Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while. If you've read the update on my profile then you know I made the decision a couple months ago to quit fanfiction "cold turkey". Why? At the time I wasn't enjoying writing it anymore, plus I wasn't sure if I'd ever return. What can I say? I'm an all or nothing kind of person. I do want to thank everyone who has contacted me. Even if I didn't reply (or reply right away. I went weeks without logging on FF) I read every message, and the encouragement was unreal. Thank you so much for the kind words. It means A LOT to me to know people enjoyed my stories/writing. Those messages never failed to make me smile. :)

For the past few weeks I have started dabbling in writing some Richonne stuff. I didn't want to post anything I didn't have a genuine interest in. Cue this holiday story, which has sort of just unexpectedly fallen in my lap. But I am one of those annoying holiday fans who puts their Christmas tree up on November 1st on the dot, so that explains that. ;P

This story is not for everyone. It's a multi-chaptered, holiday-themed, Alternate-Universe, slow-burn Richonne story which takes place over 3 separate years of Christmas. The beginning is slow with some angst/tragedy. But if you're still interested, I hope you enjoy the read. Last thing, heads up, there's a cliffhanger with this chapter.

Thanks!

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1 – The Worst Christmas

"Are you coming?"

The sudden voice startled Michonne Vause so much she jumped in her chair. It took her a second longer than she would've liked to shift gears out of work mode and return to reality. She blinked a couple times and checked the clock on the wall, and finished with a tacked-on smile to her coworker.

"Holiday potluck's started," said Andrea Harrison, a Santa Hat perched atop her dirty blonde strands. "C'mon, just for a bit. I promise work's still going to be there. You'll miss Blake's drunken rendition of 'All I Want for Christmas is You'—you know he gets hammered and sings it every year. Never fails."

Michonne laughed, but shook her head. "You go ahead without me. I'll come by in a few."

Andrea gave Michonne a head shake of her own, hers accompanied with an eyeroll. The exasperation was written all over her face. She didn't bother saying much else. Dragging Michonne away from work was like dragging a tantrum-riddled toddler from a toy store; she almost always refused to leave.

Once her coworker gave up and disappeared from her office doorway, Michonne checked the wall clock a second time. Its black hands and numbers told her it was 3:33 P.M., which meant she could crank out 27 more minutes of work and then call it a night. She nodded as she made the agreement with herself. Her fingers went to work again flying across the keyboard at top speeds.

But time quickly got away from her. One thing led to another. One email to five emails. Five emails turned into more phone calls. The phone calls brought multitasking as her client probed with a couple questions. She flipped through the already sprawled out books across her desk, and the research itself swallowed her whole as it always did.

Next thing she knew, she looked up again and her eyes widened as she didn't need to defer to the clock this time. A glance out her office window told her what she needed to know. The busy city street many stories below glimmered with bright headlights and street lamps. All against the backdrop of the purplish black night sky.

It was then that the silence in the office building truly weighed in. The pure silence was deafening. Every now and then she could hear a muffled vacuum or voice as the evening cleaning crew bustled from room to room to wrap up the job and go home. The holiday potluck she'd promised she'd drop in on was long over. Everyone had gone home, including Andrea with her Santa Hat and Philip Blake in his drunken Christmas karaoke stupor.

If she didn't leave now, she'd be too late to make it to Werther's.

Michonne hopped to her feet and hurried to the rack to grab her coat. One arm shimmied into the coat's sleeve while the other reached over to snap shut her briefcase. A couple sheets of paper caught between the lids, but there was no time to care. The last thing she did on her way out was flick off the light and shut the door.

Outside the winter cold nipped at exposed flesh and tousled hair with its strong gusts of wind. Michonne bundled up, scarf over her chin, gloves on her fingers, and started a heightening trot down the sidewalk. She didn't know if it were her imagination as she made her way through the busy street, crossing the next intersection onto 5th Avenue, but everyone she passed carried a handful of shopping bags. It only lit a fire under her as her pace doubled as fast as her three-inch boots would allow.

She ran by store window after store window lit up with massive posters advertising the latest holiday specials. Sometimes if she passed at the right moment, just as the sliding glass doors opened, whatever cheery holiday tune which played on their speakers spilled out into the street. She kept going, her breath coming out in frosty puffs.

