A/N: I'm going back to my roots and finishing where I started with a canon fic. There aren't many of those around these days, and this current tragedy (clusterfuck?) playing out on our screens feels ripe for some fanfiction treatment.
I have to give a shout out to reciprocityfic-your Newton's Third Law series is amazing and inspired me to revisit the canon world. Thank you for that!
This probably belongs in the Little Talks series, but it's a bit long-winded and felt like more of its own story.
This is set somewhere around 8x08 and 8x09 on the eve of All Out War.
A chorus of hammers pounding against steel panels outside. Forks clinking and scraping against the plates. Mouths masticating food instead of speaking words.
He knew this isn't what she wanted, what she had hoped for when she called for a family dinner this evening.
He finished swallowing the bite he had just taken and looked up to see Carl staring at his plate as he mindlessly shoveled his food in his mouth, Judith smearing sauce and mashed potatoes across her plate as if they were finger paints, and Michonne wincing slightly as she took a small bite of mashed potatoes.
It wasn't what he wanted either.
He set his fork down and reached out to place his hand over hers where it rested on the table, causing her to look up from her plate.
"This is good," he said as he gave her hand a small squeeze. "Thank you for cooking tonight."
She gave him a small smile, all that her battered face would allow at this time, and squeezed his hand back. They both knew "cooking" was an overstatement when all she had done was whip up some instant mashed potatoes and topped them with the contents of the shredded barbecue beef MRE. She seemed to know what he was doing, though, and appeared to appreciate it.
"Emince de boeuf, sauce barbecue is my specialty," she quipped as her smile grew just a little wider on her lips.
He began to chuckle, remembering that night in the abandoned school, and how they were laughing to the point of tears over the French subtitles given to each of the decidedly pas de gourmet MRE's they had found. Taco au Boeuf. Ragout de Boeuf. Chili et Macaroni. That last one, thought, that was a good one. There were some stories to go with that one…
She dabbed her lips with her napkin and sighed as she looked across the table to see that their light-heartedness hadn't yet spread to their children.
"Wish we still had our CD player," she mused as she looked around the their bare living room and kitchen, stripped away of all its modern amenities thanks to the Saviors. "We could use some music…"
"Yeah," Rick agreed.
Something, anything, to fill the silence and cover the sounds of war preparations going on outside would be a welcome distraction. He watched her move her foot under the table to nudge Carl's, causing him to look up at her. The Carl Whisperer, as he often called her in jest, was on it.
"If you could turn on the radio right now and hear any song, what would it be?" she asked.
"Well we know what Judith would say," Carl answered dryly to which she nodded whole-heartedly and knowingly.
"Which one?" Rick asked with a quirk of his head.
"The-" Carl started.
"Don't say it!" Michonne warned quickly.
Carl rolled his eyes at her, as if he was some kind of amature big brother or something.
"The Huh," he said as he made a circle with his hands for his old man's benefit, "on the Huh," he finished as he made a rectangle this time.
"Oh God," Rick groaned once he got it.
How could he forget? The Wheels on the Bus. Once she got going, she never wanted them to stop and unfortunately for them, the only limits to that song were your imagination. After singing about the wheels, the wipers, the horns, the doors, the drivers, the babies, and the mommies they would find themselves ad libbing. Of course the daddies and the brothers came next, then a string of farm animals because why not in the apocalypse? They even included walkers sometimes because, again, it could happen. Those were some good times, sitting around the living room, laughing as they each tried to one up each other...
"Ever since she saw that huh at the Hilltop," he mused, "it's been nonstop. I wonder who taught her that song."
"Bet it was Enid," Carl volunteered.
He couldn't help but smile at the way his son's eyes looked a little brighter and he seemed to jump at the chance to bring her up. He just so happened to know that feeling well.
"What is it with my kids and songs about-" he cut himself off before saying the B-word, "those things? You remember that Weird Al song you used to sing?" he asked his son.
Carl's face twisted along with Michonne's at the random mention.
"Weird Al?" she asked incredulously. "How do you know him? He was popular when I was Judith's age."
"I don't know him," Carl defended.
"Yeah, you do," he insisted. "Another One Rides the Huh." Carl looked back at him blankly, "Your grandpa used to play the song on his accordion," he continued to explain, "and you thought it was the funniest thing and you'd sing it every morning while you were getting ready for school."
"How does it go?" Carl asked genuinely.
"Yeah, Rick," Michonne goaded not so genuinely at all, "how does it go?"
He huffed out a wry laugh and squinted hard in her direction.
