A/N: This story is courtesy of cuckoo91, who asked for a story exploring Rick's insecurity in 7A. Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you all enjoy!


Rick's back was beginning to hurt from the hardwood beneath them. It was ridiculous that after months sleeping on forest floors and in dilapidated nooks and crannies, he could not get comfortable atop a pile of blankets.

He was getting soft.

The thought settled in his mind, seeping out of his subconscious and nesting in the forefront. Since the turn of the world, it had been the thing he feared most, the accusation that caused self-loathing. Shane had thought he was soft, and Carol. Perhaps it had crossed the mind of everyone he considered family now. And Lori—

Beside him, Michonne stirred. Rick chanced a glance at her over his shoulder. He was treated to the sight of her back, fully turned to him. He looked away quickly, directing his eyes to the ceiling. Negan had taken everything: Glenn and Abraham, their supplies, their beds, their guns, their food. Miraculously, his family was still there. Angry, grieving and worst of all, disappointed in him. But they were alive.

And that was what mattered most to Rick.

Carl made no secret of his dissention, glaring behind his bandage, storming around the house as though he was trying to bang holes into the ground. He was very much like his mother at times, a stark reminder of what life used to be. Lori's expressions were nestled within their son, appearing with laser-like precision whenever Carl was upset with his father. Carl might never understand why Rick had chosen this, chosen to fall in line with a bat-wielding psychopath. Nevertheless, he would stay safe, as long as Rick kept an eye on him.

Michonne though, she was another matter. She'd once told him that she was still with him, even amid one of his breakdowns. True to her word, she was still there, lying next to him. Lori had slept next to him as well, years in the same bed, trying not to touch one another with almost studious focus. Rick brought his eyes to Michonne again, her deep brown skin glowing in the soft light of the sunrise just beyond their window, begging to be touched. His hand flexed, frantic for the contact. She sighed in her sleep, shifting beneath the covers. Rick swallowed thickly, rolling away from her and closing his eyes. He feigned sleep when she awoke a few minutes later, crawling out of their pathetic excuse for a bed without so much as a kiss.

They spent the morning in silence while Carl moped, outwardly hostile towards his father's plans. Rick wanted her to come on this run, to stay by his side. She had already declined. He was afraid to ask her again.

Aaron charitably excused himself as Carl groused. Rick ignored his son, too tired to fight him again. Michonne followed quietly behind him, her expression unreadable. Rick turned to her, swallowing thickly.

"If you change your mind, we're headed north," he passed her a walkie talkie, hoping against his better judgement that she would agree.

"Good luck," she accepted the device, her eyes trained on the floor of their home.

Rick nodded, trying to ignore the clenching in his chest. "Yeah. I'll see you soon." Swiftly, he moved in to kiss her cheek.

Her hand was quicker, catching his face against one of her palms, pushing his head back firmly. Rick felt a wave of nausea, a profound sense of panic. She was denying him. He forced his eyes upward to look at her, expecting to see disgust written all over her face.

Instead, she looked at him purposefully, almost reverently, her dark gaze pulling him deeper as she reached for him, cupping his face between both palms. Slowly, sweetly, she leaned in, pulling him down towards her until her lips brushed his own. He kissed back tentatively for a moment, unsure whether this was some new trick. She angled her head, raising to her tip toes in order to get closer. Rick's body responded on instinct, pushing past the doubt until he had her folded in his grasp.

Michonne kissed him like Carl wasn't simply one room over, sulking. She kissed him as though they hadn't lost their beds, their dignity, their supplies. She kissed him like Glenn was still alive, like Abraham was right up the road. She kissed him like Negan did not exist. He soaked up her affections like a sponge, greedily accepting all she had to offer. He could have stayed forever in that kiss. Even as she pulled back, dusting his lips with a few loving pecks, he missed the pressure of her mouth on his, the feeling of her wrapped around him.

They looked at one another for a long moment. He recognized her expression immediately. It was the same one he had first seen weeks ago when he had leaned forward to kiss her on the couch. It was the expression that made him sure that this was different, that Michonne was unlike anything or anyone that had ever happened to him.

She sighed shakily, lowering herself back to the balls of her feet, one hand sliding down his arm until it came to rest against his palm. She squeezed, hard.