The simple brick stone shop with its italicized black and silver sign came into view. She beamed as she closed in on it, pleased she made it before Mr. Werther closed for the night. The bell which dangled over the door chimed as she pushed it open. The small, thin man with liver spots speckled across his scalp looked up with twinkling eyes.

"Evening, Miss Vause. I was afraid you wouldn't make it on time," he said, tapping his watch.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Werther, time got away from me. I ran eight blocks to get here," she said. She sucked in some air to catch her breath. "I don't exactly have a backup plan if I didn't make it to pick up his gift. A tie from Neiman's doesn't really compare."

The old man chuckled and nodded. He withdrew a palm-sized white box from underneath the counter, wrapped tidily with a silver bow. He said, "it came in this morning. It's more stunning than in pictures."

Michonne bounced on her feet, too excited to stand still. Christmas couldn't come sooner. She imagined waking up with him, sipping hot chocolate and lounging in pajamas, moving on to the big pine tree by the window, encircled by the modest pile of gifts on the floor. His single-dimpled smile came to mind as she envisioned him sliding the lid off the white box to reveal the luxury watch inside.

"I'll take it!" she said to the shop owner. "You're a lifesaver, Mr. Werther."

"Whatever I can do to make your Christmas a special one—he's a very lucky man."

When she exited the watch shop she was proud to join the ranks of the other passerby clutching shopping bags. It was only a half a block walk from there to catch the subway. On the platform she couldn't stop smiling to herself. She vaguely wondered how she'd make it to Sunday like this.

The second Michonne turned her key in the lock and opened the door to their apartment, she called his name. The clock read 8:00 P.M. exactly, so she assumed he had to be home. She unwrapped her scarf and hung her coat in the closet, and called his name again in case he was in the shower. No answer came. Instead Picasso prowled at her feet with a low purr as if to lecture her on why she was late. She grinned and scooped the leopard-spotted cat into her arms for a quick cuddle. Picasso, being who he was, wrangled for freedom in her grasp until she chuckled and turned him loose again.

It was only when she walked into the kitchen that she discovered a white note card waiting for her. In a messy, black-inked scrawl, the front of the card simply read, 'Honeybun'. If her grin wasn't wide enough at Picasso's hot-cold greeting, it expanded to half her face. She snatched the card up and opened it. Two tickets fell out onto the tiled floor. Before picking them up she concentrated on the message written inside. It read:

Honeybun,

Think about all we've been through

I love you more than words can say

It's time my family finally meets you

Join me in Georgia this Christmas Holiday

Love,

Stickybun

As soon as her eyes reached the last word on the card, a strong arm hooked around her waist, and wet lips touched the nape of her neck. Smile about permanently tattooed on her face at this point, she turned around in his arms to come face-to-face with Mike.

"Welcome home, baby," he cooed.

"I need this sort of homecoming every day." She planted a sweet kiss on his mouth.

"Done."

"But this is crazy—Georgia? Meeting your family?"

Mike laughed and said, "yes and yes."

"When? How?"

"Did you read the card?" he asked, still laughing. "For Christmas! Which is in two days. Which means we fly out tomorrow morning. Which means twenty-four hours from now, you and me will be cozied up by the fire in a cabin on Lake Lanier. Tell me that doesn't sound amazing?"

"Mmmm," she hummed as he went in for more kisses. These peppered along her neck. "That sounds like just about the best Christmas ever."

"It will be, Honeybun. Trust me."

Mike kissed her one last time, this parting one on the temple, and then he went for a bathroom break. On his walk there, he called out, "my parents can't wait to finally put a face to the name, by the way! They're going to love you."

She reread the card a couple more times. Giddiness filled her to the brim as her vision of this Christmas only grew more wonderful. The lazy morning she'd envisioned with just the two of them in their New York City apartment transitioned into the image of them cuddled near a fireplace as the distant voices of his family trickled in from the other room.

Picasso's mew drew her out of her head. Michonne looked up to find him perched on the nearby bookshelf, face more screwed up than usual. His meow was judgmental, as if he were displeased with the way the evening shaped out to be. She walked over to give him some much-needed attention, but the cat played his favorite game of 'hard to get', leapt off the shelf, and scurried off.

