Chapter 3
There's Something That I'm Missing, Maybe My Head, For One

Michonne laid sleepless in her bed, cold in every sense of the word as she thought about Rick and his stupid phone. She'd gone through it with a fine-toothed comb - his entire call log, all of his texts, every email available. Nothing. She went through all of it and then checked again, and didn't get anything even remotely strange but an unnamed number at the top of his call list. And she was so desperate, she even considered calling it like some crazy, jealous wife. But there were a ton of different unidentified numbers there, because people called Rick all the time. And she wasn't going to call them all, even if she really wanted to. Even though her gut was telling her to. But Rick had never given her a reason not to trust him, so she let it go, retiring early with her doubts and her drink. She'd hoped the liquor would do its job of getting her to sleep, but like everything else in her life, it seemed to be failing at the moment. So instead, she just laid there. Thinking.

It was a couple of hours before Rick came up for the night. He and Judith watched Finding Nemo for the millionth time, and he got her fed, bathed, and off to bed while Michonne was upstairs. He was nervous as he walked into his bedroom, unsure of what to expect when he got there. She had been so annoyed with him, maybe even angry, and justifiably, he wasn't sure how this conversation was going to go. But he knew a conversation was needed, and he couldn't be scared of it. Avoiding it was what caused all of his problems in the first place.

When he walked into their room, she was asleep. Or at least, she was pretending to be, as the entire room was too dark to truly tell. And he hated to wake her up, but if he waited until morning, he might lose what little resolve he did have about the situation. "Michonne," he called out in a whisper, simultaneously hoping that she would and wouldn't answer.

She'd heard him come in, but had, indeed, been pretending to be asleep. It took her a moment to decide whether she wanted to respond, but in the end, she gave up the ruse, just in case he had something to say worth hearing. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?" she quipped.

He sighed as he moved toward his side of the room, pulling off his t-shirt on the way. He took a seat to pull off his boots, staring out at the moon as he decided how to answer that question. And finally – finally – he decided to let her in. "No."

Michonne turned her head in his direction, feeling like she must've somehow misheard him. After an entire day of begging him for an answer, was she finally getting it? "What?"

"I don't think I am," he repeated. "We had a miscarriage," he went on to declare, as if she didn't know. "And I thought I was okay, but it's been a long, slow process to realize I'm not."

Michonne sat up then, staring at the back of his head as she processed his words. Frowning as the news hit her. She wasn't sure why she was surprised, as Rick was the one that wanted a baby in the first place. But hearing that this was what had been bothering him, and he'd decided not to say anything, she wasn't sure how to respond. Whether to be mad or sad. "That's why you've been acting like this?"

"I think there's been a… void ever since it happened. It felt like somethin' was always gnawing at me, and I could never tell what. Thought maybe it was just that depression that sneaks up on you when the weather gets cold. Or just being tired of being tired." He wiped his eyes before the tears could even form. "But no, I think it's this."

"Why haven't you said anything," she demanded, ultimately landing on anger. Angry that he had her checking his phone for clues when he could've just said this in the first place.

He turned back to her, giving her a knowing look before landing back on the window. He didn't want to put this on her, because he chose his course of action, but then, she was the reason for it. "Because you never wanted to talk about it."

She instantly retracted her claws a bit when she considered that he was right about that. Frustratingly right. After it happened, she wasn't exactly the best communicator herself. Not because she didn't want to talk about it, but simply because she had nothing to say. She had no feelings about it. Or rather, not the right ones. And she should've known that that wasn't how Rick operated, but somehow, she'd missed it. She'd been pleasantly surprised by how well he'd been handling it, in fact. "So you've just been going through all this alone?"

"I didn't know I was going through anything until a couple of days ago. Maybe that's why we should've talked about it," he quietly scoffed. "It was like everything just… exploded in my mind all of a sudden." He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling, thinking of how much he hated that he couldn't get through this without dragging her into it. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry for not seeing it," she returned, reaching out to touch is back. There was still so much tension there, she could feel it in her fingers just barely caressing him. "For me, I just wanted to move on, and I know – I should've known – that things don't happen that way for you."

He nodded, but he always wondered if they even happened that way for her. Did she come home and drink every other night because she didn't care, or because she did? He couldn't tell. He didn't know. And asking her about it always garnered the same response of, 'Everything is fine.' They were apparently alike in that way, only she was a much better actor. It was believable when she said it. "Can we talk about it now?" he asked.

Michonne exhaled quietly, relieved to finally know what the hell was going on with him. She moved over to his side of the bed and kneeled beside him, twirling his nape hair around her fingers, and she nodded, wanting nothing more than to talk about it, for as long as he needed. "Yes."

"I feel almost silly asking this again," he began, staring blankly at the windowsill, "but were you really okay? After everything?"