He couldn't carry a tune to save his life, and they were all sure to remind him of that anytime he tried, so the last thing he'd want to do in front of the woman he would forever try to impress would be to willingly expose that weakness, but for some reason he began to nod his head and drum his index fingers against the side of the table as he found the beat. He could hear the opening bass line of the original song so clearly in his head.
Dun dun dun.
"Another one rides the huh." And there he went. Dun Dun Dun. "Another one rides the huh."
And he could see it on their faces, Carl's eyes widened as the memory came back and even Judith was now looking up from her dinner plate masterpiece and bouncing along to the song. Michonne was covering her mouth. She may have been stifling a laugh at his expense, but her eyes gave her away. She was beaming at him, actively adoring him, even. He was here with family. It was the one place he could let his guard down, and on a night like tonight, it felt like just what he and they needed, so he kept on and amped it up.
"Another comes on and another comes on, Another one rides the huh."
"Hey, who's gonna sit by you," Carl jumped in with the same enthusiasm he had at six years old. "Another one rides the bus."
Michonne gasped and pointed at Carl, and before he even realized what he had done-
"Buh?" Judith asked.
Carl froze and Rick dropped his head in his hands.
"Buh!" she squealed, kicking her her feet against her highchair.
"Oh, Carl…" Michonne laughed.
"Just for that you get the honor of gettin' her cleaned up and ready for bed," Rick decided.
"Like I wouldn't have had to do it anyway," his son defended as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up, "I always do it."
"Then it'll take you no time at all since you're so good at it," he assured him.
"Come on, Judith," Carl sighed.
He watched his son lift her from the high chair and hoist her onto his hip even though she was perfectly capable of walking on her own these days.
"Buh!" she reminded him now that they were face to face.
"Yeah, I know," he assured her as they began to walk off. "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round..." he droned as they walked up the stairs.
As soon as his children disappeared upstairs, he turned to find Michonne watching him from her seat beside him.
"You're mean," she teased as she stood up and started to collect the dirty plates from the table.
He scoffed and stood to join her, only she placed her hand over his as reached to pick up his plate.
"I've got this. Why do you go up and join them?"
"You sure?"
"Of course. I'll be up in a few minutes," she assured him with that gentle smile and tender tone she had used on him many times before they were even together. It always made him take notice, and it had always helped him to do the right thing.
He nodded and left the plate on the table then turned to head up the stairs, but slowed and came to a stop halfway way, just before the landing obscured his view of the downstairs. He stood there and watched her move around the kitchen, quietly humming to herself as she stacked the plates in the sink and turned on the faucet while he also heard their children singing and laughing together upstairs.
Moments like this made him feel like pinching himself. It didn't seem possible that, in this world and with everything that they had lost, this beautiful house had become a home for his family. This was all he ever wanted in life, before and after the turn, and he hoped beyond on hope that in a few days he would be coming home for good. For a lifetime of simple moments like these.
But if he didn't, he knew that they would be OK. This family wouldn't crumble without him. Not with Michonne and Carl at its helm. He took one last look at her and smiled faintly then turned to finish his trek up the stairs.
He stopped at the bathroom first to find that his children were long gone, leaving puddles of water around the sink and a rumpled hand towel on the counter. He stepped in and wiped down the counter then hung the towel on the rack to save Michonne the trouble later, then wandered over to Judith's room where she was already in her crib, laying down and cuddling her stuffed rabbit, while Carl stood at the edge talking to her. Pajamas on, hair brushed, clean face...the kid really had gotten good at this.
"You brush her teeth?" he asked from the doorway.
His daughter perked up at the sound of his voice and gave him an exaggerated smile, putting her teeth on display for inspection. It was something Michonne had started with her whenever she was on Judy Duty as they called it.
"All clean," Rick cooed as much like Michonne as he could, causing his daughter to giggle with pride.
He walked in and joined Carl at the side of her crib, reaching in to stroke the curls atop her head and tuck her blanket around her as she settled back down.
"What are we reading tonight?" he asked Carl.
"We weren't. We were just talking."
"About what?"
"I was telling her more stories about Grandpa."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Well, like how he liked to sing and how he played in that band with his vet friends…"
Rick smiled, remembering how he used to have to bribe Carl and Lori into going to the local VFW hall for his father's concerts with the promise of ice cream afterwards.
"How he used to pick me up and take me to the diner for breakfast on Saturday mornings sometimes, and how I'd order a stack of pancakes and he'd always say Make that a double for my boy then he'd turn to me and make me promise not to tell mom…"
"Yeah," Rick remembered with a quiet, wistful laugh.