"Someone's not in the Christmas spirit," she chuckled, shaking her head. "P doesn't know what he's missing. Tomorrow can't come soon enough."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Friday morning rolled around, and the couple couldn't remember a time they were more eager to wake up so early. They double checked they'd done all they needed to with the apartment, ensuring enough food and a clean litterbox was left for Picasso, and that the windows were securely locked, then departed for the airport.

With it being two days before Christmas, the airport was a madhouse. The lines at the check-in counter and security were so long, many grew tired of standing and chose to rest against their luggage. The terminals and gates were no different, chocked full of last minute travelers on their way home for Christmas.

"Are you excited?" Michonne asked. They had finally made it through the hectic check-in process, and had decided to grab some coffee while they waited for boarding.

"Do you see my goofy smile right now? I'm pumped! I haven't been home for the holidays in years."

"I like your goofy smile."

"I'm glad somebody does," he said with a quick kiss to her lips.

The clock inched toward noon by the time the plane landed in Gainesville and they made the drive to Lake Lanier. Michonne sat in the passenger seat unable to keep from sneaking grinning glances at Mike. Whenever he caught her, she snapped her eyes back onto the woodland scenery outside. Mike chuckled then turned his attention onto the road again.

"Almost there," he said as the rental trekked down a twisty road lined with thick trees.

"How far away is your hometown from here?"

"Rosewood? It's about an hour away, which is pretty close to the lake. Only other town closer is King's County," he replied. "Me and my family have been coming up to this lake for years. When I was a kid, Christmas wasn't Christmas if we didn't have a cabin on the lake."

"For a city girl like me, it's beautiful," she said, leaning closer to the glass for a better look at the forestry. Between the trees she spotted a mother deer and its fawn poking out to graze on some shrubs. "I don't know if I can deal with animals in my backyard, though."

Mike chuckled, shooting her a look with his dark brown eyes shining. He said, "the deer? They're harmless. The bears not so much, but they're rare. Every once and a while they wander toward a cabin, but what are the chances?"

"Right, let's just hope they're busy the next few days with Christmas," she joked.

The trees thinned slightly as their drive deep into the woods brought them to the small community of cabin houses overlooking the vast lake. Most of the houses resembled one another, two-story log-style decked out with strings of blinking red-green lights and festive wreaths. One home stood out amongst the rest, though, and Michonne held her breath as Mike switched gears into park, and she realized it was theirs.

She got out the passenger side and forgot about closing the door. Her mouth fell open as she gazed up at the stunning cabin with its woodland backdrop, its spacious porch framed by wooden columns and stacked stone. On the top-level, two windows were spaced exactly apart with brilliant frost finish on the glass, bright lights dangling off the roof just above them. The door hung ajar, an orange glow pouring out which had to be candlelight, as if inviting her home. Her feet moved on their own.

"Honeybun, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" She snapped out of her trance.

"Wrong cabin. This one's ours," said Mike, pointing his chin to the one on the opposite end. He pulled the luggage out the trunk. "Looks like we're first here. Which means we get dibs on what room we want."

He grinned at her, suitcases tucked under both arms, and started toward the massive cabin. She lingered, too caught up in her head to function right away. Her legs eventually cooperated, but not without one last glance at the cabin with the open door. If she strained her ears hard enough she could make out the distinct sound of a man's voice, husky and heavily Southern.

It startled her how cold it was walking through the front door. It served as a direct contrast to how she imagined it'd feel walking through the other cabin. Perhaps it was the lack of heat going, but a chill sprang over her skin and left goosebumps in its wake. She pulled her wooly cardigan tighter and called Mike's name.

"I'm upstairs!" he echoed.

In a matter of five minutes he'd made himself nice and cozy. She found him in the last bedroom down the hall. He'd stacked the luggage against the wall and hung his coat in the open closet, boots on the floor beneath. He sprawled on his back with his arms folded behind his head. He beckoned her over from the doorway.

"And if your family comes home?" Michonne asked with a slow grin.

"That's just a chance we're going to have to take," he answered playfully.

She waltzed over to the foot of the bed, stopped there, and put her hands on her hips. She said, "I'm not sure this is the first impression I want to make on your parents."

He laughed and sat up to pull her onto the bed by the waist. She shrieked as she fell on top of him, his hand coming up to her throat to pull her in for a kiss. Things quickly got out of hand as they rolled over again, Mike now on top, and the feel of his hard body pressed against hers drained every other thought from her mind.

