A/N: Happy New Year! I hope everyone's 2018 started off well! I spent the afternoon editing this chapter, and miraculously got it done (a good sign!), so here I am! I'm sure some of you will recall me asking on Tumblr whether you'd prefer to have the past and present scenes all in one chapter. Well, you did, but as it turns out, that's more stressful than my schedule or sanity will allow right now, lmao. So I'm gonna split them. Hopefully that still makes for an interesting and not too confusing story. The bulk of the narrative will switch between that time jump after 6x09 and then 8A - with a few changes. (I'm sure you've read a million stories that lead up to The Moment in 6x10, but much to my regret, I never got to explore those two months, so this is my way of doing it now!) And I very much hope you enjoy! -Ash

Chapter 3: Moving On and Getting Over
[Then]

"That's it, sweetheart. One knee in front of the other. There you go."

Michonne stopped in her tracks when she overheard the murmur of activity coming from Rick's room — soft thumps and bumps as the sound of his soft twang tickled the air. Even if she hadn't heard his exact words, the tone of his voice told her he was talking to Judith. He reserved that gentle timbre for her, which Michonne always found endearing. This hardened soul had such a soft spot for his kids. He didn't speak to Carl in quite the same way, but the way he interacted with his son was very much he same. The tender touches and proud looks. She loved observing that about them.

She was reluctant to interrupt them, as Rick didn't get a lot of down time with his kids. Not since they left the prison. Always running after one emergency or another, trying to keep afloat. The last few days had been a welcome change, seeing him around the house. Rebuilding Alexandria by day; tending to the kids— and more specifically, Judith, with Carl still in recovery — by night. She always stole glimpses of them when she could, and that evening was no different. She slipped out of the bathroom, not quite finished with her nightly routine, and across the hall to Rick's room. The image of him on all fours with Judith alongside him, attempting to mimic him, was utterly adorable. It made her smile. And then, as the two of them began to scoot across the carpet, it made her giggle.

Rick glanced back at the sound of Michonne's infectious laugh, pleasantly surprised to see her standing in the doorway. "Hey," he greeted her.

"Hi." She chuckled again as she watched him readjust Judith's course, seemingly without even thinking, ensuring she didn't run into a wall. "I didn't mean to disturb you two. I just heard the fun and wanted to witness it for myself."

He sat back on the floor so that he had a good view of both his daughter and his friend as he answered, "You're not disturbing us." He waved her into the room, unwilling to take no for answer. "Come sit with us."

Michonne accepted the invitation — albeit a bit bashfully — as she tiptoed into the room, sidestepping the shuffling toddler and taking a seat on the empty bed. She was grateful to join them, the rest of the house being empty with Daryl and Carol out on a run, and Carl at the infirmary. In fact, the only reason she'd been preparing for bed is she didn't have anyone to talk to, so she was going to retire early. This was a welcome change of plans. Watching Judith learn this new skill. It reminded her of when her little one was just learning to crawl. Like Judith, Andre favored one leg over the other, so he tended to drag himself around the room until he became comfortable with the act. "I wish we had more carpet, so she could just roam freely," she commented. She hated that she was confined to only the upstairs bedrooms.

"She's all right," Rick beamed, gazing at her too. "Remember, a few months ago, she didn't have this. She would've been learnin' to crawl in a barn."

Michonne smirked, recalling how stubborn Rick had been about even coming to this place. "If it weren't for me..."

"Yeah, yeah, you saved us all," he returned, feigning a sarcastic tone. He knew very well that she had.

When his straight face converted into a smile and then a laugh, she found herself struck by what a good mood he seemed to be in. And after all the heavy shit that'd happened that week — from the herd nearly ruining Alexandria, to Jessie and her boys dying, to Carl being shot — it was a wonder he seemed so light.

"I'm joking," Rick clarified, noting her stare. "I know we're here because of you."

