sure, some may argue that Rick had been just a little out of line when he beat the shit out of Pete— I mean, throwing him through the window? Cmon, man— but honestly, you thought it was kind of badass.

Michonne had knocked him out cold, and you'd stayed by his side while they figured out what to do with the two unconscious (and extremely heavy) men that lay in the center of the street. Pete had been taken to a separate house, leaving Rick to cool off in a garage. Of course, Abraham and Glenn had carried him in, and Rosita had patched up the various cuts on his face and hands, mostly.

You had stayed by his side all night, through all the visitors and long sighs as they looked at the frankly peaceful sleeping constable. You even stayed when michonne sat down, and begged you to get some sleep.

And now, mid-morning, he'd started to stir, which made you sit up straighter, watching him. He groaned, touching his face, and then his side, looking around. Anxious, the seconds ticked by slowly as you watched him adjust to his new injuries. That was, until he laughed. Just a small chuckle, as he remembered what had happened. And then he groaned again, laying back down, obviously aching.