A/N This is my first Richonne fic. I haven't been watching TWD for very long, but hopefully I did the characters justice. A big solid thank you to Crypticnotions for offering invaluable input. I couldn't have done this without her.
***Disclaimer ~ I do not own TWD or any of its characters.
No beta so forgive any mistakes.
Rick walked the hallway of the house after leaving the living room. He was tired. He could feel the exhaustion start to settle into his bones. It had been two long days and nights of ensuring that the small community they'd chosen to call home – at least for now – was secure. All he could think about was taking a hot shower and settling into a bed for a good night's sleep. He was thankful that the place had running water. It was a miracle in itself that the electricity was still on. There were so few places left that had commercial power, finding this place was like finding a needle in a haystack.
He started up the stairs, and the wood creaked underneath his feet. A labored sigh escaped his mouth and the sound of singing made him pause. Carl was downstairs in the den futilely searching through channels of white noise for something to watch. Morgan was with him, as was Carol. Their reluctant truce after their senseless fight over Morgan's decision to protect a Wolf was holding on by a slim thread.
The only person that could be singing was Michonne.
He got to the top of the stairs and followed the direction of the melody, not realizing the corners of his mouth were upturned into a smile the closer he got to it. The sound reminded him of Lori and how she would sometimes sing to Carl when he was temperamental as a baby. It soothed him right to sleep most nights.
The sound was coming from the bathroom and the door was ajar. He was right. It was Michonne. She was singing to Judith and at this very moment was lifting her from the tub. Judith was quiet as she listened, her eyes watching Michonne as the tune filled the room. She was as mesmerized as he was. Her smile widened repeatedly showing just that.
Rick didn't know how long he stood there watching, but he was rooted to the spot. The hum of the TV downstairs had faded. He could no longer hear Morgan or Carl or even Carol's voice when she occasionally joined the conversation. He was focused on the sweet display before him; his kid in Michonne's arms, the soft look on her face, and he began to melt.
She took great care drying Judith off, dressing her, and by the time Michonne gathered her in her arms, the baby was almost asleep. She turned to exit the bathroom and caught him standing by the door.
The softness of her expression changed a little, and he immediately missed it. A strange sensation filled him. It crept all the way over his skin and left him unsettled. He couldn't believe he was jealous of his own child. Couldn't believe that he'd wanted that soft look focused on him, wanted to be cradled in her arms - just once - like Judith was right now.
"How long were you standing there?" she asked, quietly. Both of them stared at Judith when she cooed, her head resting motionless on Michonne's shoulder.
"Long enough. Didn't know you could sing."
She walked past him, heading to one of the bedrooms nearby. He followed, feeling like a puppy, thinking of her song, its melody still on a loop inside his head. She didn't turn on the overhead light, just switched on the floor lamp by an old crib left behind by the former residents. Instead of resting her in it, she kept Judith cradled in her arms.
"I sing from time to time. At least I used to," she said, with a shrug. "Not much to sing about these days, you know?" It was her turn to let out a sigh.
"I know." He knew perfectly well what she meant. She was tired. Just as much as he was. Maybe more. He realized that she'd given a lot during the time they'd become friends. She'd supported him when others hadn't, been his confidante, his voice of reason. She'd even been a mother figure for Carl. Most times, she'd asked for nothing in return. He realized too that he'd taken for granted the fact that she'd always stuck by his side no matter what.
The look on her face changed again. She seemed to struggle with an idea, a thought, as if something was weighing heavily on her mind. As if she wondered if she should tell him what it was. He wanted her to. He needed her to confide in him like he'd often confided in her.
"She reminds me of Andre sometimes, my son."
The softness of her confession shifted the air in the room. It crackled with something heavy and powerful with the utterance of those six words.
"She's still got the same innocence, the look of wonderment in her eyes, and there's still so much good in her soul. She's just a little older than he was, before he…"
The golden glow of the lamp framed her in an ethereal light, and even though her face was mostly in the shadows, her eyes were illuminated, and he could see vulnerability in them.
She'd never told him that she'd had a son. Never even hinted at it. Not to him.
He took a second to digest what she was saying, to grasp the full magnitude of her words. Suddenly, so many things started to make sense; her relationship with Carl, her stoicism during the time they'd first met. She'd been carrying this burden with her, so closely to her heart, and hadn't known about it.