"I'm so glad you're willing to admit the truth," she shook her head, rolling her eyes in a playful gesture. "But no, I just - I was noticing… you seem happy."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing is wrong with it," she chuckled awkwardly, her stare studying him. "I just wanna make sure you're okay." And maybe it was more for her benefit than his. Because she wasn't sure how to process this version of him. After something traumatic, he tended to have... moods. PTSD. He'd been struggling their entire time at Alexandria, and now, suddenly, he seemed happy as a clam. It was odd.

He laughed, even though he genuinely appreciated her concern. "Do I not look okay?" As he waited for an answer, he smiled at Judith crawling between them, running his hand through her blonde curls as she passed.

"You look fine," she acknowledged. "But after everything that's happened, it would make sense if you weren't."

"I dunno," he sighed, scratching as his stubble with his palm. "Carl losing his eye is one of the worst things you can imagine happening to your child," he granted. "But I think I'm just so relieved he's alive."

Michonne nodded, agreeing, even though her grimaced expression seemed to say otherwise. She just hated thinking of all the things that kid had lost. "Yeah," she whispered.

"I hope it doesn't sound terrible to say this, but it kinda feels like what happened was good for us, in the end."

"Us?"

"Alexandria," he appended. "Without that herd threatening to ruin us, I dunno if I ever would've trusted these people. And I needed to trust these people."

"You did," she conceded with a nod. Her eyes avoiding his, they landed on Judith as a soft rattle came from her area of the carpet. The infant managed to find a distraction in her favorite toy — a pair of red plastic cups,. "And I'm glad that you've come around..."

Rick sat back, his eyebrow raised as he waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he decided to ask, "But..."

"I don't know if there's a 'but'," she shook her head. "I guess I'm just worried that you haven't seemed at all affected... by Jessie's death." She said it carefully, as if he might crumble at the mention of her name. "I mean, having to... do what you did..."

"I had to save my son," he answered quietly, his smile having fallen by then. "I hate what happened to her. She was nice," he admitted with his own nod. "But if I have to choose between Carl and anyone, it's gonna be Carl every time."

"Of course," she frowned. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I'm saying you don't seem to be mourning this woman you were..." Her words trailed off when she realized she didn't even know what he was doing with Jessie. All that trouble he went to to save her from her husband, and she still wasn't entirely sure why. "Were you dating?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled bashfully, scratching at the curls at his neck as he searched for the answer to that. "I dunno, Michonne."

"Why are you so uncomfortable?" she laughed back — equally as uneasy if she were being honest. This was a weird subject for them, and again, she didn't know why.

"I dunno. I guess I'm wondering - I mean, I hear what you're sayin', but. You'd think it's a good thing that I'm not moping around, all depressed and crazy."

"There's nothing wrong with being depressed and crazy," she offered with a little smile. "If that's how you feel."

"It's not how I feel, though."

"Okay." She relented with a simple nod as she crossed her legs on the bed. "I just... thought I'd ask. In case you needed someone to ask."

"I appreciate it." As silence began to dominate the conversation, Rick glanced out of his window at the setting sun, then checked his watch, confirming that it was close to Judith's bedtime. It was only highlighted by the fact that she couldn't seem to hold onto her little cups, whining each time she managed to drop them. She was getting cranky. "Come here, little lady," he cooed, crawling across the carpet to collect her.

"I should go," Michonne declared, half-smiling at the irresistible sight of the ten-month-old cradled in Rick's strong arms. "You need to get her to bed."

"I do," he agreed, but he wasn't ready for Michonne to leave yet. He enjoyed these moments with the three of them. And the four of them, with Carl. As nice as it was to have a full house when Daryl and Carol were around, when it was him and Michonne with the kids, it felt right. It was like the family dynamic he'd been aching for since the world ended. Hell, even before that, really. "The thing is," he began, just as she started to rise from his bed, "I don't know what it means that I don't necessarily feel sad. Does that make me an awful person?"