He was happy his son considered that a fond memory because what they'd never told him was that his grandpa used to pick him up so that his parents could go to marriage counseling. It gave him hope to know that during that turbulent time, his son was still able to remember the good things. That was his gift, though, now and then. He had two feet firmly planted on the ground, and he was mature beyond his years, but he still maintained the youthful optimism that every young man should have.
It made him wonder what kind of stories Carl would tell his kids about their grandfather, or God forbid, the stories he would have to tell his sister about their father should he not make it home this time. He shut his eyes tightly and turned his head to the side to stop that thought before it went any further then opened them and looked back down in the crib to see her sound asleep.
"Already?" he asked.
"She didn't get a nap today," Carl informed him. "She was outside playing all day while everyone was working."
"Well, I'm glad you're on it."
"Michonne knew, too."
"Of course she did," he laughed, unaware of when they had time to have that exact conversation, but aware of the fact that there was so much of their relationship that he was not privy to.
Carl and Michonne. Michonne and Carl. It was a relationship that was just in a class of its own. Friend, mother figure, confidante, mentor, co-conspirator, fellow warrior...it was everything his son needed and that's why he didn't worry.
Rick leaned down and pressed a kiss atop his daughter's head then placed his hand on Carl's shoulder and quietly ushered his son away from her crib and out of her room, turning the light off and partially closing the door behind them on the way out.
When they reached the landing, Carl continued walking toward his bedroom, but Rick grabbed onto his shoulder causing him to turn to around.
"You going to bed already," he asked.
"Yeah," Carl shrugged.
"Well, we could hang out for a bit," Rick offered much to his son's apparent bewilderment judging by the look on his face. "I mean, I'd say we could watch a movie or somethin', but that's out because…" he trailed off as he gestured down towards their empty living room.
"Because you'd fall asleep anyway," Carl snarked.
Rick put his hands on his hips and pouted defensively.
"It's true," Carl insisted.
"OK, well…" He rubbed his hand over his scruff as he tried to think of a good bonding activity for the three of them.
"Look, Dad," Carl leveled. "This isn't goodbye. It's just good night."
"Yeah, but…"
"I'll see you in the morning, Dad. We all need to get a good night's sleep so we're ready for tomorrow."
"Yeah," Rick nodded helplessly as he watched his son take off for his bedroom again leaving him standing alone in the middle of the hallway.
He walked over the the window and looked out on his people, no, his troops, making last minute adjustments to their vehicles. Every day was a fight in their lives, some more than others, and tomorrow more than ever before. Everyone was so confident in him, that he would win and no doubt return. Everyone except for him. For the first time in a long time he was truly scared for himself. Self-sacrifice was an accepted part of the role he had taken on, but he was still human, and he had so much to lose…
"It's just you?"
He turned to see her on the top step.
"Yeah. Carl just turned in for the night and Judith's been out for a while."
"She didn't have a nap today," she informed him as she walked up beside him and looked out the window.
"So I hear…" he huffed out.
"You going back out there tonight?"
"No," he said shaking his head. "No, I'm home for the night."
She looked up at him and nodded. "Good choice."
He laughed quietly at the implication that he would have gotten the business from her if he had said otherwise. He placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged her in the direction of their bedroom as he trailed behind her.
She went straight through the door and into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face leaving him to quietly close the door behind him. He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, allowing the loose, faded black fabric fall down his legs pool around his ankles. He kicked them to the corner of the room, then unbuttoned his denim shirt and tossed it aside with his jeans leaving him in nothing but his light blue boxers. He walked over to the foot of their "bed" and eased onto the pile of blankets in the middle of their bedroom floor with a heavy sigh. He'd normally join her, encroaching on her personal space in the small bathroom, but decided to let her be since she was moving a little slower these days. And after a few minutes longer than usual, she emerged, fresh faced and hair back wearing only a lilac tank and her white lace panties.
"You leave me any toothpaste?" he asked as he stood up.
She huffed out a laugh as she walked toward him then stopped and went up on her tiptoes, aligning her mouth with his nose.
"Nope," she answered with puff of minty fresh breath.
"Then I hope you're OK with barbecue beef breath tonight." He punctuated his response with an exhale her way.
She recoiled instantly and scrunched her face as she covered his mouth with her hand.
"Go," she demanded. "Now."
