out in protest at the shifting of her weight. The cement floor was smooth and cool beneath her bare feet, and it sent goosebumps running up her calves as Andrea pushed up to stand.
The air was stagnant and muggy, the cell block locked for their own safety during the night, with barred windows that were too high to reach, if they could even open anyway. Andrea’s feet moved soundlessly across the floor as she moved slowly through the shadows, her hands reaching out to touch the bars, to trail her fingers over the walls as she moved through the near-blinding darkness. When she reached Michonne’s cell, the pale sheets were rumpled over an unoccupied mattress. Andrea paused, leaning back out of the cell, her eyes scanning across the darkened room before finally reaching the stairs and trailing upwards.
Michonne was sitting on the catwalk, her legs dangling over the ledge, not too far from the tangled mess of blankets and rags Daryl had made a nest out of. He was nowhere to be seen, out in the guard tower taking his rotation on watch, Andrea knew. Her face was lit by the light of the moon, a whispery, silver light that made her features glow softly against the shadows surrounding her. It didn’t take long for Andrea to ascend the stairs and drop down to sit beside Michonne. They were close, but not quite touching and, after a moment of watching her friend’s profile in silence, Andrea leaned to the side, bumping their shoulders together. Michonne turned to face her, then, a question in her eyes that Andrea could read even in the dark. She found herself pressing her lips together in a tight smile.
“You waiting up for someone?”
Michonne met her eyes, but remained quiet for a moment, taking her in. Eventually she turned her head once more to look out at the cell block spread out below them.
“You keeping tabs on me?”
Andrea shrugged, even though Michonne couldn’t see it, and her lips tugged upwards into a smile that felt far more genuine. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace for us.”
Michonne huffed out a breath of amusement, turning her head to meet Andrea’s eyes again. There was humour there now that hadn’t been before, and Andrea felt relieved to see it. She felt suddenly more restless, too, and she bumped her shoulder against Michonne again, watching Michonne’s lips twitch up into the smallest smile, even as she dropped her head, braids falling over her shoulder and hiding her from Andrea’s view. Andrea slid closer until their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to knee.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Michonne said, her voice quiet and low, a barely audible whisper in the hush of night. “I didn’t think you’d leave Woodbury.”
She didn’t need to say it explicitly; Andrea could already hear it in her tone: ‘I didn’t think you’d leave him.’
“Woodbury had a lot to offer,” Andrea said, slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I– I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure if I’d leave, either. I– there were so many things about Woodbury that I wanted to be real.”
Somewhere outside, the croaking began anew, accompanied by the chirruping of crickets. Andrea’s heart sat heavily inside her chest as she thought back over their days in Woodbury, the way she’d let herself be pulled into the allure of it all, the way she’d allowed herself to get swept up in the Governor’s – in Phillip’s – orbit, how quick she had been to dismiss Michonne’s reservations. Andrea’s chest ached as she thought about how easily she could have thrown away everything they’d shared for the false safety of a town and the lies of a man she’d let herself buy into far more than she should have.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Michonne said, breaking the silence with her quiet words. It sounded far too painfully like an admission.
Andrea’s throat felt far too tight, and when she tried to swallow around the lump there, it hurt. “I think I lost myself, too, for a while there.”
There was nothing but the frog and the crickets and the press of Michonne’s body, warm and grounding, against her own.
“But, lost as I was, there isn’t a world where I wouldn’t have come with you, Michonne.” Andrea looked down at her hands. She wanted to reach out, to touch Michonne, to pull her closer, but she couldn’t. Instead, Andrea threaded her fingers together between her thighs, squeezing tightly to stop her hands from wandering anywhere they wouldn’t be welcome.
Michonne’s eyes were on her and Andrea couldn’t help but turn her head to meet her gaze, steely and impenetrable as it seemed in that moment. Andrea grimaced, her nose wrinkling before she shook the expression from her face, giving Michonne a sad smile in its place.
“Maybe I just don’t want to imagine a world where I didn’t go with you,” Andrea said, the words soft and honest enough that they left an ever deeper aching in her chest for the simple act of giving them voice.
Michonne watched her for a long minute. Michonne watched her for so long that Andrea’s mouth seemed to go dry under her silent gaze, a shiver running down her spine that she couldn’t suppress enough to hide from those intent eyes. Eventually, Michonne exhaled heavily, breaking the moment and Andrea felt a small rush of relief at its passing.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Andrea protested, turning more fully to face Michonne, their knees bumping, thighs sliding together. “I didn’t listen to you, I didn’t want to hear what you were saying and I almost–”
Michonne’s hand settled gently over Andrea’s and Andrea felt the rest of her protest die in her throat.
“It doesn’t matter,” Michonne repeated, her voice low and slow, her head leaning in towards Andrea’s, her eyes wide and earnest, “because in the end you listened. You didn’t want to hear it, but you listened, and you made your choice.”
“I’ll always choose you,” Andrea said, turning her palm under Michonne’s hand to press their psalm together. Their fingers wrapped around one another’s hands.
“Andrea.”
“I’m not losing myself like that again,” Andrea promised, her hand squeezing Michonne’s. “I’m not losing you again. I’m not losing this.”
Michonne’s fingers tightened around Andrea’s for just a moment, so short it could have been an unintentional twitch or something deliberate and Andrea would have no way of distinguishing. Andrea’s heart was already pounding so loudly in her chest that it almost drowned out the sounds of the night around them.
“You never lost me,” Michonne said, her voice low and even. “I’m still here.”