He watched her rock Judith back and forth while she opened up about her son. She talked about Andre's laugh, his smile and the simple things he did to make her heart turn over. He listened to her laugh. Oh, how he loved the sound. It was such a rare moment since their opportunity in this crazy experience that was their reality offered little time for levity.
He was a fool for ignoring her before. For going after Jessie, for thinking he could find a family elsewhere when his family was already here, standing in front of him. And she was stripping herself bare for him to see.
Why hadn't he seen her before? Why had he been so damn blind?
She finally put Judith down, put her blanket over her, and she didn't stir. She stood there watching her, hands gripping the edge of the crib, and he knew she was starting to feel worried about what she'd just revealed. Had she sensed him pulling away before? Was she worried he would pull away now?
"I couldn't save him." Her voice was soft, her words tentative. "I couldn't save my baby. And I'm going to live with that…for the rest of my life."
Her shoulders shook, then slumped in defeat. The same shoulders he'd seen squared when she was about to face hundreds of walkers. He'd seen her gather strength in the most terrifying of times, but now he was seeing her like he'd never seen before. He liked seeing this new layer. He liked seeing this new facet of who she was. The connection between them in this small room was palpable. He wondered if she could feel it like he could. It felt like it was physically wrapped around him in a grip that propelled him in her direction.
He moved closer, and she turned to him.
"I'm sure you did everything you possibly could. I don't believe for one minute that you didn't. You saved us, a thousand times over, given damn near everything you have. So I know that whatever happened to your son…whatever happened to Andre wasn't your fault."
He saw the look of hesitation come back and feared she'd clam up again. He couldn't risk it.
"Come with me," he said. He framed it more as a statement than as a question. He didn't want to give her an option to refuse.
She nodded quickly and he led her out of the room into the one he'd chosen as his own. It had been stripped bare save for one double bed in the corner by the window and an old armchair opposite it. The moon's rays weren't obstructed by trees like the other bedroom window, and even without a light turned on, the glow afforded him a clear view of her face.
"Michonne -"
"Deanna asked me something before she died," she said, interrupting. "She asked me what I wanted. She was barely holding on, you could see life fading from her eyes but she kept asking me what do you want? I couldn't answer her. I didn't even know. It had been such a long time since I hadn't put someone else's needs before mine that I couldn't even answer the question. I knew what I had before all this. I had Andre, I had a family. I had my art. I had a life that I loved and enjoyed, but now…"
You have me. And you have Carl. The words were on his tongue, but they didn't come out. He questioned himself again, wondering why he was holding back when everything they'd been through told him just how short time really was.
Two days had passed since they had come here, and even though he knew there'd been little time for anyone to sit still with their thoughts he couldn't help thinking - no hoping - that she'd found time to contemplate just what it was that she did want.
He knew he'd been selfish. Knew he'd asked a lot, but he wanted to ask even more of her. He knew what he wanted her answer to be. From the look in her eyes he knew what she was going to say. But she was scared to say it. Still scared, and he understood why.
Jessie.
The way he'd changed once they got to Alexandria. Jessie was gone now, and with her she had taken every bit of uncertainty about who he wanted. Who he needed.
Both of them were afraid to say another word. Both of them were still so raw with emotion that verbal cues seemed useless at the moment. He couldn't stand still any longer. Not when everything was suddenly pulling him in her direction with force. He stood in front of her, so glad that she didn't move and put a hesitant hand to her face.
"Don't you ever touch me again!" She'd hissed the words at him the first time they'd met, and the fire in her eyes that she directed towards him that day was warranted after he'd intentionally grabbed her wounded leg.
Since then, he'd done as she commanded that day. He'd never touched her again against her will. Two fingers on her arm once, an idle hand on her leg before he'd left Deanna's side, but he hadn't initiated more than that. He hadn't dared to. His hand on her face was a simple gesture but a powerful one that she didn't shy away from. The ragged breath she let out and the rise and fall of her chest denoted that it was something that she wanted.
They were moving in a new direction now. He could feel it.
He stared at her for a moment, cupped her face in both hands, felt anticipation build second after second. The flame that was kindling in her eyes now was far different than the fire that was in her eyes then.