He laughed and marched straight into the bathroom as directed. One look at himself in the mirror and he knew he should probably spend at least a good thirty minutes showering ad grooming himself, but knowing she was on the other side of the door waiting for him, he settled for the bare minimum of washing his face and brushing his teeth. Perhaps part of the reason he was in such a rush was for fear that she would be fast asleep, abandoning him like everyone else had that night.
When he finished and walked out of the bathroom though, he found her standing beside their "bed," struggling to reach her arms behind her back and under her tank top.
"You OK?" he asked, already en route to her.
"Having trouble undoing my bra," she said with audible frustration. "Hurts to move my arm back and I can't twist either."
"Let me help," he offered, gently taking her hand in his and guiding it back to her side. "I'm good at this."
"Yeah," she laughed as she relaxed and turned her back to him. "You're pretty good at this."
He smiled smugly out of her view as he ran his hand under her tank and traced gently up the ridge of her spine until he reached the cloth of her bra. He nimbly undid the first hook and eye and then the second, causing the two pieces of fabric to fall away from her skin. Now this part, he didn't know quite as well because he usually wasn't working around a shirt, but he watched her do it enough times in their bedroom. He gingerly slipped one strap over her shoulder and then her hand, careful not to cause her any pain and then did the same on the otherwise.
He could hear her sigh with relief as she reached under the front of her shirt and pulled the bra off then tossed it aside before turning and looking up at him.
"Thank you."
"Anytime."
He stared down at her, face, neck, and chest, visibly swollen and bruised. That was usually his look; battered and weakened while she remained untouched and strong. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and hopefully it never would be again.
He turned and kneeled down to stack her pillows on top of each other then pulled down the corner of the top cover. He stood then put one arm across her back and moved to sweep the other under her knees. She resisted, naturally, protesting with a stiffening of her posture.
"Just let me."
"I'm not hurt that badly, Rick."
"I know." He looked her in the eyes, and tilted his head slightly to wordlessly reason with her. "Maybe I just want to."
"OK then," she relented quietly as she turned into his body and allowed herself to be swept off her feet.
He eased her down onto the floor and fussed with the pillows until they were just to her liking then pulled the comforter up and tucked it under her arms and around her chest. He knew she didn't really need all of this, but he just wanted the chance to take care of her. To lavish her with attention, to support her, to take care of her needs as few as they may be. He gave her a once over and just as he was about to stop hovering over her, she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss to show her appreciation.
It was hard to stop with her. In reality, they were only a month and a few days into their relationship. They had every right to be holed up in their room doing nothing but getting to know each other in the physical sense, but life had other plans for them. They did have tonight, though…
So with his knees still planted on the floor, he lowered his forearms onto her pillow, at either side of her head, and allowed their kiss to linger on a little longer. This wasn't the time for deep, frantic kisses; it was soft, it was tender, but it was still passionate as ever.
"Come lay down with me," she whispered between kisses.
"I will," he whispered back.
She brought her hands to his neck and tugged him toward her. "Now."
"I don't want to climb over you and hurt you," he explained.
"Then take a break and walk around. I'll still be here."
He met her smile and nodded, then pushed himself up and walked around to his side and slid under the covers with her. It wasn't quite the same. He had to fold and stack his pillows to reach her level and she had a hard time turning, so he propped himself on one elbow and turned toward her, allowing his hand to lightly rest on her abdomen.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," he assured her.
"Although I'm not sure I'd give you a proper send off even if I could."
"What does that mean?" he asked with genuine confusion.
"No sex before the big game," she reminded him, referring to that time-honored tradition practiced by professional athletes.
"Oh come on," he scoffed.
"I'm serious."
"This isn't the Superbowl," he countered.
"No, it's far more important."
"Well, that's just an old superstition."
"One you'd be willing to take a chance on?" she asked.
He heavily considered it, and he did have a tendency to be a little superstitious with his lucky boots, lucky pants, and so on. But he honestly couldn't live with the fact that he may never get to feel her body against his again or hear her moan with pleasure in his ear as they made love. That was completely unacceptable to him.
"Yeah, because the thing is," he reasoned, "you make me stronger."
She gave him a soft smile and put her hand on his. Even she knew it was the truth. They both made each other stronger.
"But that's still a lot of energy to expend," she reminded him. "And you're gonna need it."
"Well, I wouldn't have to go all out," he said, causing her to burst out in laughter.
"Rick," she cried through her breathy laugh. "Babe, you don't know how to do that. Let's be real."
"Well," he began to protest before a proud smile slipped onto his lips.