Neither were sure how much time passed, but their lips and hands were busier than ever when the doorbell rang throughout the house. Their first instinct was to ignore it, pausing breathlessly as they strained their ears to make out the sound, but they knew that was impossible. No matter how much they wanted to, with so much family due to arrive and their car parked outside, ignoring the doorbell was not an option.

Mike got up first. He pulled his shirt back on as he walked to the door. Michonne wasn't too far behind, straightening her blouse and fixing her top-knotted locs. She made it halfway down the curved staircase by the time Mike was in the foyer, turning the knob and pulling the door open. She skipped the last two steps and came up to his side, eager to greet whichever family member had arrived.

"Afternoon, how's it going? Sorry to bother you, but I saw you park not too long ago, and I wanted to drop by to welcome you in and see if everything was alright. The cabin owner, Dale, is visiting his daughter in Seattle, but he asked me to fill in for him during your stay. If there's anything you folks need I'm right across," said the man. "I'm Rick Grimes, by the way."

It was the same man whose voice she heard earlier while outside. Husky, gritty and low, his accent was distinctly Georgian. He stood at just under six feet, maybe somewhere between five-ten to five-eleven with a lean build and a button-down denim shirt and jeans. He was quite handsome with his wavy brown hair and defined jawline, but what stood out most about him were his eyes. They were a blue vibrant and intense enough to get lost in.

"Oh, right. Okay, great. Thanks for checking in with us," said Mike, shaking his hand. Once the handshake ended, he put his arm around Michonne. "I'm Mike Winslow. Me and my family used to come up to this lake almost every year."

"Yeah, the same. That cabin has been in my family for decades," said Rick, gesturing to the home. "My son Carl loves it here. It's not Christmas to him if we aren't here."

"True, very true. Hopefully we can make it a tradition again," said Mike. He glanced down at Michonne with a warm smile then looked back up at the man. "So, is that a sheriff car parked by your place? I know you're from around here, because I recognize that accent anywhere."

"King's County. I'm a deputy there. It's a small town about—"

"—about a forty-minute drive from here, yeah, I know. I'm from Rosewood," said Mike.

The two men paused to share a small chuckle.

"Small world," said Rick afterward, looking between the couple. "Well, I better leave you and your wife be and get going—I promised Carl I'd take him out sledding."

Michonne's gut instinct was to jump into the conversation however late and correct him, but she bit her tongue and resisted. Mike grinned and waved him goodbye before he shut the door.

"Nice guy," he said.

"Very, hubby," she replied with a smile.

"Hey, if it's the vibe we give off, Honeybun, it's the vibe we give off." Mike winked before he walked off.

Michonne hung back in the foyer and watched him climb the stairs again. She thought about the next forty-eight hours and how she burst with a blend of nerves and excitement. She couldn't wait to gift him the watch he had been wanting for months, and see the smile on his face as she finally one-upped him on a special occasion. Most of all, though, she wanted to spend the wonderful holiday with Mike and his family.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The Winslow's loved her.

There was Mike's little brother J.J. who wasn't so little. There didn't exist a doorway in the house which he didn't have to duck his head for. A star basketball player for Georgia State, the baby-faced brother spent most of his time trading good-natured digs with the couple. Michonne swiftly learned it was almost impossible to be in his presence and not laugh at one of the jokes he cracked.

Mike's cousin Gina was equally jovial. The 30-year-old single mom greeted Michonne with a hug and follow-up questions about her relationship with Mike. All the while her two kids ran free on hyperdrive. Likewise, Mike's Uncle Ron and Dad Sam were also warm and welcoming. Both men welcomed her to the family without hesitation and made sure she knew she was the first woman Mike had brought home in a long while.

"It's been a minute," said Uncle Ron, stroking the fuzz on his chin. "Last time he brought one by he was going to prom."

"Why do you gotta exaggerate?" Mike laughed. "Have you forgotten about Ashley? Tameka? Kelly?"

"Let me rephrase that," said Uncle Ron to Michonne. "It's been a minute since he's brought a good one home."