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, somewhat ashamed to admit her real feelings on the matter. She didn't share them at first, because she hadn't realized it herself, and then once she did, she was scared to let him know. Thankful that he'd finally stopped asking about it. She swallowed hard and opened her eyes again, praying that he wouldn't hate her for what she was about to say. "I think I was relieved," she confessed, her voice sounding small as the words came out.

He turned his head in her direction, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he asked, "Why?"

"I was excited about the pregnancy," she promised, still caressing his curls. "Having a baby with you made the dream complete. Like you said, 'someone with both of us.' The idea of that was… potent. But here and there, these doubts would creep in," she intimated. "I'm almost forty. And even in the old world, pregnancy was difficult for older women. So in this world, where things are better, they're still not perfect. Not that I'm not proud of all the advancements we've made. And all the children we've seen come into the world the last few years. But doctors aren't magicians, and our hospitals are still just beds in a house. And every other day, I would think about what happened to Lori, and I was - parts of me were terrified, Rick. So when we lost the baby, I just felt… relief."

Rick nodded sadly, wiping at a tear that had managed to escape. He wished he had known any of this. He hated that he hadn't been able to tell, probably too happy about the pregnancy to notice his wife was panicked by it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She rested her forehead on his shoulder and sighed regretfully. "Because you wanted this."

He chewed at his bottom lip as he nodded again. It was all so obvious in hindsight. Michonne always said Judith and Carl were enough. And he knew she meant it. Before that, she told him how Andre was all she ever wanted. He was the one that wanted a baby. He set all of this in motion. "Do you feel like I talked you into it?"

"I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't want to," she made sure to say emphatically.

He knew there was more to that sentence, just based on her tone. "But?"

"But," she continued, "I don't know that I ever would've wanted it if you didn't."

Rick leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees as he tried to think of what to say. How did it come to this? Two people so hellbent on protecting each other, they were hurting themselves. "Why couldn't we have had this conversation before?" he asked, mostly of himself.

"Before what?"

Before I ruined everything, he thought. "Before it came to this."

She shook her head, rubbing his back affectionately as she did. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize," he whispered. He reached back to find her hand, taking it into his, pulling her closer to him. "Something broke between us, and I just wanna fix it."

"How do we do that?"

He let out a sigh, gazing out of their bedroom window at that same rain that had haunted him all day. "I dunno. Maybe we start saying what's bothering us instead of relying on our abilities to read each other's minds."

"Speak," Michonne smirked, doing her imitation of Rick imitating Lori. "That's probably a good idea."

"Fail, fail again, fail better," he mumbled.

She cocked her head to the side, questioning whether he was actually talking to her or to himself. "Hmm?"

"It was somethin' my father used to say. 'Fail. Fail again. Fail better.'" He chuckled to himself as he shook his head. "I used to think it was stupid. And then the world ended, and my life became a series of failures, and I finally figured out what it meant."

"Your life is not a series of failures, Rick."

"No, I know. We've won a lot, too." He pulled their clasped hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. "But the failures always taught me the biggest lessons. I want that to be true for us, too."

In return, she kissed his bare shoulder, relieved that she could feel close to him again. "It will be."

He smiled at the feel of her lips, his head lowered as he reveled in her body heat. The two of them sat like that for minutes on end, quiet and comfortable in each other's presence again. Rick let out a small exhale, and began to suggest that they get some sleep, but it was then that he noticed the flowery white flannel that covered her knees and he paused. He turned to get a full view of her, finding that she was dressed in what might've qualified as the ugliest nightgown he had ever seen. "What are you wearing?" he laughed out loud.

Michonne giggled too, glancing down at her choice of pajamas. "It's warm," she defended.

"It better be." He stared at its long puffy sleeves and lacy collar, shaking his head. "Where did you even find it?"

"It came with the house. Just never had an occasion to use it."

"It took you five and a half years to find one?"

"Well," she shrugged, "I might've wanted to make it crystal clear that we wouldn't be having sex tonight."

He chuckled again, "You thought I didn't get the message when you stared me down in the kitchen?"

"It didn't seem like you'd been getting anything the past couple of days, so…"

"Fair enough." Rick found himself smiling genuinely in that moment, and he breathed a sigh of relief, not unlike the one Michonne had expressed a few minutes before. It was amazing how much better he felt with just one long-overdue conversation. Of course, he wasn't 100% better, still guilt-ridden by what he'd done, still saddened by their loss. But being able to talk to Michonne – not Magna, but his wife – everything seemed so much clearer. Brighter. The day before was his low point. He'd gotten lost on his way home. But he was back now. He would be better now.

"But at this point," Michonne began to say, her fingertips stroking his arm, "I'd be willing to reconsider."

He turned his head toward her again, making sure she wasn't just teasing him. "Yeah?"

"Let's just say I'm in a much better mood now." And also, she just really wanted to be close to him again. She wasn't used to distance between them, and she was eager to put things back where they were supposed to be.