The sexiest damn woman in the world just complimented his performance in the bedroom. He scooted closer to her and pressed his lips against hers.
"I just want to be close to you tonight. That's all I want."
She placed her hand on his cheek and nodded her forehead against his. "Me too."
"Good," he breathed out before diving back in to capture her lips against his.
He knew the lips were safe, but he also knew he couldn't stay there for long. It was just an impossible feat. So he decided to try his luck and explore, letting his lips trail onto the side of her face that wasn't swollen and bruised and then down to her neck. He would look up every so often to make sure she was OK, and she would give him a look or a nod and use her hands that were woven through his curls to pull him closer or guide him away from a certain spot.
He was following the narrow trail of unscathed brown skin down over her chest, under her shirt along the sides of her breast, down her flank, over the rise of her hip bones and down the slope of her inner thigh leading him right to her panties. He could feel her heat and smell the faintly sweet scent of her arousal, and he himself was turned beyond the point of return. He looked up at her with desire in his eyes and she stared down at him with an equally desirous look then slightly bent her knee and let it fall out to the side, opening herself up for more.
He slid the small slip of fabric aside then brought his lips closer to her center, feather light at first then opening his mouth wider and introducing his tongue, lapping and sucking her bud. He could hear her soft, breathy moans, but she felt restrained, her body limited by soreness and pain, so he braced her leg with his hand and kept his movements gentle but steady, pleasuring her until her felt her tense and tremble around him before going lax. He pulled back slightly and bowed his head, taking a moment to catch his breath and savor this moment. Her feel, her taste, her scent.
"Come here," she whispered urgently, as grasping at his shoulders and demanding his presence back at the head of the bed. "Oh my god," she whispered as he came face to face with her. "Come here," she repeated as she put her hand under the covers and searched for him.
"Michonne," he chuckled quietly.
"We can at least try," she whispered.
Her hand grazed his hardness and he wanted nothing more in this world than to let her have her way with him, but he put his hand over hers and pushed it away.
"Rick," she protested.
"I gotta save my strength," he teased.
"You're really gonna use that line now?"
"I am. And you need to save yours, too."
"But you make me stronger," she protested weakly causing him to laugh.
"Yeah, I'd hope that's how you're feelin' right now."
"Rick," she chided seriously. "What can I do? I hate feeling like this."
"Could you stay up with me for a little while?"
It was all he really wanted. He knew he wouldn't sleep and he just wanted more time with the woman he loved.
Her face fell, looking almost like she was on the verge of tears before she graced him with a small smile.
"Of course I can," she said quietly. She shifted on her pillow, making room for him. "Come here."
He inched towards her and laid down on his side facing her, so close that his lips were practically brushing her cheek. Her hand found his under the covers and gripped it tightly. They laid there quietly for a good long while, her eyes open and glassy, staring at the ceiling while he stared at her.
"You're going to make it," she said finally. "You're coming back home to us."
He nodded. We're the ones who live. He knew that, but…
"If I don't, you're going to be fine. You, the kids, Alexandria…"
"We'll be fine," she said stoically as she continued to stare at the ceiling.
And they lapsed back into that silence again. The sounds of final preparations outside had been replaced by the low buzz and chirps of cicadas and the sound of their ceiling fan whirring above them.
"We could really use that CD player again," he noted.
She let out a short laugh and reached up to wipe the small tear that had welled up in the corner of her eye.
"Yeah, we really could," she agreed.
He inched even closer to her and nuzzled his face against the side of hers. He could feel her shut her eyes and inhale deeply through her nose. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to summon his strength, but it was too hard when his constant was wavering right next to him.
"If you could turn on the radio," he forced out, "right now, what song would you want to hear?"
She huffed out a shaky laugh and looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, as she tried to think.
"Um…" She breathed in and out a few times, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know. You?"
"I think…" he started, pausing to clear the lump that had formed in his throat. "I think it would be that song Stand By Me. You know it?"
"Yeah," she said as she started to laugh. "I know it."
"Why's that so funny?"
"I just...I thought you were going to say Eye of the Tiger or something."
He began to laugh, as well. "Can I change my answer?"
"Rick," she whined.
They both laughed quietly against each other, unsure what exactly they were feeling, happy or sad, confident or afraid. Whatever it was, it was real, and it just felt good to be honest with each other.
"I think I'd want to hear Stand By Me, too," she decided.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, it's a good song."
"It is," he agreed.
She sighed and turned her face slightly toward him, as much as she could manage before the pain fought her.
"You're going to come home," she whispered.
"I'll be home," he promised.