Michonne cocked her head to the side thoughtfully, confusedly; her eyebrows knitted, because she didn't know what it meant either. "You're not an awful person," she assured him.

"We knew each other two weeks," he shook his head, focused on his daughter. "I mean... I don't even know if you can be close to someone in that amount of time. Not really."

"You can do a lot in two weeks," she offered diplomatically. "It's not the amount of time. It's what you do with it."

"Yeah," he nodded to himself. "But she was married and then, after Pete... I dunno," he sighed. "I just don't think we even got off the ground. Not emotionally... Certainly not physically."

She tried not to noticeably react, but certainly, a strange wave of relief seemed to wash over her as she realized what he was saying. And as uncomfortable as it made her to discuss, her curiosity seemed to be getting the best of her. "Did you come close?" she wondered, her voice quiet, as if she were hoping he wouldn't hear her.

Rick shook his head. "A kiss a few nights ago. In her garage, of all places."

"It's not like you can't have sex in a garage," she joked. Mostly to cover up the pangs of whatever else she was feeling. The things she didn't want to admit she was feeling.

"It wasn't like that," he chuckled quietly. "It was a sad kiss. Desperate."

"You were sad?"

"We both were." His voice was hollow when he finally looked up at Michonne, just as Judith's eyes fell closed. "Which is why it feels so good to feel good now."

"I don't mean to take that away from you," she said, gazing back at him sympathetically. "I just wanted to make sure it was real."

He nodded appreciatively, enjoying that she cared about him enough to check. He understood why it seemed strange for him to be okay now, after spending so long not being okay. After having to chop off the hand of the woman he'd been so absorbed with for the past few weeks. But he was, indeed, okay. Sitting there with his two favorite girls. "It is real," he whispered.

An hour later, Rick and Michonne had reconvened downstairs for what had become their usual nightly routine. Since moving in together, he'd learned that in the evenings, after dinner was served and kids were off to bed, Michonne liked to sit and read. Sometimes she'd take to the front porch, but usually, it was on their couch, with some version of a dessert Carol had concocted. Sometimes he'd find a book of his own to occupy his time, but most often, he'd find some reason to interrupt her. And that evening was no different.

"Hey, do you have any laundry that needs to be done?" Rick called out to her.

Michonne glanced in his direction as he passed with a laundry basket, only hoping that he had his favorite jeans in that load. But no such luck — he was still wearing them. "I have a few things in my hamper," she eventually replied to him. She briefly second-guessed allowing him to do her laundry when she realized that would include her underwear. She tended not to care when it was Carol, figuring she knew what she was doing. But perhaps Rick used to take care of such things for his wife. Still she decided to warn him, "Don't wash the bras, Rick."

"I know," he answered flatly as he slipped into her room to find her dirty clothes. He mindlessly sifted through her tiny tank tops and assortment of pants, throwing them in with his and the kids' stuff. He paused ever so slightly when he came to a pair of her panties, having to shake away the images he'd conjured up, her sauntering around her bedroom in them and nothing else. He exchanged those thoughts for memories, recalling the last time he did a woman's laundry with any regularity. Lori tended to do the housework, but every now and then, he'd take on the duty; and without fail, he'd do something to fuck it up. Luckily, life at the prison made him better at his chores.

He left her basket empty, save for her brassieres and the one pair of non-cotton panties in the bunch, then headed off to the laundry room to get started. "Have you heard from Carl since dinner?" he yelled to her.

Michonne's eyes instinctively went to the walkie talkie sitting in front of her, thinking it strange that she hadn't, now that he mentioned it. "No," she returned. She retrieved the radio from the table to investigate and make sure it was working properly.

"Well I guess he doesn't need us since he has Enid."

"Sounds familiar," she mumbled, setting the device on the couch next to her, just in case Carl did decide to check in. "Well I'll be listening for him," she assured him before going back to her book.