He kissed her. Tenderly at first, nipping at her bottom lip. When he felt her fist her hand into his shirt, he drew her closer, sliding one of his hands to the back of her neck and plunged his tongue into her mouth. She was opening up for him, meeting his passion with her own desire, touching her tongue to his and clawing at his skin. He couldn't describe the energy that coursed through him, but the exhaustion he felt earlier immediately left, and fierce desire replaced it.
He enjoyed the taste of her, enjoyed the feel of her against his body. He enjoyed the touch of her hands as they moved over his chest, then underneath his shirt. Hands that had expertly held and wielded the blade of her katana now stirred a different kind of power inside him. Something that he hadn't felt in what seemed like ages.
He backed her up against a wall, continued to take his fill. His hands moved from her face and neck and down her torso. He let them rest at her waist, holding her in place so she couldn't move. His heart was beating faster, his dick was straining against the hard fabric of his jeans and all he knew was that he wanted her so badly right now.
It took some effort to move his lips away from hers, but he did it anyway. He knew what he wanted.
Her.
But he needed her to say that she wanted him.
"I know what I want, Michonne," he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her hard, wanting to feel the softness of her lips again. "I know what I want. What do you want? Do you know?"
The feel of her fingers near the nape of his neck as she touched the skin there sent a jolt to his groan and he grunted. She nodded and began to thread her fingers through his scalp.
"Tell me," he coaxed, drawing her hips towards his erection. The small gasp that escaped her mouth turned him on even more. He kissed her neck and cupped one of her breasts.
"Tell me," he repeated, sliding his tongue just past the entrance of her mouth. He wanted her to say it. "Tell me, Michonne."
Her hands slid around his waist and rested on his butt. She bucked against him, pulled him closer. "I want you, Rick."
Her admission was the consent he needed. It unleashed a frenzy between them. His hands unbuckled the belt at her waist while he bit her breasts softly through her top. Her hands had work of their own, clawing at his shirt and impatiently undoing his buttons. Her tongue moved over his nipple once it was open, and for a moment he went weak in the knees. His hands paused at her waist as she held him still. Soon he was pulling on her jeans, drawing them down till they were at her ankles. She hurriedly stepped out of them and sought out his mouth, pulled on his cheeks and cupped his face. She was as hungry as he was and just as eager.
He slipped his hands into her panties. Her gasp was quiet as his palm moved over her soft curls and then back and forth over her opening. She was slick on his fingers, already wet, already ready, and he was dying to be inside her. He didn't want to linger, and he couldn't wait anymore. Her hands were toying with the buttons of his jeans, but he moved them out of the way and undid his zipper himself. He pulled his pants down, then his boxers. In a haze of potent arousal, he saw his passion mirrored in her eyes and knew she was ready too. In one swift move, he picked her up, slid her underwear to the side and sheathed himself inside her.
The groan that left his mouth was buried in her neck as he slid further in. A low hiss escaped her mouth as she dug her heels into the back of his thighs. The rotation of her hips over him was so sweet; each movement perfectly molded her softness to his hardness. With him snugly inside her he began to move, steadily at first, and deeply. So very deep, and he pressed her into the wall while she held tightly onto his back. He began to thrust faster, harder, hoping that his grunts and her moans from his rapid strokes weren't heard by anyone downstairs.
Her lips sought his again as he frantically moved inside her. Her tongue slid so deliciously over his. He wasn't gentle, he couldn't be. He wanted all of her, everything that he could take and he couldn't slow down. She took every inch, pulled him in deeper and deeper, held him tight. He felt so consumed by her, so filled, and he couldn't let her go.
They were a raw mixture of heat, want, need and desperation that had been held back for so long and now it was exploding between them in the most powerful way. He couldn't maintain control. He wondered if he ever had it. But her lips, her breasts, her legs, her body against his were taking everything out of him.
His body tensed as he came, and with a last long stroke inside her, she came too. He felt her breath hitch in her throat, felt her legs as they shook and held her while ripples of pleasure threaded over them. They were both gasping for air and dizzy off of the new euphoria they were wrapped in. But he wanted more.
He lifted her over to the bed and set her down in the middle. He put a pillow underneath her head and hovered over her, watching. He should be tired, but he wasn't. He traced her collarbone with both his palms, feeling the rumbling of her rapid heartbeat beneath them.
