Eight Letters – Three Words
That morning, as they left for the Hilltop, three words reverberated inside Rick's mind.
The previous night they had extended their conciliation at Morgan's cell back to their bedroom, where they expressed their love the best way they knew how. However, after everything that had happened, he'd felt the need to verbalise what was between them, because as Michonne had showed him, words still mattered.
"We're the ones that make things happen - you said that…"
She had listened to him even though he had not listened to himself, she had recalled his words even when he had forgotten them. He wanted to make sure, that she would always remember his words, when he told her that he loved her.
He didn't think about the overwhelming effect her words would have on him, when she told him that she loved him too.
Yet truly, they were words that had changed nothing, for when they finally said it, the butterflies which took flight in their spirits simply danced to the resonance of what was already there. Their love was there before they even found each other, the inexplicable pull of an unfathomable force, propelled by the inevitable tug of destiny's trail. He had seen her when he did not need to see her, a body among the howling array of the un-dead, on the day when the haunted gazes of two lost souls melded through the shaky fence of an abandoned prison.
It had manifested into the fear that gripped them when they saw themselves in each other, even when they only saw strangers in the mirror. It was when they found each other again after the fall of the prison, even though they did not fully understand the answers that they sought.
It was something profound, something greater than a restless world which had ceased to spin - the light in a darkness they thought they could not return from. It was something discovered by the grasp of his hand over hers, and the curling of her fingers under his…
Something settled by the touch of her lips against his…
I love you…
The three words still present in Rick's mind the next day, the three simple words that meant everything.
And now, in front of him, loomed the great wooden gates of Hilltop, a barricade only to the horrors of the undead, and not those perpetuated by the living. Behind him, Carl, Tara and Rosita followed closely, subdued and resolute in the precarious hopefulness binding them together.
Beside him, stood Michonne.
Rick turned his head to the side, and smiled. Around him, the vibrant green of grassy fields masked a world in decay, one in which somehow, they were still standing. She had reminded him of that.
His smile grew, the same, hopeful smile which had spread his lips that same morning, when he had awoken to a dawn that seemed brighter and warmer than usual. The incongruous optimism which fluttered his chest was prompted by the same source of his smile - the woman who held his hand.
Many nights ago he had held her hand over mints and never looked back. He had never truly let go of her since that moment, yet it was only the night before when she had reminded them that they were still standing that he realised she had never let go either.
He squeezed her hand just as the Hilltop gates began to open.
They were not ok.
But one day he would be okay, because she would be okay too.
He was going to make certain of that, because he loved her.