Rick finished loading the machine with all their dark clothes and began the cycle before strolling into the living room to join his friend. He couldn't think of anything he enjoyed more than this part of the day, getting to simply relax. "I am tired," he declared with a big sigh, plopping down beside her on the three-seated sofa. "Feels like the days just keep gettin' longer."

"They are," Michonne retorted, side-eying him as he sat forward and rifled through the books she had on the table. "Summer is coming, you know."

"I don't keep up with the days like you do," he commented breezily.

She rolled her eyes and kicked her bare foot against his leg to get his attention. "Pass me another cookie?"

He picked up the plate containing the last few oatmeal cookies, courtesy of Carol, and offered it to her before taking one for himself. "Still hungry, huh?"

She shrugged. "Delicious as your meatless chili was, it definitely wasn't enough."

"Yeah," he chuckled knowingly. He liked that she enjoyed food unapologetically. Junk food, especially. It didn't make sense, given her figure and lack of body fat — save for her ass, which must've been where it all went. "We gotta get more food in this place soon. Everyone is runnin' low."

"Yeah, hopefully Daryl and Carol manage to bring something back," Michonne agreed.

"They're lookin' for building supplies though," Rick said, sitting back again with his own cookie. "We should head out in the next few days to see what we can find."

"'We' as in you and me?"

He looked over to her, slightly baffled, wondering whether she was really questioning that. "Isn't it always you and me?"

Michonne gazed back at him, her eye catching his for what felt like too long. But she wanted him to discern what she was thinking, feeling, without her having to say it out loud. He was good at that when he wanted to be. But now wasn't one of those times, it seemed. "Is it?" she relented to ask.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowned. He didn't want to take offense before she could explain what she meant, but he had. "I can't even remember the last time we weren't together."

"It was a week ago," she recalled, her tone dry and almost cold as she resumed her reading. Or tried to, anyway. But Rick wasn't going to let her off so easily.

"A week ago," he repeated, calling to mind that brief few hours where they separated after their plan to move the herd went to shit. "Are you mad at me or somethin'?"

Michonne let out a hard sigh and set her book down across her lap. He wanted to have the conversation — and so did she, really, as her passive-aggressiveness was letting on — so they were going to have it. "I'm not mad, Rick. I'm confused."

"All right, well what about?"

God, how she wished their faces weren't so close in that moment. "Why didn't you tell me. About Jessie," she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak before realizing he didn't have an answer. He didn't know why. Or at least, he never stopped to think about why.

"I mean, I suspected. After all the drama with Pete, I knew it was more than just... you being the friendly neighborhood cop. But you never said anything, so I thought maybe I was imagining it," she shook her head. "Overthinking it." She hated how it sounded, demanding answers from him about his personal life. But after everything they'd been through, maybe she deserved them. "I know it's not my business - not... really. But this thing happened, and it's made me question things I thought I knew."

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. Nervously. "I wasn't tryin' to keep it from you. There wasn't much to say. And I really - I didn't think you would care." When she looked at him disbelievingly, he reevaluated his words. "What was I supposed to do? Come home and tell you I liked a married woman?"

She continued to look at him, waiting for a satisfactory explanation for his antics. Maybe she should've chalked it up to the fact that everything he'd done at Alexandria was a bit of a fluke. He hadn't been himself — not the version of himself that she knew, anyway — since they got there. And maybe it was as simple as that. "I don't know. Maybe so."

"I think... deep down, I knew it wasn't right," Rick finally confessed. His gaze flitted to the table to avoid hers. "Tryin' to save her like she was mine to be saved. Thinkin' she could save me... by bringing me back." He chuckled ruefully at how silly it all sounded now. "I kept sayin' how we get to come back, but I dunno if I ever really believed it. And being around her, it did bring me back to my old life. Haircuts and art projects. It felt normal."