When Andrea moved, it was slow and careful, something cold and electric racing down her spine and stealing her breath. Her body turned towards Michonne’s, closing the space between them in increments. And Michonne didn’t pull away, as Andrea might have feared, but instead she shifted closer, meeting Andrea halfway. Their lips brushed, slow and gentle, far more sedate than Andrea usually ventured into romance, but that ice-cold electricity that had zapped down Andrea’s spine turned to something hotter that rushed through her veins, nonetheless. Her blood pounding with just the simple press of their lips, the slightest swipe of Michonne’s tongue. Her body, only minutes earlier plagued with exhaustion, felt suddenly alive and coursing with adrenaline.
She let out a small sound of protest when Michonne pulled away, the kiss ending before it could deepen. Andrea found herself leaning towards Michonne chasing the touch before she could even think. Michonne’s hand squeezed hers, firm but gentle, and Michonne gave a small shake of her head.
“Michonne–”
“You should sleep.”
Andrea gave a small shake of her head, her lips twitching. “I’m not really that tired anymore.”
There was a smile on her lips that Michonne’s lips mirrored moments later, albeit more subtly. Andrea wanted to lean in and kiss her again but raised her free hand instead to cup Michonne’s cheek in her palm, Andrea's thumb tracing the soft corner of Michonne’s smile. Michonne’s hand came up to hold Andrea’s still. Michonne’s thumb rubbed against the back of Andrea’s hand, a simple gesture that had Andrea’s gaze dropping down to Michonne’s lips again in hope. But then Michonne was pulling Andrea’s hand away from her face until both their hands were clasped together over their thighs.
“We have time,” Michonne said. Her thumbs traced gentle back and forth patterns across Andrea’s skin. “You need to sleep.”
Andrea sighed, tilting her head to the side. “Stay with me?”
“I’m on watch,” Michonne reminded her. “Someone has to keep an eye on the cell block.”
“And man the radio in case Daryl sees something out there,” Andrea finished for her. “It’s strange… I always slept better when you were beside me.”
Michonne shook her head and when their gazes met again, she rolled her eyes. Andrea’s smile only widened, knowing she’d won.
“Go to sleep,” Michonne said, with emphasis. “I’ll wake you up when Daryl gets back.”
Andrea grabbed the lumpy pillow from the jumble of blankets and stuffed it under her shoulder, opting to rest her head on the better pillow of Michonne’s thigh instead. Her palm curled over Michonne’s knee and, moments later, fingers tangled in Andrea’s hair.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she murmured, not sure if the words made it to Michonne’s ears, muffled as they were. It didn't matter for long: the gentle motion of Michonne’s fingers through her hair had Andrea’s achingly tired eyes finally slipping closed.
The sleep she found was a deep one, far better than she’d managed even in the indulgent finery of Woodbury. When she awoke, she was groggy, roused by the sound of a familiar voice it took her sleep-addled mind a moment to process.
“A man can’t even get his own bed to his self anymore?”
“You’re welcome to take mine,” Andrea murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
It was only when Michonne’s fingers stopped stroking at her hair that Andrea realised she’d still been doing it.
“Don’t want that one: I want mine,” Daryl countered, his right arm swinging at his side, feet shifting restlessly.
“You’re welcome,” Michonne said, “for keeping watch. Are you staying up ‘til the others get up now?”
Daryl grunted, his head bobbing. He looked away, gaze roaming over the cell block spread out below them. He made a gesture with his hand, palm up, fingers flexing open and curling back towards his palm in rapid succession. “Gotta be ready if Glenn spots something’.”
Andrea’s brow furrowed for a moment, before slowly pushing herself upwards to sit. She pressed that base of her hand to her forehead, before looking down at the rows of cells, quiet and still in the darkness. She hadn’t even heard Glenn leave. Michonne leaned past her to hand the walkie over to Daryl. As she moved back, her hands came to rest on Andrea’s shoulders, urging her up to her feet. They stood together, the borrowed pillow falling to the ground.
“Messed up my blankets,” Daryl grumbled, though it didn’t stop him from all but collapsing down onto the tangled pile of bedding, walkie clutched in his fist.
“Send me the bill,” Michonne replied.
Daryl huffed out a laugh, looking away. His arm raised out to his side before dropping again. His other hand scratched idly at his cheek. “Congratulations on your–” he gestured vaguely.
“Thanks,” Andrea replied drily, her eyes narrowing just a little as she took him in.
Daryl grunted, a vague sound of dismissal, and that seemed to be the end of it. One of Michone’s hands still rested on Andrea's shoulder, though she let it slide slowly over the thin cotton t-shirt to hold Andrea’s upper arm instead. Andrea let herself be tucked into Michonne’s side, wrapping her own arm low around Michonne’s waist, her fingers gripping Michonne’s hip. If her thumb slipped up under the hem of Michonne’s tank top and swiped against Michonne’s bare skin, then neither of them acknowledged it, they simply made their way steadily down the stairs, only the faintest sound of their feet treading over the metal to accompany the chorus of the nocturnal wildlife outside.
The cot creaked noisily under their combined weight, the springs shifting and adjusting as they settled, their bodies curled together on top of the thin, threadbare sheet. On the outside, it wasn’t that different to so many of the nights they’d spent huddled together throughout the winter, and yet, Andrea could feel the way it had shifted, how the meaning behind their closeness had changed. It had been heading there, already, before they’d found Woodbury. She knew that now, in a way she couldn’t deny any longer. There was still the threat of Woodbury looming outside the prison gates, but in that moment, Andrea only felt the heat of Michonne’s body against hers and the steady thumping of her heart beneath Andrea’s cheek lulled her back into sleep.