Rick licked his lips as he grinned at her proposition. "Me, too."

And with that, he spun around to face her, his lips going for her neck as the two of them went falling back against the bed. He loved Michonne's giggle whenever he did that. It sounded like she was happy, and that was all he ever wanted her to be. And so, as he devoured her delectable skin, her legs wrapping around his waist, he closed his eyes, attempting to block out what he'd done. Even though his gut was telling him to confess all of his sins, he would ignore it, trying to convince himself that Magna was right - nothing happened. Nothing else would happen. He could and would move on, fixing what he broke.

"Hey," Michonne called out to him, breaking his stride of kisses and rampant thoughts. As he pulled up to look at her, she rested her hand on his cheek as she stared into his eyes. Her thumb traced the scar below his right one, and she smiled, because it felt like she was seeing him slowly come back to her. "Don't ever leave me like that again."

"I won't," he answered confidently.

She nodded for him to resume kissing her, and he did, one hand pulling up her nightgown, the other gripping her thigh, as he got into position between them once more. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, her fingers into his hair, and she expected a moan in reply, as that was his usual response. Especially considering it'd been four days since their last fuck, which was long for them. But he stayed quiet as he kissed her, which gave her slight pause. Of course, the emotions of the evening wouldn't magically disappear just because sex was on the table, so she chalked it up to that. But it was clear that the last 24 hours had sparked a paranoia in her that wouldn't immediately go away either. She made an attempt at reaching for his jeans, wanting to see if his dick was getting hard, but then his fingers moved inside her, his thumb massaging her clit, and that unease did seem to dissipate - momentarily, at least. "Shit," she moaned quietly.

He explored her depths for several seconds, hitting her G-spot with ease, and he smiled at the sound that came out of her mouth as he did. It always turned him on, being able to get her wet almost immediately. Her slick folds felt like heaven in physical form. Tasted like it too, and he licked his fingers to express as much.

While Rick sat up to unfasten his jeans, Michonne pulled off her nightgown altogether, revealing her naked body to him. Her nipples were erect from the slight chill of the room, and they stiffened even more when he pulled out his hard cock. Relieved she wouldn't have to try and fail to get him up tonight, she smirked at him as she opened her legs wider, welcoming him back. He worked his way out of his pants, the two of them chuckling at their creaky box spring, a reminder of all the good times they'd had in that room.

"You promised me a new bed," Michonne reminded him, watching his face as he removed his watch, too.

"For Christmas," he promised, with a grin to match. His gaze wandered the length of her entire body, from her hairline to her toenails, stopping here and there to admire her form. Her plump lips and supple tits, her taut stomach and ridiculously toned thighs and the paradise that lived between them. He never quite found her eyes though, subconsciously, and maybe consciously, avoiding them. He leaned in for another kiss instead, consuming her lips as he finally pushed into her.

The two of them quietly grunted at the sensation, Michonne clenching herself around him once he'd gotten in deep enough. His thrusts came slow and gentle, as if he were suddenly afraid of breaking her, and she found herself grabbing at his hips, trying to coerce him into picking up the pace. But he didn't seem to be reading her signals, so she decided to just say it, gripping his hair as she whispered, "Faster, baby."

Silently, he acquiesced, pumping into her faster, harder, the headboard knocking against the wall, matching the pace of their heavy breaths. Trying to hold out, he began to kiss her neck again, his lips sucking at her throat, while her tits bounced against his chest, driving him crazy. He couldn't believe he ever even thought to look at someone else. Not when he had this. "I love you," he proclaimed between kisses and thrusts.

Michonne was thrown by his declaration, or more precisely, the tone of it. The desperation. It wasn't something he said often, and certainly not while they were fucking, but when he did, it sounded like he meant it. She knew he meant it. But hearing it then, it hit her quite differently. As if he was trying to convince her of something she never questioned. And suddenly, just when she was starting to feel like things were normal - or at least, they could be - it felt like everything had been knocked out of place again. Except for that gut feeling she'd been having. No, that was right where she'd left it. "I love you, too," she eventually nodded back, knowing there was probably a frown on her face as she said it. But she couldn't help it. Because all she could wonder was, is it him, or is it me?

A/N: Based on how many of y'all are itching for Michonne to whoop somebody's ass, I hope this chapter doesn't piss everyone off (even more than you already are), haha. But trust me, we're not even close to being done with that thread, so bear with me! That said, I have no idea when the next chapter will be out. I don't know how much time I'll have to write this week, and I'm outta town for the holiday, so... I'm sorry in advance! But I promise I'll get it to you as quickly as I can. Thank you, as always, for all of your incredible feedback. Knowing what questions and theories you have helps me mold the story even further, and that's super exciting. God, I love you guys! We'll meet here again soon! -Ash