Mike's Mother Stella and Aunt Beatrice were no different. The two plump, mid-fifties women insisted she joined them in the kitchen for girl talk. In there they gushed over how impressed they were by not only how pretty she was, but by how accomplished and successful she was. Aunt Beaty seemed particularly over the moon.

"We were getting worried there for a second," said the woman, stirring a glass bowl halfway full with batter. "For a while he was stuck on women who weren't good for him. I kept telling him not to fall for just anybody. You know some only see dollar signs when they see he's a lawyer."

"Mike told us you two met when his coworker quit his firm and joined yours," said Mrs. Winslow. The woman dusted her hands off her apron and brushed a flyaway curl of her lavender-tinted gray hair. "Ain't life funny? You never know what it's going to throw at you, or who you will meet when."

"That's what Mike always says," Michonne said, smiling. "I'm happy to be here. Thank you for having me."

"No, child, thank you for joining us. I'm expecting you by every year from here on out," said Stella with a pat to her back. "Something tells me you will be."

Michonne didn't have a chance to decipher the obvious smirk the two women exchanged, because in the next moment Mike came into the kitchen. He surprised her with a kiss to the cheek from behind, and then he moved on to pick up a fruit tart off one of the dishes on the counter. Aunt Beaty was quick to swat his hand away.

"Don't you dare—that's for desert!" she scolded. She shook her head at Michonne. "Honey, if you don't already know, his sweet tooth is something else. He'll sneak a bite if you don't watch him. Never leave desert unattended."

Michonne joined the two women as they shot Mike a chiding stare and then dissolved into a hearty laugh. Mike's dark complexion glowed under the kitchen light as he flushed, reminiscent of a dog with his tail between his legs, and mumbled a sorry. Michonne moved in to embrace him and soften the blow.

"It's okay, Stickybun," she said. "You didn't earn your nickname for nothing. I love you, anyway."

"That's it, I love her—she's never going anywhere," Mrs. Winslow proclaimed through another shriek of laughter. "Mike, you hold onto her and don't you let go."

Dinner was another loud, rambunctious affair. The table was full from end-to-end with Winslow's, their voices blending as so many different conversations took place at once. Michonne was apprehensive at first, but within minutes of the dinner she forgot about the fact that she was the newest addition. By the time she'd worked through a third of her dinnerplate, she fit right into the ongoing banter.

She took hold of her glass and sipped some more red wine, listening intently to Uncle Ron's Black Friday broken wrist story. She was all ears until something out the corner of her eye caught her attention. From through the dining room window, the other cabin's front door opened and out poured a boy who couldn't have been older than ten. Without much thought, she watched him dash down the porch, face alive with sheer amusement. A couple steps behind came the man from earlier, Rick Grimes, chasing after his son in the snow. The two stopped by the biggest mound nearby and bent to shape snow in their palms. They carried on laughing as they ran some more and tossed the snowballs at each other. She smiled.

"I needed nineteen stitches," said Uncle Ron. He spotted her smile and half-frowned.

"Oh, right. That's…terrible, I'm sorry," she said, snapping out of it. "How's your wrist these days?"

Mike stood and clanged his wine glass with a knife to gather everyone's attention. The table's silence commenced like a ripple effect as heads turned toward the front to stare up at him. He smiled, single dimple on display as ever, and launched into a speech.

"Attention, everybody," said Mike loudly. "Just wanted to take a moment to let you all know how blessed I feel. Blessed to celebrate another Christmas weekend with my family, the people I love the most on this earth. I'm happy we were able to come together like this again, like old times. This weekend is very special to me because of that. I couldn't ask for anything more in life. Except…"

As if on cue, everyone's heads turned to Michonne. So did Mike's eyes. Her automatic response was to shift in her chair. Then it dawned on her and she wondered how she ever missed it. Placed under her dinnerplate, poking out only a quarter of the way, was a white note card. The same exact sort of card which had been waiting for her last night when she'd come home from work.

Dumbfounded, and with shaking hands, she took hold of the card. Again, the message scrawled inside was in Mike's trademark messy writing. It read:

Honeybun,

It's time you know how much you're worth

Thank you for coming into my life

Make me the luckiest man on earth

All I want for Christmas is you as my wife.

Love,

Stickybun

Michonne couldn't stifle the gasp which escaped her. It was similar to one she'd let out if plunged into icy waters. She reread the card three or four more times, blinking rapidly. She looked up to find Mike on bended knee. In his hands was a ring, its diamond surface pristine and gleaming. Her jaw dropped and she forgot to breathe.