Want was filling him again.
He pulled her top over her head and undid the hook of her bra. He slid her panties down and let them rest on the ground near the rest of her clothes.
His clothes soon joined hers on the floor, and he came to rest beside her again. He planted kisses all over her, possessing her mouth with his, and his hands gently moved over her body, physically repeating the words he'd said to her just moments ago. His tongue conveyed his want and his need for her, drawing the message out slowly in a dance of desire as it slid against hers.
He wanted to take his time with her, wanted to offer her the tenderness that didn't accompany their first coupling earlier. His mouth travelled over the peaks of her breasts, covering them in wet warmth one by one. He rolled his tongue over her nipples, enjoyed the edges of her nails as they raked over his back and shoulders. He played with the taut surface of her belly, circled her navel with his tongue and then kissed her ever so gently under it before he playfully bit her.
She laughed then, the sound rocking her body. "What are you doing?" she asked.
He looked up at her, smiling, so overjoyed to see the look on her face as she gazed back at him. Her rounded cheeks, her wide smile, and the way her hair framed her face…how had he looked past and ignored such beauty for so long?
Her hand caressed his face, and he turned his head towards her palm, kissing it. "I'm giving you what you've always deserved."
"I like the sound of that."
Her last words trailed off softly as his head moved lower, then lower again till it rested beneath her thighs, and he tickled her there with the stubble of his beard. In such a short time he was addicted to her laugh, and he loved how she squirmed when she tried to get away from him. He didn't let her go, but gripped her thighs firmly though gently, instead. To her it was still a game, but she became instantly still when he flicked his tongue over the length of her opening.
She squirmed underneath his mouth, arched her back, quivered and shook. He sucked on her clit, let the juices leak over his tongue, laved them up and then sucked on her clit again. Over and over his mouth moved from her clit to her folds until she came, this time mewling softly while she called his name.
By now he was hard again, and he wanted to feel the pleasure of her warmth as she enveloped him. She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. The silhouette of the two of them was clear on the wall. The image of her riding his shaft caught his eyes as they fluttered open and shut. Her fingernails dug into his chest as she moved faster, as she took him in deeper.
"Michonne, Michonne, Michonne…" His southern drawl drew out her name long and deep in his throat.
He rose from his back and wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her closer and closer till she'd taken all of him in and groaned as he spilled himself inside her. She started to tremble again, and he felt her walls grip him tight. The tiny vibrations inside her began to rock her entire body, and he captured the last groan she made in his kiss.
She collapsed on top of him, both of them spent and tired and they drifted into a short doze together.
"You know we can't stay here for much longer." Michonne's voice was a soft murmur against Rick's chest.
She'd woken up a little bit before he did, but neither of them had the inclination to move. She enjoyed the feel of his hand moving occasionally over her back and through her locs. With her arms around him, this was the safest and most content that she'd felt in a long time. She wanted to freeze this moment, stay here forever if she could.
"You mean this bed or this new place?"
"Both, actually," she said, looking up at him in the dark.
"Well, the place seems to be secure. For the time being, at least." He smoothed two locs of her hair out of her face and brushed her forehead with his lips. "According to Glen, there's no sign that the herd knows where we are. They've gone in the opposite direction. That should buy us a couple of weeks. I hope."
"I hope it does, too." She reached down and threaded her fingers with his, smiled when he gripped hers in return. "But in this instance, I'm talking about this bed. Carl's downstairs."
"So's Carol and Morgan," he finished for her.
"Yeah, and they're going to be wondering where we both disappeared to," she replied quietly. "They probably…probably figured out what must be going on."
"They probably have, yeah. I'm sure they're way past wondering. Most likely they figured it out by now."
He didn't seem bothered at all. In fact he pressed another kiss to her forehead and continued to rub her back. It was so new. She had to admit that she wasn't quite sure how to react or what she should say. However unsure she was about where things were headed between them, she knew that in this moment whatever they had to face they'd do it together.
"We're gonna be alright, Michonne."
His promise was soft as he put a finger to her chin so she could look up at him again. She didn't wait for him to kiss her this time. This time her lips claimed his in the most tender, most sweet way.
She nodded her head as their lips parted and chuckled. "We're gonna be just alright."