"Thank you." The words left his mouth before he could even register them. There was so much to say, so many things brimming just below the surface that he wished he could tell her. Instead, he nodded, moving away from her while he still had the strength to do it. He followed Aaron out of his front door, his mind spinning.

When he returned home, she wasn't there. Negan was in Alexandria, two more of Rick's people were dead, Eugene had been kidnapped, Carl had staged an outright mutiny against the Saviors and Rosita was bleeding from a separate failed assassination attempt. He cleaned up the mess, quietly ordering around the now even more somber citizens, choking back his rage, his exhaustion, and his grief. There was work to be done, so Rick worked, trying to push the worry for Michonne to the back of his mind.

She found him in the jail cell where he had retreated to be alone. Just the sight of her standing in the dark doorway was enough to set his pulse racing. He leapt to his feet, rushing towards her, faltering for the briefest of moments before he surged forward to wrap her in a hug. Her arms came around his neck, squeezing, her heart pounding between them. She pulled back, putting space between them. Again.

"I found what I was looking for," she met him with her unflinching eye contact. Rick watched her silently. "I wanted to go with you and Aaron," she continued, undaunted. "But I couldn't. I had to go my way."

Rick's stomach roiled again. Michonne laughed, a surprising sound, her eyes darting away as though she was looking into some memory. "But when I found it, I realized that I didn't want it to be my way. I wanted it to be ours. Me and you."

The pressure behind his eyes threatened to spill forward as fear gave way to a tidal wave of relief. Rick glanced at the dirty floor beneath them, attempting to get his bearings. Michonne did not relent.

"We're outnumbered; it's not even close," she stepped closer to him. "But that doesn't change the way that I feel. Because it doesn't change the way that things are. We're still alive, Rick. So much has happened, so much that we shouldn't have lived through. But in spite of it, or maybe because of it, we did. We're still here. The two of us. We're still standing, and we're going to keep standing, so what do we do with that? How do we make that mean something? We're the ones who get things done… We're the ones who live." She was dangerously close to crying, but she lifted a finger, pointing at him. "That's why we have to fight."

Her words poured faster now, the list of reasons to fight coming thick. Rick listened, his eyes unmoving from the face of this warrior woman in front of him. They hadn't spoken in days and now she was laying bare her soul.

"We can do this," she paused, sniffling quietly. "But only if we do this." Wide brown eyes turned to him questioningly.

There was so much he wanted to say, entire books of poetry he would happily spin for this woman before him, if only he had the skill to do so. Instead, he said what he could. "Yeah, I know that now."

She began to cry, the tears cutting down her dark cheeks, even as a smile graced her face. Rick took a step towards her, reiterating, "I know that now," he repeated. She was in his arms before he had even finished his sentence. Her hands tangled in his hair, her body pressed flush against his. Rick knew that he would never feel anything half so pleasurable, even if he lived a hundred more years. He wanted her then and there, wanted to feel her skin on his own, but she deserved better than a cold, dark cell.

Instead, he took her home, back to their bed. She came willingly to that pile of blankets on the floor, clutching at him like he had won the world just for her.

"Rick," his name was a mantra, falling from her lips like a prayer. He pressed his lips into her skin, whispering promises against her, hoping they were enough.

He would fight. He had to fight. Alexandria was worth it. His children were worth it. The woman in his arms was worth it.

"Michonne," it was the only word he could think to say, the only one that mattered. Rick knew he was crying, felt the moisture dripping down both of their faces as they came together, his cheek against hers. She clutched at him, her nails scraping down his back, her gasps of pleasure tickling his ear as he moved. She pulled at his hair, nipped at his lips, raised her hips to meet his own, taking all that he had to offer her.

She fell apart with a moan, pulling him with her until he collapsed on top of her, sated. She stretched beneath him, smiling at him in the dark of their bedroom.

"We're going to win," Rick assured her, his voice a raspy whisper against her skin.

"I know," she said simply, planting a series of soft kisses across his face. With a contented sigh, she fell asleep, still beneath him.

Rick experienced another sleepless night, but this time without doubt, his mind strategizing, plotting.

They could do this. They would do it together.

"I love you," he whispered this confession into Michonne's hair, resolving to prove it to her. He took her hand, curling the slim digits between his own, watching her sleep, wondering how a person could feel so lucky, even at the end of the world.