"Michonne Vause, will you marry me?" he asked grinningly.

Never one to go speechless, the moment was an exception for her. She went mute. All of a sudden, her brain felt foggy and her vision blurred as time seemed to slow. It was hard to ignore the smiles and stares of the entire Winslow clan. To look into Mike's chocolate brown eyes, alight with optimism and hope, and leave him hanging.

Michonne loved him. It'd been something which had initially taken her by surprise. They met last January, just after last year's holidays, and the first few dates were so lackluster she almost stopped returning his calls. But then somewhere along the line, he won her over, and their casual dates turned into exclusivity, and weekend getaways, and sharing apartments, and now meeting his family, and…marriage?

Where did the time go? It was the only question she managed to think through her haze.

She went with her gut reaction. Fidgeting, she said so softly only Mike could hear, "can we go talk?"

The moment couldn't have been more awkward. His family looked at one another as the couple stood up and excused themselves. The door shut behind them. She knew they broke out into a tizzy as soon as they were gone. Mike led the way into the den, turning to face her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You looked like you were about to pass out for a second?"

"I wasn't expecting—"

"—I know, but…I've been thinking about it for a while. I figured Christmas was perfect," he explained, taking her hands in his. "What's wrong? Was it too much?"

"Mike, I…" She paused to swallow against the lump formed in her throat. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Honeybun."

"I just…I don't know if I can…you know…" She paused a second time, raising her eyebrows. "Say yes. It's kind of…fast. I'm not ready."

"Oh." It was his turn to pause. His gaze never faltered from hers, though, as he inhaled and exhaled the same breath. He nodded. "Alright, yeah. I get it. Maybe it is. I guess I thought we were on the same page."

"We are," she said, moving in closer and cupping his face. "Just not right now. What's the rush?"

A small smile formed on his lips. "You heard my mom. I'm trying to lock it down."

She laughed and said, "trust me, you already have me. I'm not going anywhere."

The couple kissed and joined hands again to return to the dining room. They weren't shocked that the awkwardness lingered in the air when they reentered. Everyone stopped talking as they walked in, wearing the same expression of wide-eyed, slack-mouthed curiosity. Mike stroked her back as he stood at the front of the table and explained they were going to take their time before they got engaged.

"Blame it on me," he joked. "You know I'm always misjudging things."

"Which is scary, bro, considering you're a lawyer!" J.J. blurted to chuckles from around the table.

And just like that it was like the moment never happened. The family found its beat again, falling into a rhythm once more with lighthearted and joyous interaction. Michonne breathed for the first time in minutes, relieved things seemed to be okay.

When it was time for desert, they discovered they'd forgotten one key favorite. Uncle Ron clucked his tongue and shook his head as he looked around the table to accuse the others.

"Whose job was it to get the eggnog this year?" he asked. "I can't sip my bourbon at a holiday get-together without it."

"J.J.!" Gina said.

"Wait, since when?" he asked, clueless.

"Ronny's got a good point," said Aunty Beaty. "I was looking forward to having some myself."

"How about we run out and get some?" Mike suggested. He set down his dinner napkin and stood. "C'mon, J.J. Time to atone for your screw up."

Mike's younger brother rolled his eyes and huffed, but got up from his chair just the same. Michonne focused on Mike, grabbing his arm to hold him back.

"Can't it wait 'til morning?" she asked. "We have plenty of desert here, and we can always have hot chocolate. I can make some."

"It's not a holiday get-together without it," said Mike. He kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, we'll stop by that gas station on the main road. They're twenty-four seven right up 'til Christmas—should only take an hour."

"Mike, you drive," said Mr. Winslow. "We all know how J.J. is on the road."

More laughs were had at J.J.'s expense as the two brothers headed for the door. Michonne left the room with them, eager to be by Mike's side. She faintly wondered if her sudden compulsion to be in his presence stemmed out of guilt. She wanted to make sure they were still good. Though he said they were, something seemed off about his demeanor. Almost as if he were too accepting of her turndown.

"Stickybun," she said, catching him in the foyer. She clutched his shirt and looked up into his eyes. "Let me come with you."