Michonne felt her eyes sting with tears, wondering what that must've felt like. To have something that reminded you of home. That made you feel like you could just slip back into your old life, like a missing puzzle piece, found. "Must've been nice…"

"It was," he nodded, staring at Michonne's hands, clasped tightly over her book. "Until you realize there's a new normal. I'm not the person I used to be. I thought I wanted that old life and just couldn't have it. But I want... and maybe even need somethin' different now. "

"Hm," was all Michonne could say as she listened to him try to explain.

"I dunno, watching her die like that… I was reminded, again, why we're the ones who've lived through all this." His eyes darted up to find hers again, hoping she heard what he was saying. "We're survivors. You, me, Carl. Our family. Jessie… she wasn't. And I hate it for her. I hate that I couldn't protect her and her boys like I said I would. But she would've taken me down with her. So I just wanna move on."

She didn't know what to say, because she felt like he was being honest with her, and yet, she was unsatisfied with his answer. She wanted more. She wanted an apology. Not for not telling her about it all. That wasn't really what she was annoyed by. At least not wholly. She sighed, wishing she understood why this ridiculous thing bothered her so much. Why it took up so much space in her mind. Especially now that the woman was gone. She should've left well enough alone. If Rick said she was fine, she could leave it at that. And yet… "I guess it just - it was kind of... jarring for us to walk in this place, and immediately, you chose her." She let out a shaky sigh as she realized what she was admitting here. That she felt betrayed in some small way. "It made me feel...forgotten."

"Michonne—"

"I know you didn't mean to," she interrupted before he could say it. "You've explained your position, and that's fine. But that doesn't change how it made me feel. It doesn't change the fact that I've had to clean up your messes and help take care of your kids, while you ran around being reckless and careless." She felt butterflies as she spoke. But not the good kind. They were nervous ones, the ones that settled in the pit of your stomach and made you feel sick. "And I don't think you stopped to think what would happen if you really pursued a relationship with this woman. Us co-parenting, living together... what we're doing now. It would've just..." She looked at him again finally as her words hung in the air before asking, "Would you have let her take my place?"

"You know that's not possible," he immediately denied, frowning. "Even if she were here, even - even if she wanted to," he stammered, "you know I can't replace you."

She smirked at how dismissive he was of her concern. She was certain he believed that, of course, but his actions told her that he never even thought about it. Apart from him becoming close to someone else, sharing his sadness with a stranger, that might've been what hurt most. "That's the thing, Rick. I don't know," she retorted hoarsely, the emotions stuck in her throat. "Because you didn't tell me anything."

"Well I'm tellin' you now." He turned his entire body toward her, watching her as he spoke his words. "You're not replaceable. Certainly not by someone who couldn't take care of herself."

"That's cruel," she simpered. But she understood that his grand epiphany about Jessie probably had a lot to do with the fact that his involvement with her nearly got his son killed. Which had to be a terrible wake up call.

"Truth is cruel," he countered, scratching at his stubble. "But that is the truth."

"Fair enough."

"I didn't even take my ring off," he noted with a small smirk, showing her his hand. "So how serious could it have been?"

"Oh, so that's when I should worry?" she asked, hoping her sarcastic tone didn't sound like friendly banter in this case.

"That's when we'll both know I'm ready to try again."

Michonne glanced at the hand containing said ring — it was loose on him now, thanks to all the weight he'd lost, probably from stress and everything else. But she'd run out of words to say on the subject. She was glad she brought it up after nearly a month of silence, but she hadn't quite gotten what she wanted from the conversation, and instead, she was just tired of it. "Good to know," she finished. She carefully placed her book face down on the table, so as not to lose her spot, and looked over to her friend. "I'm gonna call it a night."

"Already?" he asked, disappointed. He hated ending their conversation on a serious note when things had been so light lately.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I'll see you in the morning. We're on cleanup at eight."

He nodded as he watched her rise from the couch and disappear into the darkness of the house in practically the same breath. As he heard her footsteps on the stairs, his gaze fell to the coffee table where she'd left her book, letting out a small sigh when he took note of the befitting title — The Idiot.