"I think we're far enough out," Michonne spoke up for the first time since they set off in the boat.

Carl cut the engine and let them drift. They were somewhere close to the middle of the massive lake. One hand on the rudder, guiding them in aimless circles, Carl watched the water around them. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been on a boat.

Michonne found a spare bandana. She dipped it into the water and wrung it out.

"Here," she offered it to Rick, who was now sitting on the bottom of the boat, leaning against one of the plank seats. He looked out over the bow.

He looked at her and blinked, not saying anything.

"You can't see yourself," she said, holding the wet rag out, "He can."

Rick seemed to process her words and took the bandana. He slowly wiped his face and his mouth, gradually cleaning away the drying blood.

"You got hit pretty hard," Michonne said, frowning in concern as she looked more closely at the red welt at the edge of Rick's hairline, touching his face gently, "I think you might have a concussion."

Rick winced at her touch, gentle as it was. He was too sore and dazed to do otherwise.

"It hurts something awful," he admitted, staring out over the lake again.

His thoughts inevitably fell back to what had happened that morning. He strangled a man to death without even giving him a chance to speak.

It was one thing to shoot a man, to win the quick draw and be the one to walk away. It didn't take much to reconcile himself to that kind of killing, but it was something else entirely to be pushed to limit, to the ragged edge of humanity and to tear another man's throat out with his teeth.

How can I come back from something like that? Well, maybe that's the wrong question to ask. Maybe I've been there all along. That place of desperation and brutality, it's a part of me. Look at what I did to Tyreese. It's not all of it, but it's there.

Rick realized how quiet it'd become on the lake. Michonne was looking at him thoughtfully.

"I'm okay," he said, thinking that she was worried.

"I know," she said, reminding him of the conversation they'd had days ago.

Later, with the sun sinking in the pink and purple sky, Rick fell asleep lying in the bottom of the boat.

It was safest to stay on the water for the night. In the morning, they would make for shore and start their journey anew.

Carl lay with his head resting on Michonne's lap, waiting for sleep to come. Michonne gently stroked the boy's hair.

He'd hardly said a word since they set off in the boat and he would barely even look at Rick.

"Are you asleep?" Michonne asked softly.

"No," Carl answered.

"When I told you about Andre, you never asked how he died," Michonne said.

Carl shifted and sat up, "I knew why."

"Yeah, but the how is important," Michonne said and Carl stayed quiet, recognizing that she was going to tell him something that no one else knew.

"We went to a refugee camp, Andre and my boyfriend Mike, that was Andre's father, and our friend Terry. At the camp, it just got worse and worse. People were leaving, people were giving up, but I didn't."

Carl listened to her story as the light faded.

"I was coming back from a run. I saw the fences were down. I heard the moans. It was over. And Mike and Terry, they were high when it happened. They were bit. Could have stopped it. Could have killed them. But I let them turn."

Michonne could remember it all, almost like she was seeing them again in front of her, but for the first time she was seeing them from a distance.

Somehow, telling the story felt like she was letting go of it. It would always be a part of her, but it was starting to fade a little bit. When she was with Rick and Carl, whole days went by that she didn't once feel like Mike and Terry were trailing behind her, haunting her.

"I made it so they couldn't bite, couldn't scratch. I tied chains around their necks. It was insane. It was sick. It felt like what I deserved, dragging them around so that I would always know. I found out that they kept me safe. They hid me. The walkers didn't see me anymore. I was just another monster. And I was."

"Me," she continued, looking at Carl directly, "I was gone for a long time. But then Andrea brought me back. Your dad brought me back. You did."

For a second Carl thought that was all, but Michonne continued, "I see how you've been looking at your dad. You don't have to be afraid of me or him."

Carl looked down, searching for the right words to explain.

He looked back up, saying, "He told me the other day that he was proud of me. That I was a good man. I'm not."

"Carl," Michonne said, but he kept talking.

"I know more now, about what he wanted for me, at the prison. And I tried, but I still have these thoughts," he confided.

"I shot that man today. I didn't even think about it, I raised my gun and did it. I'm not what he thinks I am. I'm just another monster, too."

Michonne pulled Carl into a hug.

He rested his head on her shoulder, saying into the night, "We'll be okay, right?"

"Yeah. We will. As long as the three of us stick together, we'll be okay. You should get some rest. Maybe in the morning I can catch some fish."

"Okay. That'd be good," Carl agreed, exhausted physically and emotionally.

Stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky and Michonne watched over her family.