"It's okay, we'll be back. You stay here, relax, sip some of that hot chocolate you were talking about. Board game hour is coming up, and I want you to represent for me during Scrabble," he teased with a peck to her lips. He turned away and slipped on his coat. "Ready, J.J.?"

"Ready."

She stepped onto the porch as the two brothers crossed the pebbly driveway and got into the car. Total darkness had fallen over them, so thick that even the trees twenty feet away weren't visible. The only light came from the moon, stars and lit cabin windows. Mike's headlights joined them, casting a long stream directly in front of the car.

In seconds they were gone.

Michonne lingered on the porch for a few seconds longer. She pondered if perhaps turning him down was a mistake. If she loved him, what difference did it make if they got engaged that night or 180 nights later? If she loved him, how could it be moving too fast?

These questions she didn't know the answer to.

She took one last look around, eyes landing on the cabin across the way. Rick Grimes and his son had gone inside again, and seemed to be having a quiet night lounging in the living room. She tried not to stare too long as she turned around to walk back in.

Mike was right about game night. The Winslow's broke out the game boards and divided into teams. As requested, she volunteered for Scrabble. Mike's Mother and Aunty Beaty were two of the family members to join her. Both women sat on either side of her on the sofa, silent for the first few seconds before they spoke.

"Dear, don't you feel guilty," said Aunty Beaty. "Nobody's trying to rush you into anything you don't want to do. You are both in your early thirties—there's plenty of time for you to walk down that aisle. You're a part of our family regardless."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I'm sorry I—"

"—no need to apologize for a thing," interrupted Mrs. Winslow. "Now, how about we play some Scrabble? I'm rusty, but I'm here to kick some behind."

Michonne snickered, glad the game posed as a distraction during Mike's absence. She focused her thoughts on arranging letters along the board. It worked for the first couple games. For a while she was so immersed in competing she didn't realize how much time went by. But by the end of the third game, of which Aunt Beaty clapped her hands and trash talked, she glanced at the clock then the window.

She stood up from the sofa and walked over for a better look. Thanks to the porch light she could see the cabin across the way. The cabin windows were blacked out, but Rick Grimes' car was gone. She frowned and her brows pushed together, nerves on edge more than ever.

"Honey, up for another game?" Beaty asked.

"Yeah…okay. One more…" she trailed off, voice distant. It was a struggle to leave the window.

They played another game, but her heart wasn't in it. All she wanted by the end of it was to call it a night. To head up to bed with Mike in hopes of a better tomorrow. Maybe a good night's sleep would clear her head. Maybe Christmas Eve itself would realign things. There was nothing else to do but hope.

The hands on the clock struck 8 P.M. the exact moment there was a hard knock on the door. Uncle Ron told Gina's kids to hold off on their game of Monopoly while he got up and went to answer. His voice filtered into the family room along with another man's, the two engaging in a dialogue that went on long enough to capture the Winslow's attention.

"What on earth is going on?" asked Mr. Winslow, standing.

Michonne made it out the family room first, into the foyer with a sinking feeling for every step closer to the door. Blue and red lights blinked in the distance, way down the porch steps, coming from a sheriff deputy car parked jaggedly on the pebbly drive. She stopped by Uncle Ron's side in time to hear Rick Grimes utter words which turned her world upside down.

"I'm afraid the car spun off-road trying to avoid a deer and hit a tree," he explained quietly in his low, gruff accent. "We made it out to the scene within minutes, but it was already too late. It happened on impact. I'm very sorry for your loss."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I do want to make a brief comment about Mike in this story, as it may have thrown some for a loop why I wrote him this way. I made a conscious choice this go around to portray him and his relationship with Michonne in a positive light, because in the past I have portrayed him as a clueless male bimbo (Accidentally Yours) and an unemotional jerk (Day Too Soon). This time it was important to me to show them with an actual healthy relationship, more or less, because of what is to come with Michonne/Richonne.

I hope to update again next Saturday/Sunday with chapter two. As always, I appreciate any and all reviews left. :)

As a side note, for anyone interested in any of my old stories, I am going to start posting them on my tumblr, so feel free to follow me there (inkslinger-21). I probably won't post all of them (there was a lot!), but I will repost as many as I can.

Anyway, shutting up now. Thanks again for even clicking on this story. Hopefully see you next update?